First of the walking cases to come on shore was an elderly man with an arm in a sling

First of the walking cases to come on shore was an elderly man with an arm in a sling. He wore a dirty white topee and a native cloth was draped over his shoulders; his free hand tugged and scratched at the white stubble on his face. He said in an unmistakably Scottish accent, ‘Ah’m Loder, chief engineer.’
‘Welcome home, Mr Loder,’ Scobie said. ‘Will you step up to the bungalow and the doctor will be with you in a few minutes?’
‘Ah have no need of doctors.’
‘Sit down and rest. I’ll be with you soon.’
‘Ah want to make ma report to a proper official.’
‘Would you take him up to the house, Perrot?’
‘I’m the District Commissioner,’ Perrot said. ‘You can make your report to me.’
‘What are we waitin’ for then?’ the engineer said. ‘It’s nearly two months since the sinkin’. There’s an awful lot of responsibility on me, for the captain’s dead.’ As they moved up the hill to the bungalow, the persistent Scottish voice, as regular as the pulse of a dynamo, came back to them. ‘Ah’m responsible to the owners.’
The other three had come on shore, and across the river the tinkering in the launch went on: the sharp crack of a chisel, the clank of metal, and then again the spasmodic putter. Two of the new arrivals were the cannon fodder of all such occasions: elderly men with the appearance of plumbers who might have been brothers if they had not been called Forbes and Newall, uncomplaining men without authority, to whom things simply happened. One had a crushed foot and walked with a crutch; the other had his hand bound up with shabby strips of tropical shirt. They stood on the jetty with as natural a lack of interest as they would have stood at a Liverpool street corner waiting for the local to open. A stalwart grey-headed woman in mosquito-boots followed them out of the canoe.
‘Your name, madam?’ Druce asked, consulting a list. ‘Are you Mrs Rolt?’
‘I am not Mrs Rolt. I am Miss Malcott.’
‘Will you go up to the house? The doctor...’
‘The doctor has far more serious cases than me to attend to.’
Mrs Perrot said, ‘You’d like to lie down.’
‘It’s the last thing I want to do,’ Miss Malcott said. ‘I am not in the least tired.’ She shut her mouth between every sentence. ‘ I am not hungry. I am not nervous. I want to get on.’
‘Where to?’
‘To Lagos. To the Educational Department.’
‘I’m afraid there will be a good many delays.’
‘I’ve been delayed two months. I can’t stand delay. Work won’t wait.’ Suddenly she lifted her face towards the sky and howled like a dog.
The doctor took her gently by the arm and said, ‘Well do what we can to get you there right away. Come up to the house and do some telephoning.’
‘Certainly,’ Miss Malcott said, ‘there’s nothing that can’t be straightened on a telephone.’
The doctor said to Scobie, ‘Send those other two chaps up after us. They are all right. If you want to do some questioning, question them.’
Druce said, ‘I’ll take them along. You stay here, Scobie, in case the launch arrives. French isn’t my language.’