The League of the Leopard by Harold Bindloss

It was a hot and steamy night when trader Redmond sat with his comrade Gilby in an upper room of their factory perched above a beach swept by smoking surf, which was even heavier than usual that night. The factory was not a desirable residence, even for West Africa, where there are not many places where a fastidious white man would care to live; but neither Redmond nor his comrade was particular, and so long as they could make a good percentage on the factory's turnover, they disregarded the dirt, smells, and insect legions. Redmond was pale and round-shouldered; Gilby lank and tall; and their speech was usually vivid and their tempers quick.

Redmond strolled toward the window and swore at the surf. He had some justification, for the whole heave of the southern ocean hurled itself thundering upon the hammered beach. The factory windows rattled as each breaker dissolved into long sheets of foam which surged far up the trembling sand, while the steamy haze of spray veiled almost to its summit the lofty bluff behind the edifice.