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“If it would only stop raining for a single day it wouldn’t be so bad,” said Dr. Macphail.

They all looked forward to the Tuesday when the boat for San Francisco was to arrive from Sydney. The strain was intolerable. So far as Dr. Macphail was concerned, his pity and his resentment were alike extinguished by his desire to be rid of the unfortunate woman. The inevitable must be accepted. He felt he would breathe more freely when the ship had sailed. Sadie Thompson was to be escorted on board by a clerk in the governor’s office. This person called on the Monday evening and told Miss Thompson to be prepared at eleven in the morning. Davidson was with her.

“I’ll see that everything is ready. I mean to come on board with her myself.”

Miss Thompson did not speak.

When Dr. Macphail blew out his candle and crawled cautiously under his mosquito curtains, he gave a sigh of relief.

“Well, thank God that’s over. By this time tomorrow she’ll be gone.”

“Mrs. Davidson will be glad too. She says he’s wearing himself to a shadow,” said Mrs. Macphail.”She’s a different woman.”

“Who?”

“Sadie, I should never have thought it possible. It makes one humble.”

Dr. Macphail did not answer, and presently he fell asleep. He was tired out, and he slept more soundly than usual.

He was awakened in the morning by a hand placed on his arm, and, starting up, saw Horn by the side of his bed. The trader put his finger on his mouth to prevent any exclamation from Dr. Macphail and beckoned to him to come. As a rule he wore shabby ducks, but now he was barefoot and wore only the lava-lava of the natives. He looked suddenly savage, and Dr. Macphail, getting out of bed, saw that he was heavily tattooed. Horn made him a sign to come on to the verandah. Dr. Macphail got out of bed and followed the trader out.

“Don’t make a noise,” he whispered.”You’re wanted. Put on a coat and some shoes. Quick.”

Dr. Macphail’s first thought was that something had happened to Miss Thompson.

“What is it? Shall I bring my instruments?”

“Hurry, please, hurry.”

Dr. Macphail crept back into the bedroom, put on a waterproof over his pyjamas, and a pair of rubber-soled shoes. He rejoined the trader, and together they tiptoed down the stairs. The door leading out to the road was open and at it were standing half a dozen natives.

“What is it?” repeated the doctor.

“Come along with me,” said Horn.

He walked out and the doctor followed him. The natives came after them in a little bunch. They crossed the road and came on to the beach. The doctor saw a group of natives standing round some object at the water’s edge. They hurried along, a couple of dozen yards perhaps, and the natives opened out as the doctor came up. The trader pushed him forwards. Then he saw, lying half in the water and half out, a dreadful object, the body of Davidson. Dr. Macphail bent down – he was not a man to lose his head in an emergency – and turned the body over. The throat was cut from ear to ear, and in the right hand was still the razor with which the deed was done.

“He’s quite cold,” said the doctor.”He must have been dead some time.”

“One of the boys saw him lying there on his way to work just now and came and told me. Do you think he did it himself?”

“Yes. Someone ought to go for the police.”

Horn said something in the native tongue, and two youths started off.

“We must leave him here till they come,” said the doctor.