"I should think so. You know what these men are. Every
hour they have in Loango demoralises them more and more."
They had reached the gate of the bungalow garden. She turned and
held out her hand in an undeniable manner. He bade her good-bye and
went his way, wondering vaguely what had happened to them both. The
conversation had taken quite a different turn to what he had
expected and intended. But somehow it had got beyond his control.
He had looked forward to a very different ending to the interview.
And now he found himself returning somewhat disconsolately to the
wretched hotel in Loango--dismissed--sent back.
The next day he actually left the little West African coast town,
turning his face northward with bad grace. Even at that distance,
he feared Jack Meredith's half-veiled sarcasm. He knew that nothing
could be hidden for long from the Englishman's suavely persistent
inquiry and deduction. Besides, the natives were no longer safe.
Meredith, with the quickness of a cultured linguist, had picked up
enough of their language to understand them, while Joseph talked
freely with them in that singular mixture of slang and vernacular
which follows the redcoat all over the world. Durnovo had only been
allowed to come down to the coast under a promise, gracefully
veiled, but distinct enough, that he should only remain twenty-four
hours in Loango.
Pages:
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225