She exerted her self-command and turned at last to look at Tommy.  He was sleeping peacefully with his head on his arm.  He would sleep all night if undisturbed.  She laid aside her book and softly rose.

Her first intention was to go to the door and see if Peter were in the passage.  But the very fact of moving seemed to give her courage.  The man’s rest would be short enough; it seemed unkind to disturb him.

Resolutely she turned to the window, stifling all qualms.  She would not be a wretched coward.  She would see for herself.

The night was steaming hot, and there was a smell of mildew in the air.  A swarm of mosquitoes buzzed in the glare thrown by the lamp with a shrill, attenuated sound like the skirl of far-away bagpipes.  A creature with bat-like wings flapped with a monstrous ungainliness between the outer posts of the verandah.  From across the compound an owl called on a weird note of defiance.  And in the dim waste of distance beyond she heard the piercing cry of a jackal.  But close at hand, so far as the rays of the lamp penetrated, she could discern nothing.

Stay!  What was that?  A bar of light from another lamp lay across the verandah, stretching out into the darkness.  It came from the room next to the one in which she stood.  Her heart gave a sudden hard throb.  It came from Monck’s room.

That meant—­that meant—­what did it mean?  That Monck had returned at that unusual hour?  Or that there really was a native intruder who had found the window unfastened and entered?

Again the impulse to retreat and call Peter to deal with the situation came upon her, but almost angrily she shook it off.  She would see for herself first.  If it were only Monck, then her fancy had indeed played her false and no one should know it.  If it were any one else, it would be time enough then to return and raise the alarm.

So, reasoning with herself, seeking to reassure herself, crying shame on her fear, she stepped noiselessly forth into the verandah and slipped, silent as that shadow had been, through the intervening space of darkness to the open window of Monck’s room.

She reached it, was blinded for a moment by the light that poured through it, then, recovering, peered in.

A man, dressed in pyjamas, stood facing her, so close to her that he seemed to be in the act of stepping forth.  She recognized him in a second.  It was Monck,—­but Monck as she never before had seen him, Monck with eyes alight with fever and lips drawn back like the lips of a snarling animal.  In his right hand he gripped a revolver.

He saw her as suddenly as she saw him, and a rapid change crossed his face.  He reached out and caught her by the shoulder.

“Come in!  Come in!” he said, his words rushing over each other in a confused jumble utterly unlike his usual incisive speech.  “You’re safe in here.  I’ll shoot the brute if he dares to come near you again.”