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Mrs Lackersteen, who was in dread of going home, jumped at the suggestion. The Europeans
occasionally dined at the Club when they wanted to stay late. Two of the chokras were sent for, and
on being told what was wanted of them, immediately burst into tears. It appeared that if they went up
the hill they were certain of encountering Maxwell’s ghost. The mali was sent instead. As the man set
out Flory noticed that it was again the night of the full moon–four weeks to a day since that evening,
now unutterably remote, when he had kissed Elizabeth under the frangipani tree.
They had just sat down at the bridge table, and Mrs Lackersteen had just revoked out of pure
nervousness, when there was a heavy thump on the roof. Everyone started and looked up.
‘A coco-nut falling!’ said Mr Macgregor.
‘There aren’t any coco-nut trees here,’ said Ellis.
The next moment a number of things happened all together. There was another and much louder
bang, one of the petrol lamps broke from its hook and crashed to the ground, narrowly missing Mr
Lackersteen, who jumped aside with a yelp, Mrs Lackersteen began screaming, and the butler rushed
into the room, bareheaded, his face the colour of bad coffee.
‘Sir, sir! Bad men come! Going to murder us all, sir!’
‘What? Bad men? What do you mean?’
‘Sir, all the villagers are outside! Big stick and dah in their hands, and all dancing about! Going to
cut master’s throat, sir!’
Mrs Lackersteen threw herself backwards in her chair. She was setting up such a din of screams as
to drown the butler’s voice.
‘Oh, be quiet!’ said Ellis sharply, turning on her. ‘Listen, all of you! Listen to that!’
There was a deep, murmurous, dangerous sound outside, like the humming of an angry giant. Mr
Macgregor, who had stood up, stiffened as he heard it, and settled his spectacles pugnaciously on his
nose.
‘This is some kind of disturbance! Butler, pick that lamp up. Miss Lackersteen, look to your aunt.
See if she is hurt. The rest of you come with me!’
They all made for the front door, which someone, presumably the butler, had closed. A fusillade of
small pebbles was rattling against it like hail. Mr Lackersteen wavered at the sound and retreated
behind the others.
‘I say, dammit, bolt that bloody door, someone!’ he said.
‘No, no!’ said Mr Macgregor. ‘We must go outside. It’s fatal not to face them!’
He opened the door and presented himself boldly at the top of the steps. There were about twenty
Burmans on the path, with dahs or sticks in their hands. Outside the fence, stretching up the road in
either direction and far out on to the maidan, was an enormous crowd of people. It was like a sea of
people, two thousand at the least, black and white in the moon, with here and there a curved dah
glittering. Ellis had coolly placed himself beside Mr Macgregor, with his hands in his pockets. Mr
Lackersteen had disappeared.
Mr Macgregor raised his hand for silence. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he shouted sternly.
There were yells, and some lumps of laterite the size of cricket balls came sailing from the road,
but fortunately hit no one. One of the men on the path turned and waved his arms to the others,