He got up early, and in order not to see Campion went out without breakfast. He walked along the high road till such time as he knew the Resident would be in his office, and then walked back again. He sent in his name and was ushered into Willis’s room. He was a little elderly man with thin grey hair and a long yellow face.
‘I’m glad to see you back safe and sound,’ he said shaking hands with Izzart. ‘What’s this I hear about your being nearly drowned?’
Izzart, in clean ducks, his topee spotless, was a fine figure of a man. His black hair was neatly brushed, and his moustache was trimmed. He had an upright and soldierly bearing.
‘I thought I’d better come and tell you at once, sir, as you told me to look after Campion.’
‘Fire away.’
Izzart told his story. He made light of the danger. He gave Willis to understand that it had not been very great. They would never have been upset if they had not started so late.
‘I tried to get Campion away earlier, but he’d had two or three drinks and the fact is, he didn’t want to move.’
‘Was he tight?’
‘I don’t know about that,’ smiled Izzart good-humouredly. ‘I shouldn’t say he was cold sober.’
He went on with his story. He managed to insinuate that Campion had lost his head a little. Of course it was a very frightening business to a man who wasn’t a decent swimmer: he, Izzart, had been more concerned for Campion than for himself; he knew the only chance was to keep cool, and the moment they were upset he saw that Campion had got the wind up.
‘You can’t blame him for that,’ said the Resident.
‘Of course I did everything I possibly could for him, sir, but the fact is, there wasn’t anything much I could do.’
‘Well, the great thing is that you both escaped. It would have been very awkward for all of us if he’d been drowned.’
‘I thought I’d better come and tell you the facts before you saw Campion, sir. I fancy he’s inclined to talk rather wildly about it. There’s no use exaggerating.’
‘On the whole your stories agree pretty well,’ said Willis, with a little smile.
Izzart looked at him blankly.
‘Haven’t you seen Campion this morning? I heard from Goring that there’d been some trouble, and I looked in last night on my way home from the Fort after dinner. You’d already gone to bed.’
Izzart felt himself trembling, and he made a great effort to preserve his composure.
‘By the way, you got away first, didn’t you?’
‘I don’t really know, sir. You see, there was a lot of confusion.’
‘You must have if you got over to the other side before he did.’
‘I suppose I did then.’
‘Well, thanks for coming to tell me,’ said Willis, rising from his chair.
As he did so he knocked some books on the floor. They fell with a sudden thud. The unexpected sound made Izzart start violently, and he gave a gasp. The Resident looked at him quickly.
‘I say, your nerves are in a pretty state.’
Izzart could not control his trembling.
‘I’m very sorry, sir,’ he murmured.
‘I expect it’s been a shock. You’d better take it easy for a few days. Why don’t you get the doctor to give you something?’
‘I didn’t sleep very well last night.’
The Resident nodded as though he understood. Izzart left the room, and as he passed out some man he knew stopped and congratulated him on his escape. They all knew of it. He walked back to the rest-house. And as he walked, he repeated to himself the story he had told the Resident. Was it really the same story that Campion had told? He had never suspected that the Resident had already heard it from Campion. What a fool he had been to go to bed! He should never have let Campion out of his sight. Why had the Resident listened without telling him that he already knew? Now Izzart cursed himself for having suggested that Campion was drunk and had lost his head. He had said this in order to discredit him, but he knew now that it was a stupid thing to do. And why had Willis said that about his having got away first? Perhaps he was holding his hand too; perhaps he was going to make inquiries; Willis was very shrewd. But what exactly had Campion said? He must know that; at whatever cost he must know. Izzart’s mind was seething, so that he felt he could hardly keep a hold on his thoughts, but he must keep calm. He felt like a hunted animal. He did not believe that Willis liked him; once or twice in the office he had blamed him because he was careless; perhaps he was just waiting till he got all the facts. Izzart was almost hysterical.
He entered the rest-house and there, sitting on a long chair, with his legs stretched out, was Campion. He was reading the papers which had arrived during their absence in the jungle. Izzart felt a blind rush of hatred well up in him as he looked at the little, shabby man who held him in the hollow of his hand.
‘Hullo,’ said Campion, looking up. ‘Where have you been?’
To Izzart it seemed that there was in his eyes a mocking irony. He clenched his hands, and his breath came fast.
‘What have you been saying to Willis about me?’ he asked abruptly.
The tone in which he put the unexpected question was so harsh that Campion gave him a glance of faint surprise.
‘I don’t think I’ve been saying anything very much about you. Why?’
‘He came here last night.’
Izzart looked at him intently. His brows were drawn together in an angry frown as he tried to read Campion’s thoughts.
‘I told him you’d gone to bed with a headache. He wanted to know about our mishap.’
‘I’ve just seen him.’
Izzart walked up and down the large and shaded room; now, though it was still early, the sun was hot and dazzling. He felt himself in a net. He was blind with rage; he could have seized Campion by the throat and strangled him, and yet, because he did not know what he had to fight against, he felt himself powerless. He was tired and ill, and his nerves were shaken. On a sudden the anger which had given him a sort of strength left him, and he was filled with despondency. It was as though water and not blood ran through his veins; his heart sank and his knees seemed to give way. He felt that if he did not take care, he would begin to cry. He was dreadfully sorry for himself.
‘Damn you, I wish to God I’d never set eyes on you,’ he cried pitifully.
‘What on earth’s the matter?’ asked Campion, with astonishment.
‘Oh, don’t pretend. We’ve been pretending for two days, and I’m fed up with it.’ His voice rose shrilly, it sounded odd in that robust and powerful man. ‘I’m fed up with it. I cut and run. I left you to drown. I know I behaved like a skunk. I couldn’t help it.’
Campion rose slowly from his chair.
‘What are you talking about?’
His tone was so genuinely surprised that it gave Izzart a start. A cold shiver ran down his spine.
‘When you called for help I was panic-stricken. I just caught hold of an oar and got Hassan to help me get away.’
‘That was the most sensible thing you could do.’
‘I couldn’t help you. There wasn’t a thing I could do.’
‘Of course not. It was damned silly of me to shout. It was waste of breath, and breath was the very thing I wanted.’
‘Do you mean to say you didn’t know.’
‘When those fellows got me the mattress, I thought you were still clinging to the boat. I had an idea that I got away before you did.’
Izzart put both his hands to his head, and gave a hoarse cry of despair.
‘My God, what a fool I’ve been.’
The two men stood for a while staring at one another. The silence seemed endless.
‘What are you going to do now?’ asked Izzart at last.
‘Oh, my dear fellow, don’t worry. I’ve been frightened too often myself to blame anyone who shows the white feather. I’m not going to tell a soul.’
‘Yes, but you know.’
‘I promise yo
u, you can trust me. Besides, my job’s done here and I’m going home. I want to catch the next boat to Singapore.’ There was a pause, and Campion looked for a while reflectively at Izzart. ‘There’s only one thing I’d like to ask you: I’ve made a good many friends here, and there are one or two things I’m a little sensitive about; when you tell the story of our upset, I should be grateful if you wouldn’t make out that I had behaved badly. I wouldn’t like the fellows here to think that I’d lost my nerve.’
Izzart flushed darkly. He remembered what he had said to the Resident. It almost looked as though Campion had been listening over his shoulder. He cleared his throat.
‘I don’t know why you think I should do that.’
Campion chuckled good-naturedly, and his blue eyes were gay with amusement.
‘The yellow streak,’ he replied, and then, with a grin that showed his broken and discoloured teeth: ‘Have a cheroot, dear boy.’
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Epub ISBN: 9781409076339
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Published by Vintage 2000
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Copyright © The Royal Literary Fund
The Complete Short Stories were first published in Great Britain by William Heinemann in 1951
First published in four volumes as the Collected Short Stories by Pan Books Ltd in 1975
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ISBN 9780099287391
Collected Short Stories: Volume 1 Page 55
