“Go!” she said quickly. “Fetch Miss Gordon!”
Jocelyn came, and Maurice and Guy Oscard; for they had been together in the dining-room when Joseph delivered Marie's message.
Nestorius was wide awake now. When he saw Oscard his small face suddenly expanded into a brilliant grin.
It was rather startling, until Marie spoke.
“He thinks you are Mr. Meredith,” she said. “Mr. Meredith taught him to say 'Bad case!'”
Nestorius looked from one to the other with gravely speculative eyes, which presently closed.
“He is dying--yes!” said the mother, looking at Jocelyn.
Oscard knew more of this matter than any of them. He went forward and leant over the table. Marie removed a piece of salted bacon that was lying on the table near to the pillow. With the unconsciousness of long habit she swept some crumbs away with her apron. Oscard was trying to find the pulse in the tiny wrist, but there was not much to find.
At this moment the kettle boiled over, and Marie had to turn away to attend to her duties.
When she came back Oscard was looking, not at Nestorius, but at her.
“We spent four days at Msala,” he said, in a tone that meant that he had more to tell her.
She nodded with a peculiar little twist of the lips as if he were hurting her.
“And I am afraid I have some bad news for you. Victor Durnovo, your master--”
“He is dead. We buried him at Msala. He died in my arms.”
At this moment Joseph gave a little gasp and turned away to the window, where he stood with his broad back turned towards them. Maurice Gordon, as white as death, was leaning against the table. He quite forgot himself. His lips were apart, his jaw had dropped; he was hanging breathlessly on Guy Oscard's next word.
“He died of the sleeping sickness,” said Oscard. “We had come down to Msala before him--Joseph and I. I broke up the partnership, and we left him in possession of the Simiacine Plateau. But his men turned against him. For some reason his authority over them failed. He was obliged to make a dash for Msala, and he reached it, but the sickness was upon him.”
Maurice Gordon drew a sharp sigh of relief which was almost a sob. Marie was standing with her two hands on the pillow where Nestorius lay. Her deep eyes were fixed on the Englishman's sunburnt, strongly gentle face.