Heard's eyes--something unbelievable.
He dropped his glasses, but quickly raised them again. There was no
doubt about it. Muhlen was no longer there. He had disappeared. Mrs.
Meadows was walking down towards her villa, in sprightly fashion,
alone.
Mr. Heard felt sick. Not knowing exactly what he was about, he began to
shake Denis with needless violence. The young man turned round lazily,
flushed in the face,
"Where--what--" he began. "Rather funny! You saw it too? Oh, Lord!
You've woke me up. What a bother. . . . Why, Mr. Heard, what's the
matter with you? Aren't you feeling well?"
The bishop pulled himself together, savagely.
"Touch of the sun, I daresay. Africa, you know! Perhaps we ought to be
going. Give me your arm, Denis, like a good boy. I want to get down."
He was dazed in mind, and his steps faltered. But his brain was
sufficiently clear to realize that his was face to face with an
atrocious and carefully planned murder.
CHAPTER XXXIV
All the traditions of his race, the uprightness of ages of decent
law-abiding culture, the horror of the pure for what is impure rebelled
against this thing which nothing but the testimony of his own eyes
could have made him believe.
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