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the Station, upriver, upwind, the largest part of it now derelict, its walls crumbled, its log beams rotten and collapsed. At the gateway stood the unlit garrison house in which Proctor was billeted with his command. I had seldom seen these other men, and was aware only that – again like our own garrison – they were the remnants of a once much larger force.
    The Belgians had long since secured their territories by treaty, and their military presence now was devoted largely to internal and commercial affairs. The last of the French concessionary stations had been abandoned twelve years ago, most others long before that.
    Proctor paused at the open door and shouted inside. Two men appeared, both in a state of undress and angry at being woken. Proctor told them who I was and why I was there.
    One of the soldiers went inside and reappeared with a rusted key the length of his hand. He gave this to Proctor, who told the two men to get dressed and follow us to the gaol.
    We approached the building across an overgrown parade ground, a lantern hanging at its door and a fainter light showing from within.
    â€˜I was wondering…’ I said.
    â€˜Wondering what?’ Proctor said quickly, anxious for the first of my bribes.
    â€˜If I might be permitted to see Frere alone.’
    â€˜Impossible.’
    I took the folded notes from my pocket, unwrapped one and gave it to him.
    â€˜It’s Bone arranged all this, not me,’ Proctor said, hoping to double the sum.
    â€˜But Bone and I work for the same employer,’ I said, affecting surprise. ‘Neither of us would countenance a bribe for fear of the consequences.’ I turned to Bone. ‘Am I right, Sergeant?’
    Bone, caught between fear and greed, could only nod.
    â€˜However, should you personally wish to share your own good fortune with a fellow officer…’
    Proctor scowled at me and went to unlock the outer door. He gave me the key. ‘Poor Bone,’ he said to me softly as we parted.
    I went inside. The room was bare, with the exception of a solitary table and chair. The inner light came from a lamp on the table. Along one wall were the three doors of the cells beyond. The same key opened each of these doors.
    I paused for a moment, preparing myself for what I might be about to see, for what I might learn. I heard the voices of the men outside, Proctor explaining to Bone that he would have to wait for his share of the bribe.
    I went to the first door and stood with my ear to it. Silence. I opened it. The darkness inside was complete and I could see nothing. I returned to the table for the lamp. The cell was empty.
    As I tried the second door I heard a sound from within, and imagining this to be Frere, I composed myself before opening the door fully and holding up the light.
    But it was not Frere. Instead, a native knelt in the far corner, both hands clasped over his face, a man as black as the darkness which enveloped him. I spoke to him, but he made no response other than to turn away from me and press himself harder into the corner. Only as I closed the door behind me did it occur to me that the terrified prisoner might have been awaiting a beating, or worse, and that he imagined me to be the instrument of that punishment.
    I stood for some time at the final door. After several minutes I knocked on it and called in to identify myself. There was no reply. I pressed my ear to the wood and called again. Behind me, at the far side of the room, Proctor appeared in the open doorway and watched me.
    â€˜He’s in there,’ he said.
    I knocked and called again, turning the key as I did so. This third door opened as stiffly as the others, and I regretted that it did not swing open freely, affording me the opportunity to step back with the light so that it did not shine into the cell so abruptly or so harshly, and that Frere might see me and recognize me instead of being blinded and seeing only the shape of a man looking in