And the strange happenings continued. A mirror was smashed by a great stone. Calmly he had the pieces cleared away. It was not his nature to believe in the supernatural character of possibilities; and he did not believe in it. He was secretly enraged at being unable to discover the culprits and an explanation of the events. But he refused to believe. He did not believe when he found his bed soiled and Kario, squatting at his feet, swore that he did not know how it had happened. He did not believe when the tumbler which he lifted broke into shivers. He did not believe when he heard a constant, irritating hammering overhead. But his bed was soiled, his glass did break, the hammering was a fact. He investigated all these facts, as punctiliously as though he were investigating a criminal case, and nothing came to light. He remained unperturbed in his relations with his European and native officials and with the regent. No one remarked anything in his behaviour; and in the evenings he worked on, defiantly, at his writing-table, while the hammering continued and the night fell softly in the garden, as by enchantment. On the steps outside, the messengers crept together, listening and whispering, glancing round timorously at their master who sat writing, with a frown of concentration on his brows: "Doesn't he hear it?" "Yes, yes, he's not deaf." "He must hear it." "He thinks he can find it out through detectives." "There are soldiers coming from Ngadjiwa." "From Ngadjiwa!" "Yes, he does not trust the detectives. He has written to the major sahib." "To send soldiers?" "Yes, there are soldiers coming." "Look at him frowning." "And he just goes on working!" "I'm frightened. I should never dare to stay, if I hadn't got to." "I'm not afraid to stay, as long as he's there." "Yes ... he's brave." "He's plucky." "He's a brave man." "But he doesn't understand it." "No, he doesn't know what it is." "He thinks it's rats." "Yes, he has had a search made for rats upstairs, under the roof." "These Hollanders don't know things." "No, they don't understand." "He smokes a lot." "Yes, quite twelve cigars a day." "He doesn't drink much." "No ... only his whisky-and-soda of an evening." "He'll ask for it presently." "No one has stayed with him." "No. The others understood. They've all left." "He goes to bed very late." "Yes, he's working hard." "He never sleeps at night, only in the afternoon." "Look at him frowning." "He never stops working." "Messenger!" "He's calling." "Yes, excellency?" "Bring whisky-and-soda." One of the messengers rose, to fetch the drink. He had everything ready to hand, in the visitors' wing, to avoid having to go through the house. The others pressed closer together and went on whispering. The moon pierced the clouds and lit up the garden and the pond as with a humid vapour of silent enchantment. The messenger had mixed the drink; he returned, squatted and offered it to the resident.