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I'm not married, sir. It's a cousin of mine,
sir."
"What is?"
"He is taken bad, sir," Nuttall lied promptly upon the cue that
Kent himself had afforded him. "Is the doctor here?"
"That's his hut yonder." Kent pointed carelessly. "If he's not
there, he'll be somewhere else." And he took himself off. He was
a surly, ungracious beast at all times, readier with the lash of
his whip than with his tongue.
Nuttall watched him go with satisfaction, and even noted the
direction that he took. Then he plunged into the enclosure, to
verify in mortification that Dr. Blood was not at home. A man
of sense might have sat down and waited, judging that to be the
quickest and surest way in the end. But Nuttall had no sense.
He flung out of the stockade again, hesitated a moment as to which
direction he should take, and finally decided to go any way but
the way that Kent had gone. He sped across the parched savannah
towards the sugar plantation which stood solid as a rampart and
gleaming golden in the dazzling June sunshine.


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