The crimson butterfly

James Battiscombe — district officer at Rembakut — emerged from the little courthouse that formed the ground floor of his bungalow, directed his monocle upon a group of natives that still lingered in the clearing, and, turning abruptly on his heel, negotiated the flight of steps that led to the verandah. The magistrate stretched himself and crossed the floor. He selected a portion of the wooden rail in the immediate vicinity of his wife’s chair and leaned his broad back against it.