'I shall bear my tribulations gladly and my soul will be renewed,' he said smugly and gave himself up to meditation.
Kommandant van Heerden had come to quite different conclusions. He had borne enough tribulations in the past twenty-four hours to last him a lifetime. He knew now that there were three things he never wanted to see again. Rubber nightdresses, Sergeant de Kock and Jacaranda House. All three had lost whatever charm they had once held for him, and in the case of the first two that was nil.
As for Jacaranda House, he had to admit he had once liked the place, but he could see now that his feelings were not reciprocated. The house evidently reserved its favours for those of impeccable social standing and British descent. For lesser mortals it held terrors. In decreasing order of social standing he placed himself, Els, the Dobermann, Fivepence and the vulture. He himself had been trussed, terrified and threatened with death. Els had been savaged on two separate occasions. The Dobermann had been bitten to death. Fivepence had been deposited all over the garden and the vulture all over Sergeant de Kock. All in all, these indignities had been too closely related to the class of the recipients for there to be any doubt that the reputation for snobbery the Hazelstones enjoyed was not without foundation in fact. On the whole he thought Els had come off pretty lightly, considering his origins and social standing.
On the other hand he had cause to suspect that Els' share of misfortune was yet to come. True, he had been instrumental in saving the Kommandant's life on two occasions. Kommandant van Heerden had to admit that the Konstabel's intervention on the landing had given him time to jump out of the window, and once there it had been Els who had stopped Sergeant de Kock exceeding his duty. But then again, there was the little matter of the fracas up at the gateway. It had too many of the trademarks of Els to be ignored entirely. Els had some explaining to do.
As he dressed in the study Kommandant van Heerden eyed Els warily. The Konstabel was dabbing antiseptic on his nose and playing with the paperweight. By the time he had put on his trousers, the Kommandant had come to some definite conclusions. Miss Hazelstone had made her point, and the Kommandant was convinced that in all probability she had killed Fivepence. Unfortunately, she could not, he knew, have butchered the policemen at the gate. Someone else was responsible for that, and while the evidence pointed to Jonathan Hazelstone, the Kommandant had seen him asleep on the bed just before the firing began. It followed that if Jonathan was innocent, the guilty person was Els. It was but a step from this conclusion to the question of responsibility. Who, it would be asked, had allowed a homicidal maniac like Els to have possession of a multi-barrelled elephant gun, and had given him permission to use it?
Weighing up the various debts he owed to Konstabel Els and the ugly possibilities that faced his career, the Kommandant came to a rapid decision.
'Els,' he said quietly, seating himself behind the desk, 'I want you to think carefully before you answer the next question. Very carefully indeed.'
Konstabel Els looked up nervously. He didn't like the tone of the Kommandant's voice.
'What time was it when you deserted your post at the gate yesterday afternoon?' the Kommandant continued.
'I didn't desert my post, sir,' said Els.
The Kommandant shivered. This was worse than he expected. The idiot was going to claim he stayed there all afternoon.
'I think you did desert your post, Els,' he said. 'In fact, I know you did. At half past three to be precise.'
'No, sir,' said Els, 'I was relieved.'
'Relieved?'
'Yes, sir, by a large black-haired konstabel who had left his revolver at the station.'
'By a large black-haired konstabel who had left his revolver at the station?' the Kommandant repeated slowly, wondering where the trap was.
'That's right. That's what he told me, sir. That he had left his revolver at the station. He asked to borrow mine.'
'He asked to borrow yours?'
'Yes, sir.'
Kommandant van Heerden mulled this statement over in his mind before going on. He had to admit that it had the ring of utility about it.
'Would you be able to identify this large black-haired Konstabel again if you saw him?' he asked.
'Oh yes, sir,' Els said. 'He's sitting in the cellar.'
'Sitting in the cellar, is he?' Kommandant van Heerden glanced out of the window and pondered. Outside Sergeant de Kock was patrolling up and down on the path. Looking out at the Sergeant, the Kommandant began to think he might have a use for him after all. He went to the window and shouted.
'Sergeant de Kock,' he ordered, 'I want you in here at the double.'
A moment later the Sergeant was standing in front of the Judge's desk and regretting that he had ever mistaken the Kommandant for a transvestite.
'How many times have I told you, Sergeant,' the Kommandant said sternly, 'that I will not have my men walking about in untidy uniforms. You're supposed to set an example too. Look at your uniform, man. It's disgusting. You're a disgrace to the South African Police.'
'Got dirty in the line of duty, sir,' said the Sergeant. 'Flipping vulture died on me, sir.'
'Birds of a feather, Sergeant de Kock, stick together,' said the Kommandant.
'Very funny, I'm sure, sir,' said the Sergeant unpleasantly.
'Hm.' said the Kommandant. 'Well, as far as I'm concerned, it's inexcusable.'
'I didn't choose to be there.'
'Don't make excuses. I didn't choose to be where I was just now, and I didn't notice any consideration on your part for my state, so you needn't expect any from me. Get out of that filthy uniform at once. Konstabel Els, fetch the prisoner.'
As the Sergeant undressed, the Kommandant continued to lecture him, and by the time he was out of his uniform, he had learnt a great deal about himself that he would have preferred to have remained ignorant about.
'And what do you think I'm going to wear back to the barracks?' he asked.
Kommandant van Heerden tossed him the rubber nightdress. 'Try this for size,' he snarled.
'You don't expect me to go down into town wearing this?' Sergeant de Kock asked incredulously. The Kommandant nodded.
'What's good for the goose…' he said smugly.
'I'm not going to be made the laughing-stock of the barracks,' the Sergeant insisted.
'Nobody will know who you are. You'll be wearing this as well,' and the Kommandant gave him the hood.
Sergeant de Kock hesitated miserably. 'I don't know…' he said.
'I bloody well do,' yelled the Kommandant. 'Get into those clothes. That's an order,' and as the Sergeant, bowing before his wrath, squeezed himself into the revolting garments and wondered how he would explain his presence in them to his wife, the Kommandant continued, 'You're incognito now, Sergeant, and provided you keep your trap shut, you'll stay that way.'
'I sure as hell won't,' said the Sergeant. 'I'll be out of the fucking things as quick as I can. I don't know how the hell you expect me to keep discipline when you make me look bloody ridiculous.'
'Nonsense,' said the Kommandant. 'That hood is a perfect disguise. You ought to know that. And another thing, you keep quiet about what you've seen and I'll keep my mouth shut about you. Right?'
'I suppose it will have to be.'
In the next few minutes Sergeant de Kock learnt that he had never so much as seen a vulture and that he hadn't visited Jacaranda Park. He had, it seemed, been away on compassionate leave visiting his sick mother. The fact that his mother had died ten years before didn't seem worth mentioning. With the knowledge that he would be known for the rest of his life as Rubber Cock unless he did what he was told, the Sergeant didn't feel he was in any position to argue with the Kommandant.
The Bishop of Barotseland had reached much the same conclusion. The whole thing was a mistake, and the police would soon discover their error, he told himself as Konstabel Els frogmarched him up to the study. He was delighted to find the Kommandant in a much friendlier state of mind than he had been earlier in the day.