may need. Flashlight, knife, Polaroid camera, spare film-'
'Art paper and soft pencils to lift an impression of any inscriptions,'
she added to the list.
'Hell!' He snapped his fingers with chagrin. 'I didn't think to bring
any.'
'See what I mean? Amateur. I did.'
They talked on until late, and at last Nicholas glanced at his
wrist-watch and stood up.
'Long after midnight. I am scheduled to turn into a pumpkin at any
moment. Goodnight.'
'There are still two days of the festival before the tabot is taken down
to the river. Nothing we can do until then.
What are your plans
'Tomorrow I am going back after that damned little Bambi. It has made a
fool of me twice already.'
'I am coming with you,' she said firmly, and that simple declaration
gave him a disproportionate amount of pleasure.
'Just as long as you leave Tamre at home,' he warned her as he stooped
out through the door.
The tiny antelope stepped out from the deep shadow of the thorn thicket,
and the early morning sunlight gleamed on the silky pelt, It kept
walking steadily across the narrow clearing.
Nicholas's breathing quickened with excitement as he followed it with
the telescopic sight. It was ridiculous that he should feel so wrought
up with the hunting of such a humble little animal, but his previous
failures had sharpened his anticipation. Added to that was the peculiar
passion that drives the true collector. Since he had lost Rosalind and
the girls, he had thrown all his energy into the building up of the
collection at Quenton Park. Now, suddenly, procuring this specimen for
it had become a matter of supreme importance to him.
His forefinger rested lightly on the side of the trigger guard. He would
not fire until the dik-dik came to a standstill. Even that walking pace
would make the shot uncertain. He had to place his bullet precisely, to
kill swiftly but at the same time to inflict the least possible damage
to the skin.
To this end he had loaded the Rigby with full metal jacket bullets -
ones that would not expand on impact and open a wide wound channel, nor
rip out a gaping hole in the coat as they exited. These solid bullets
would punch a tiny hole the size of a pencil that the taxidermist at the
museum would be able to repair invisibly.
He felt his nerves screwing up as he realized that the dik-dik was not
going to stop in the open. It made steadily for the thick scrub on the
far side of the clearing. This might be his last chance. He fought the
temptation to take the shot at the moving target, and it required an
effort of will to lift his finger off the trigger again.
The antelope reached the wall of thorn scrub -and, the moment before it
disappeared, stopped abruptly and thrust its tiny head into the depths
of one of the low bushes.
Standing broadside to Nicholas, it began to nibble at the pate green
