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‘Well, well, sir, it is enough that we have dispersed them. Although,’ he added with a touch of
satisfaction, for he had noticed Flory’s tone, ‘they are going in the direction of the European houses,
you will observe. I fancy that it will occur to them to do a little plundering on their way.’
One had to admire the man’s impudence. He tucked his great stick under his arm and strolled
beside Flory in an almost patronising manner, while the doctor dropped behind, abashed in spite of
himself. At the Club gate all three men halted. It was now extraordinarily dark, and the moon had
vanished. Low overhead, just visible, black clouds were streaming eastward like a pack of hounds. A
wind, almost cold, blew down the hillside and swept a cloud of dust and fine water-vapour before it.
There was a sudden intensely rich scent of damp. The wind quickened, the trees rustled, then began
beating themselves furiously together, the big frangipani tree by the tennis court flinging out a nebula
of dimly-seen blossom. All three men turned and hurried for shelter, the Orientals to their houses,
Flory to the Club. It had begun raining.