Читать книгу The Dark River онлайн

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"He's certain to," McLeod replied. "He'll be walking your legs off. You know how he loves mountains."

"Yes, but I'm speaking of the inhabited part. He's always disapproved of French colonial administration. He believes that England is the only nation on earth that knows anything about government."

Hardie smiled. "He's not to be shaken there. And he has a very decided color prejudice."

Tyson nodded. "I remember that. He'll be shocked to see the natives here treated with perfect equality.... Hello! There's your coach."

An ancient three-ton bus drew up outside, its motor jarring and clattering to a stop. The driver, a broad-faced half-caste lacking most of his front teeth, gave a shattering blast on his horn, and waved to Tyson through the open doorway. The consul rose, and McLeod and Hardie followed him to the street.

"We've fifty miles to go in that?" Hardie asked, incredulously. "We'll never make it, surely!"

"Oh, yes, you will," said Tyson. "This is the mail coach. It always gets there sooner or later. George, you know cars. What's your guess about this one?"