His aim was wild, the point of the screwdriver shot into the cat's flaring nostril, but instead of finding the nasal channel into the brain, it deflected slightly, penetrated the gristle of the nose, and ran along the outside of the cheekbone below the dappled skin. The point emerged from beneath the leopard's ear, and the cat screamed with the shock and agony. For a moment it relaxed its attack. Daniel rolled over, and threw the leopard off him.
It seemed a miracle that up to now the leopard had not drawn blood, but as Daniel threw it backwards, the cat held on instinctively with one paw.
The claws raked down Daniel's arm, slicing through the leather and wool and reaching the muscle of his forearm. It felt like a sword cut, and the pain goaded Daniel to throw in his last desperate reserve of strength.
He kicked out with both feet together, and his heels crashed into the feline body just as it gathered itself for the next charge.
The kick drove it backwards in a snarling, snapping ball of dark fur that gleaned and rippled in the torchlight.
There was a space between the fish sacks at Daniel's back, it was just wide enough to admit his body. He flung himself backwards into the narrow cave. Now his back and flanks were protected, and the leopard could only attack from directly in front.
It thrust its head, growling and gaping into the narrow space, trying to reach him. Daniel stabbed for its eyes with the screwdriver. Again he missed, but the steel point lacerated the leopard's curling pink tongue, and it leaped backwards, hissing and spitting with pain. Go on! Get out of id he howled, more to bolster his own courage than with any hope of driving off the infuriated beast.
He drew his legs up under him and worked his way as far as he could into the narrow gap between the fish sacks.
The leopard paced back and forth across the entrance, blotting out the feeble torchlight with each pass. Once it stopped and sat on its haunches, wiping its wounded nose with one paw, like a domestic cat, and then licking its own blood from the fur.
Then it bounded forward, blocking the entrance to the narrow cave, and stretched in one forepaw to try and reach Daniel again. He stabbed at the groping limb and felt it hit and penetrate. The leopard spat explosively and pulled back. It began to patrol the entrance to his cave, pausing every few minutes to lower its head and let out one of those terrible sawing roars.
Daniel felt the blood sliming down his forearm under the sleeve and dripping from his fingers. He held the screwdriver between his knees, ready to fend off the next attack, and then, one-handed, bound his handkerchief around the torn arm to stem the bleeding. He pulled the knot tight with his teeth. The wound seemed superficial. The leather sleeve had saved him from serious injury, but the arm was already beginning to throb. Daniel knew how truly dangerous even the lightest scratch from a carnivore's teeth or claws could be, if untreated.
That was only one of his worries. The leopard had him trapped and soon it would be morning. It was a wonder that the roars of the animal had not yet attracted attention. He could expect a guard to arrive at any moment.
As he thought it, the warehouse was suddenly flooded with light. It was so brilliant that the leopard recoiled on to its haunches and blinked in confusion. Daniel heard the faint rumble as the main doors rolled open, driven by their electric motor. It was followed immediately by the sound of a motor car coming in through the opening.
The leopard snarled and slunk back towards the rear of the warehouse, carrying its head low and looking back over its shoulder.
Then, somebody shouted, Hey, Nandi! Back to your cage!
Back! Back! Daniel recognised Chetti Singh's voice.
The leopard broke into a crouching run, and disappeared from Daniel's sight.
Chetti Singh spoke again. Lock the leopard in the cage quickly! and there was the metallic clang of a cage door being slammed. Can you see the white man? Be careful, he may still be alive. Daniel shrank back as far as he could into the narrow opening between the sacks. He had no real hope of avoiding detection, and the screwdriver was not much of a weapon. There is a torch lying over there, still burning. And over there, by the fish sacks. That looks like blood.
Cautious footsteps approached. Nandi has done her work. Give me the torch.
The voices were closer.
Suddenly a pair of legs came into Daniel's view and then the man stooped and flashed the torch into the dark crack where Daniel squatted. My goodness! the same voice said in English. Here the fellow is, and he is still in excellent fettle. How do you do, Doctor Armstrong? I am delighted to make your formal acquaintance at last.
Daniel glared silently into the dazzling torch-beam and Chetti Singh went on in a jocular tone. You won't be needing that weapon, never mind. Please be good enough to hand it over.
Daniel made no move to obey and Chetti Singh chuckled. This is a shotgun of fine English construction, dear sir, made by Mr. Purcley, no less. It is loaded with bullshot cartridges.
The Malawi police are very understanding on the little matter of defending self. I beg you most humbly to entertain my request for cooperation. With resignation Daniel tossed the screwdriver at his feet, and Chetti Singh kicked it away. You may now emerge from your kennel, Doctor. Daniel crawled out, and holding his injured arm to his chest, rose to his feet.
Chetti Singh pointed the shotgun at his belly and spoke to the uniformed guard in Angoni. Chawe, check the cases. See if the malungu has opened any of them. Daniel recognised the black guard from the supermarket. He was a big dangerous-looking brute. I prefer the leopard for a sparring partner, Daniel thought wryly as he watched the Angoni stride away down the ramp towards the fork-lift.
Before he reached the machine Chawe exclaimed and went down on one knee to scoop up a handful of spilled tea that Daniel had overlooked.
Quickly he followed the trail of tea to the broached case on the fork-lift. Lift the case, Chawe! Chetti Singh ordered and Chawe climbed behind the controls of the fork-lift and raised the case high.
A trickle of black tea leaves dribbled from under it. Chawc jumped down and thrust his arm into the hole that Daniel had gouged out of the plywood. You are a jolly clever fellow. Chetti Singh shook his head at Daniel in mock admiration. Just like Sherlock Holmes, no less.
But sometimes it is not wise to be too clever, my dear sir. Looking into the Sikh's eyes, Daniel discounted the man's stilted clownish speech.
Those eyes were deadly. This was no clown. Chawe, where did the white man leave his truck? he asked without moving the aim of the shotgun from the pit of Daniel's belly. He came without lights, but I heard the truck on the south side. I think he parked in the open land there. They were speaking in Angoni believing that Daniel could not understand it, but his knowledge of Zulu and Ndebele allowed him to make sense of it.
Go! Fetch the truck, Chetti Singh ordered.
After Chawe had gone, Daniel and Chetti Singh confronted each other in silence. Daniel was looking for some sign of weakness or indecision. The Sikh was calm and contained, the shotgun steady in his hands.
My arm is badly hurt, Daniel said at last. My sincere commiseration, my dear Doctor. There is danger of infection. No. Chetti Singh smiled.
You will be dead before infection can manifest itself. You intend killing me? That is an amazingly facetious question, Doctor. What alternative do I have? You have been clever enough to discover my little secret. As I have often concluded, too much knowledge is a terminal disease. Ha, ha! If I'm going to die, why don't you satisfy my curiosity and tell me about Chiwewe? Who proposed the raid, you or Ning Cheng Gong? Alas, dear sir. I know nothing of Chiwewe or this other fellow. Besides I do not feel in a talkative frame of mind. You have nothing to lose by telling me. Who owns the Lucky Dragon Investment Company? I am afraid, Doctor, that you will have to take your curiosity to the grave with you.