‘Look what I found under the bed.’

It was a small, shabby suitcase tied up with a piece of rope.

‘Surely we can do better than that?’

But MacConnachie said, ‘It’ll do for the time being,’ and proceeded to pack their plunder into it, adding a sharp kitchen knife and the rough blanket from the bed which, stuffed in tight, held the rest of it together. Finally he roped up the case, took a native coat from a peg on the wall and tossed it to Ansell, saying,

‘Put it on. He won’t need it where he’s gone.’

When he was ready, Ansell said,

‘Where now? The café?’

‘I reckon.’

They had intended to approach the café with stealth, do a recce, leave the suitcase and canteen and go in with knife and gun. But whatever good fortune had guided them to the canteen now deserted them. For they were still twenty feet from the back entrance when a dog started to bark with a loud, vicious and dangerous persistence. At once the lamp, which had previously glowed in the front of the building, moved hurriedly through to the rear. MacConnachie swore, and whispered urgently,

‘We’ll have to back off !’

‘But we need the stuff in there.’

‘We can’t fight the dog!’

‘We can kill it!’

‘Not with the gun, and any other way we might get bitten!’

‘Well, for Christ’s…’

‘Shut up!’

The proprietor had appeared on the back porch, holding out the lamp from side to side and shouting at the dog to be quiet. Eventually he subdued it with a sharp kick on the muzzle, and then called out into the darkness while the dog whined and growled and pulled at its chain. After a moment or two, he grunted with annoyance, swore at the dog, slammed back into the café and bolted the door. The dog continued to snarl, its hair standing up as it glared in their direction. Ansell whispered crossly,

‘What does it matter if we get a bit of a bite?’

‘You can never trust an animal to be clean. We go back.’

Bad-temperedly, Ansell followed MacConnachie. Once they were in the room again he burst out furiously,

‘So what the hell do we do now?’

MacConnachie was just as angry.

‘Haven’t you ever heard of rabies?’

‘He wouldn’t keep a rabid dog.’

‘How the hell would you know?’

‘For God’s sake!’

‘Look – we take no unnecessary chances. Not as long as we’re in this place and we’ve still got a chance to get something out of it. We’ve a long way to go! Right?’

Sulkily, Ansell said,

‘All right.’

‘So trust me.’

‘So what do we do?’

MacConnachie looked at him. After a moment, he said,

‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

But Ansell was calmer now and his brain had started to function. He said,

‘The first drunk…’

‘What about him?’

‘He’ll take a bit of waking.’

‘Can you remember which house?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s go.’

No word of thanks; no acknowledgement. Ansell said,