At a sudden impulse, he ran across the road as fast as he could go, and headed across the wide green toward the sea. He angled away from the hotel which was on his left as he ran. The hard-baked turf made a good surface. He put on a burst of speed that left him completely winded, and was within fifty feet of the wide, concrete walk that paralleled the sea wall when he realized that he must be out of sight in the darkness. Far out to sea was a long line of clouds that obscured the stars just above the horizon. Frequent dim flashes of lightning flickered below the clouds. Bill realized that he might be silhouetted against the lightning, so he dropped onto his stomach on the dry grass and peered back toward the road a hundred yards away. Anyone coming toward him would show up against the dim street lights. He rested his chin on the back of his crossed hands and panted while he peered into the night. The pursuer had disappeared as though he had dropped into the earth. The taxi had gone. An occasional car sped past, and one a lonesome rickshaw coolie padded with his empty vehicle up the road toward the hotel. Bill realized that he would feel better if he could see his pursuer. He felt nervous, and looked around himself, with the creepy feeling that the man was near. Long minutes passed, and he grew annoyed at the constant roar of the surf which ruled out his being able to hear anyone coming toward him over the crisp burned grass. When he had completely recovered from his dash he got to his feet and looked on all sides. There was no one in sight, so he walked to the sidewalk and dropped over the sea wall onto the hard-packed sand. The wall was about six feet high, and he kept dose to it, with an occasional wave breaking and running almost up to his feet, glowing eerily with luminescence. The sand was white enough so that he would be able to see another figure at some distance. As he walked he looked frequently at the top of the wall to see if he could see anyone outlined against the dim rosy glow of the city against the evening mist which partially obscured the stars.
When he judged that he was opposite the hotel, he clambered up the rough sea wall, and sat for a minute at the top, his palms moist with nervousness. Directly in front of him loomed the bulk of the hotel, a few rooms lighted. He walked soundlessly across the grass, past the silent empty tables on the lawn, past the huge garish umbrellas toward the shadowed mysteries of the outdoor swimming pool. He stood near the pool and heard a discreet cough from a patch of deeper shadow. “Okay, Ramasinghe,” he whispered, and the little figure scuttled up to him. He reached out in the dark and took the package. Without a word the boy melted back into the shadows and was gone.
Once again Bill looked around and then headed back across the lawn toward the brightly lighted entrance to the hotel a hundred yards away. As he passed a clump of carefully trimmed bushes that threw long regular shadows on the clipped lawn, some sudden sense of danger caused him to glance quickly in back of him. He hadn’t heard a sound; it was just some primitive instinct for self preservation that had warned him — almost too late. A bulky figure was leaping at him. As Bill dodged he saw the gleam of the hotel lights on a shining blade held high. He couldn’t dodge quickly enough or far enough. The hurtling figure crashed into him, and as he fell onto the grass he smelled the sharp tang of oriental food on the breath of his attacker. With a frenzy of fear, Bill realized that he had no urge to try to grapple with a man with a knife on the dark lawn. So as soon as he hit the ground he rolled away with a convulsive twist of his body that sent him spinning into the shadows beneath the bushes. He looked back and saw, a mere six feet away from him, a tall figure kneeling, knife held in readiness. The parcel was a dim blob of light color on the grass in front of him. The faint light was just enough for him to recognize the sagging face of Doctor Purayana. With knowledge of the identity of his attacker came a slackening of his fear. Cold rage began to grow in him during the seconds of inactivity. Who was this old vulture who thought he could kill an American with a knife in front of his own hotel? Also, the elephant must be of extraordinary value to merit such a risk.
He gathered his legs under him, and in a lightning flash of thought, planned his attack. The doctor would undoubtedly raise the knife high with his right hand. Thus a raised left arm should break the thrust while—
Without thinking further he rushed in, feeling way in the back of his mind a small astonished qualm at his own recklessness. As planned, the knife again flashed high as the doctor scrambled to his feet. Bill blocked the thrust with his left arm, and felt a searing pain across this forearm just as his right fist crashed with all the force of his charge into the shadowy face of the doctor. That was all. He stood there, amazed at the simplicity of it. He stepped across the doctor’s still body and picked up the knife from the grass. He tucked it in his coat pocket and for an instant felt a foolish urge to plant his right foot on the doctor and give an imitation of the Tarzan yell. Bill, he said to himself, you’re one rattle-headed kid. This damn knife might be in your gut instead of your pocket.
A few minutes later the sleepy eyes of the doorman opened wide, and then bulged as the young American resident of the hotel staggered up to the door under the weight of a tall, unconscious native who was draped over one square shoulder. Under the American’s other arm was a brown package. Bill grinned at the look on the man’s face and decided that as long as he would be leaving the hotel soon, it might be just as well to give them something to remember him by. He strode heavily into the lobby and crossed over to the desk. The same suave clerk was on duty, but he forgot his sophistication long enough to give a good imitation of the doorman’s reactions. Bill stood in front of the desk, sat the unconscious doctor on the edge of it and then roughly arranged the sleeping figure so that it was stretched out on its back along the length of the desk. Throughout all this the clerk never said a word. When the doctor was arranged to his satisfaction Bill stepped back and looked at the clerk. He noticed that the man’s horrified glance was directed at his left arm. He looked down and saw a long slit across the sleeve of his white jacket. A patch three inches in diameter was stained with bright blood. He rolled up his sleeve gingerly and inspected a shallow cut that ran diagonally across his brown forearm. It was slight enough to wait for patching with adhesive when he got to his room.
He looked again at the upset clerk and said, “This creature attacked me on the hotel grounds. Have the police come and get him. I will speak to the police at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Is that understood?”