00 JOURNEY WITHOUT MAPS

the real murderer. He had in his possession a gorilla
knife with curved prongs to make the rough claw-
ing wounds, and possession of the knife was alone
sufficient to earn him fourteen years' imprisonment
The Commissioner was small, dark, lively, subtle and
sensitive; he was new to the place; something had
happened to three of his predecessors. There had been
a boundary dispute in the district for years between
two chiefs, a suspicion of 'medicine* in the food, and
in a month's time he would be alone again (the
engineer gone). Books came out to him from the
Times Book Club, he read them and then they rotted
on the shelves.

The engineer sat and smoked in silence. He didn't
read books; he had no conversation; he was white-
haired, rocky, slow; he might have been sixty and it
was a shock to hear that he was in his early forties.
He didn't mind the loneliness, he said, he was happier
here than in England, it suited him. But he had
more nerves than he cared to admit.

'There's a Liberian messenger waiting here for
you," the D.C. said. It was what I had feared, that
the authorities would send a guide to keep us to the
route they had suggested. The D.C, sent a man into
the village to find him, and soon afterwards the
stnrnger turned up in his dirty trousers and singlet.
Everyone took him to be the Liberian messenger,
nobody got up or offered him a drink; he was the
Enemy with his shaven head and his curious black
tuft of beard. He had nothing to say for himself,
standing there patiently while he was told what he
had to do. "You are going to show this gentleman
the way to Bolahun. He will start the day after to-