An awkward silence followed the president's departure. Helen would have detained him had she dared. Being alone with Keralio was very distasteful to her. Ill at ease in such close proximity to this man, whom she feared even more than she disliked, she sat still without saying a word. Presently between puffs of his cigar, he said:
"You really don't mind my smoking?"
"Oh, not at all."
He bowed and again relapsed into silence. She looked at him sideways and wondered why this foreigner had always inspired her with such dislike. His manner was courteous, and he was decidedly handsome. He had white teeth and fine eyes. They were bold eyes, but so were the eyes of other men. They had a habit of looking a woman through and through. She always felt embarrassed under his close scrutiny. It seemed to her as if he were undressing her mentally and took pleasure in surveying critically and admirably every part of her as a connoisseur examines a statue. She had an uncomfortable feeling when near him. She was afraid to look straight in his eyes, afraid that possibly he might be able to throw some spell over her, exert some hypnotic influence that she would not be able to resist. She considered him a seductive, dangerous man, the kind of man every pure woman, every wife who wishes to remain faithful to her marriage vows should avoid.
Suddenly while she was looking at him, he turned his head toward her. Before she could prevent it their eyes met.
He did not avert his gaze, but kept his eyes fixed on hers as if trying to awaken in her some of his own ardor. She tried to look away, but she could not. He seemed to hold her there by sheer force of will power. Frightened, she started to tremble in every limb. Yet, to her astonishment, she had no feeling of anger or resentment. It seemed quite natural that this man should gaze at her in this intimate, caressing way. She found herself taking pleasure in it. Her vanity was gratified. If he looked at her so persistently, it must be that he thought her pretty. Her face began to burn, her bosom heaved, a strange sensation that heretofore only her husband had been able to arouse, came over her. And still his eyes were on hers, caressing, voluptuous.
At the other end of this room the game of bridge was still in progress. Ray was winning, as usual, and amusing the men with her wit and vivaciousness. Mr. Steell had glanced over in their direction several times, and he saw enough to convince him that the attentions of the fencing master were unwelcome to their hostess. Had he caught Helen's eye, had she made the slightest sign that she was being annoyed, he would have instantly left the game and gone over to the window, if only to break up the tête-à-tête, but she did not once look up. Suddenly he remembered what had been suggested on the boat. It was an idea. Ray at that moment got up to get some tea, and, profiting by the opportunity, the lawyer leaned over and whispered:
"Say, Dick, you see that chap over there."
The young man looked up.
"Who—the signor?"
"Yes. What do you know about him?"
"Nothing good—although nothing very bad for that matter. He's a dark horse—keeps pretty much to himself. He's well known in the gay resorts, in the gambling houses and where they play the ponies."
"What's his reputation?"
"He's known as a liberal spender. He's always flashing big rolls of money——"
"Where does he get it—not from the fencing school?"
"No—that's only a blind."
The lawyer lowered his voice.
"Dick, my boy, that fellow will bear watching, and you're the man to do it."
"You want him shadowed?"
"Yes—find out where he goes, who he knows. My opinion is that he belongs to an international band of crooks—possibly counterfeiters, smugglers, or blackmailers. If you land him behind the bars you'll deserve well of your country."
Dick glanced once or twice in the direction of the object of their conversation, who, quite unconscious of their scrutiny, was still talking earnestly to Helen. The young man smiled, his chest expanded with satisfaction, and grimly he said:
"Leave him to me."
Quite unconscious of the attention he attracted, the Italian turned to Helen.
"You miss your husband very much?"
"Yes—terribly."
"It must be lonely for you."
"It is," she sighed.
"Yet you have your sister."
"Can a sister replace a husband?"
He gave a low, musical laugh.
"No—not a sister. A lover is preferable."
Quickly she retorted:
"My husband is my lover—-my lover is my husband."
He laughed, as he said:
"It sounds very pretty, but you must admit that it is rather banal."
"In what way?"
He flecked the ash from his cigar.
"You are too pretty, too charming a woman to be commonplace. Really it spoils you——"
Ignoring his compliments, she persisted.
"Do you mean I am commonplace because I call Kenneth my lover. What other lover should I or any other woman happily married have? I am faithful to him—he is loyal to me."
He gave a little mocking laugh, and was silent. How she hated him for that laugh! After a pause he said quietly and suggestively:
"I am sure you are faithful to him——"
For a moment she looked at him without speaking, eager to resent the implied imputation on her husband, yet unwilling to give the slanderer the satisfaction of seeing that his thrust had carried home. Concealing as best she could her growing irritation, she said calmly:
"Don't you supposehealso is faithful to me?"
Again that horrible, cynical smile. Fixing her with his piercing dark eyes, and, in a manner, the significance of which could not escape her, he said:
"Don't seek to know too much, Madam. To paraphrase a famous saying: 'It's a wise woman who knows her own husband.'"
Coloring with anger, she said:
"You mean——"
"Just what I say—that a woman, a wife cannot possibly be sure of her husband's fidelity. Think how different are the conditions. The wife, no matter if her temperament be warm or cold, is always at home, surrounded by prying eyes, rarely beset by temptation. The husband is often away, he goes on business journeys that free him temporarily from the chains which keep him in good behavior. If he is good looking, the women look at him, flirt with him. It is inevitable. The chances are that he succumbs to the first adventure—no matter how exemplary a husband he may be at home. If he is a man—of unusual character, he passes through the fire unscathed; if he is—just a man, he is attracted to the candle like the proverbial moth and sometimes singes his wings——"
She looked at him keenly for a moment as if trying to read on his sphinx-like face if he knew more about Kenneth than he admitted, and then with forced calmness she said:
"In your opinion, Signor Keralio—is my husband a man—of unusual character, or is he—just a man?"
The Italian shrugged his shoulders as he replied deprecatingly:
"My dear madam, just stop and think a moment. Isn't that a rather indiscreet question to put to a man—a man who is a friend of your husband——"
Hotly she turned on him.
"If you are his friend, why do you vilify and slander him behind his back?"
Keralio lifted up his long slender hands in pious protest.
"I vilify—my best friend—— Oh, my dear Mrs. Traynor—you have quite misunderstood me. I am a foreigner. Perhaps it is that I express myself ill."
She shook her head skeptically. Firmly she said:
"No, Signor Keralio—you express yourself quite plainly. Now, I'll be equally frank with you. I confess there is one thing I do not understand. I have never understood it. I do not understand why my husband, a man so honorable, so straightforward in his dealings, a man so free from intrigue or reckless adventures, so regular, methodical and temperate in his habits, a man so entirely apart from the reckless, immoral kind of life you hint at, should have made a friend ofyou——"
The Italian raised his eyebrows, but there was only an amused smile on his bloodless lips as he said with a mock bow:
"Thank you, madam. You are very flattering."
"No—I mean it. I don't want to seem unkind, but your temperament and my husband's are as wide apart as the poles."
He opened wide his eyes as he asked,
"In what particular,s'il vous plait?"
"Kenneth is frank, outspoken. He is not the type of man who takes rash risks. He is very conservative, scrupulously honest. He has fine ideals. While you——"
He laughed loudly.
"I? I am secretive, cunning, reckless, materialistic—is that it, madam?"
"I did not say so, but since you draw your portrait so well——"
He bit his lip. This girl with the flaxen hair and large lustrous eyes was more than a match for him in a battle of wits. He was making no headway at all. It was time to play his trump card. Softly he said:
"You said your husband was judicious, conservative——"
"So he is."
"That is a matter of opinion. Some might think otherwise. Of course, it is difficult for a woman when she is blinded by love——"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that your husband is far from being the conservative, afraid-to-take-risks type of man you picture him. You women think you know your husbands. You know only such part of them as they themselves care to reveal. Perhaps if you knew to what extent your husband was involved in Wall Street, it would surprise you! Oh, everything is perfectly regular, of course. As treasurer of the Americo-African Mining Company, he has at his disposal large sums of money. He is also trustee of several large and valuable estates. All of this money he is supposed to invest—conservatively. He certainly invests it. Whether conservatively or not, I leave others to judge."
"Do you mean that he is using other people's money in Wall Street?"
"I mean, my dear lady, that he has the get-rich-quick fever. He has a rage for stock gambling—he is already heavily involved. I have often warned him to go slower, to be more prudent, but he won't heed my counsel. You know, he is very headstrong—your husband. As long as everything goes well he is all right. If anything goes wrong, he might find himself in an unpleasant predicament. Hasn't he spoken to you of these matters? Why should he worry you? It is as I told you. Husbands don't tell their wives everything—God forbid!"
Helen raised her hand. There was the ring of scorn in her voice as she exclaimed:
"Don't blaspheme, Signor Keralio. It sounds incongruous to hear the name of the Almighty on the lips of a man of your opinions and tastes. You think you live, but you don't. You go through life, seeking only to gratify your appetites, attracted only by material sensual pleasures. You ignore the best part of life—the pursuit of an ideal, a noble ambition, unselfishness, self-sacrifice. Really, Signor, I pity you—with all my heart."
He made no answer, but sat in silence watching her. Presently he said:
"Mrs. Traynor—do you know that you are an extraordinary woman?"
"In what way?" she demanded, elevating her eyebrows in surprise.
"You are either the cleverest or the most unsophisticated woman I have ever met. You are attractive enough to send a saint to perdition, yet you are quite indifferent to the power of your beauty and the tumult it arouses in the men who chance to cross your path. You seem to be absolutely without feeling. Yet I don't believe you devoid of temperament. I think I know women. I have met a good many. You do not belong to the type of cold, passionless women."
Again his eyes sought hers and found them. Again she tried to avoid his gaze and could not. There was something in his manner, his gestures, the tone of his voice, that conveyed to her more his real meaning than his actual words, yet, to her surprise, she was not aroused to anger. Sure of herself, she found herself listening, wondering what he would say next, ready to flee at the first warning of peril, but playing a dangerous game like the moth in the flame. As she sat back on the sofa, her head in the sofa cushions, he leaned nearer to her, and in those low, musical tones which held her under a kind of spell, he murmured:
"You are the cleverest woman I ever met."
She smiled in spite of herself, and he, mistaking the motive, thought she intended it as an encouragement. He glanced round to see if anyone was watching them, but Mr. Parker was peacefully dozing in a deep armchair a dozen yards away, and at the far end of the room Ray, Steell and Reynolds were engrossed in an exciting game of cards. Leaning quickly over, he seized her hand. His voice vibrating with passion, he said:
"Not only the cleverest, but the most desirable of women. Don't you see that you've set me afire? I'm mad for you! Helen—I want you!"
For a moment she was too stunned by his insolent daring to withdraw her hand, which he continued to press in his. His eyes flashing, he went on:
"Haven't you seen all along that I love you—desperately, passionately. You've set me afire. I'm mad for you. Let me awaken that love that's in your breast, but which your husband has never awakened. Let me——"
He did not finish, for that moment a small, jeweled hand, suddenly torn from his grasp, struck him full on the mouth. Rising and trying with difficulty to control the emotion in her voice, she said quickly:
"You'd better go now—so as to prevent a scandal. If they knew, it might be awkward for you. Of course, you must never come here again."
That was all. She swept away from him with the dignity of an offended queen. The silence was deadly. All one heard was the silk rustle of her gown as she moved across the floor.
"It's my say," exclaimed Ray.
"I lead with trumps," said Steell.
"Signor Keralio has to go. Isn't it too bad!"
Mr. Steell and Dick rose and bowed politely.
There was nothing to be done. He was ignominiously dismissed like a lackey caught pilfering. But there was black wrath in his heart as he picked himself up, and turning to the others, he bowed and said:
"Good night."
Dawn broke over the desert region of the Kalihari. The gray mists of the South African night slowly dissolved on the approach of the rising sun, until the crimson glow of the coming day, spreading high in the eastern heavens, tipped with gold the snow-clad peaks of the Drachenberg, and then, swiftly inundating the valley like a flood, chased away the shadows and filled the undulating plains with warmth and light.
Stretched out near the flickering embers of an expiring camp fire, not half a day'strekfrom the Vaal River, lay what, at first view, appeared to be bundles of rags. A closer inspection showed them to be the prostrate forms of two men, asleep. Huddled close together, as if seeking all possible protection from the keen air of the openveldt, they appeared grateful even for the little warmth that still came from the dying fire. Every now and again a tiny flame, bursting from one of the smouldering logs, would light up the recumbent figures, revealing a brief glimpse of the sleepers.
Both bore traces of desperate need. The rags they wore were filthy, and gave only scant protection from the weather, their emaciated faces and hollowed cheeks told eloquently of many days of fatigue and hunger; their feet, long since without shoes, were clumsily protected from the rockyveldtby pieces of coarse sacking. For weeks they had tramped across the great, merciless desert, guided only by the stars, often losing the trail, begging their way from farm to farm, glad to do little jobs for friendly Boers in return for a meal, always in peril of attack by hostile Kaffirs, yet never halting, trudging ever onward in their anxiety to reach the coast. That was the haven they painfully sought—the open sea where at least there was a chance to die among their fellows and not perish miserably like dogs on the lonely. God-forsaken plains, with only the howling jackal and the screaming vulture to pick their bones.
They had tried and they had lost in the great gamble. Like thousands of other reckless adventurers attracted to the newly discovered diamond country, they had rushed out there from England, confident that they, too, could wrest from nature that wonderful gem, ever associated with tragedy and romance, mystery and crime, for the possession of which, since history began, men have been ready to give up their lives. Confident of their success, they had risked all on a turn of the wheel, and Fortune, mocking their puny efforts, had first ruined and then degraded them, afterward sending them back home to die.
It was now quite light. The fire, which had flickered up fitfully at intervals, was entirely extinguished. A chilly wind had started to blow from the plateau on the north. The strangers stirred uneasily in their sleep and awoke almost simultaneously. Sitting up with a start, they yawned and rubbed their eyes.
"What show o' gettin' some breakfast, Handsome?" asked the smaller of the two.
"Damned little!" was the profane and laconic rejoinder.
They were men still in the early thirties. One was short and stocky, his face slightly pock-marked. Pictures of a mermaid and anchor clumsily tattooed in indigo on his wrist showed him to be a sailor. In fact, Dick Hickey, boatswain onH. H. S. Tartar, having taken French leave of his ship, as she lay in Cape Town Harbor, ran a very good chance of being taken back to England in irons as a deserter. Just now he was serenely indifferent as to what happened to him. Half dead from exposure and lack of nourishment, he would have gladly welcomed ship's officers or anybody else so long as there was some relief from his present sufferings. Meantime he spent what little breath he had left in cursing his hard luck, and blaming his companion as being solely responsible for his misfortune.
The latter was some few years his senior, stalwart and clean-limbed. He appeared to be over six feet in height and a man of splendid physique. At first glance it was evident that he came of superior stock. His shapely hands were grimy, his eyes of a peculiarly light shade of blue were hollow and haggard looking. His face, emaciated and ghastly, was almost livid. A clean-cut chin was covered with several weeks' growth of beard. Yet, underneath all these repellant externals, there was in his every attitude that indefinable refinement of manner which the world always associates with a gentleman. His dark hair, disheveled and matted, was unusually thick and bushy, with the exception of one spot, in the center of his forehead, where there was a single white lock, a capillary phenomenon, which imparted at once to his face from its very unusualness an individuality quite its own.
No one knew who he was or where he came from. They called him "Handsome Jack," partly because of his good looks and also on account of his reckless liberality with his cronies when flush. What his real name was no one knew or cared. It was a time when no one asked questions. As soon as the news of the astonishing diamond discoveries reached Europe, men began to flock to South Africa. Adventurers from all over the world gathered in Cape Town, a motley crew of incompetents and blacklegs, an investigation into the antecedents of any of whom was apt to have unpleasant results. That he was a professional gambler, he made no attempt to conceal, and that he had knocked about the world a good deal was also to be inferred from his wide knowledge of men and places. A man of aggressive, domineering personality, he was not without a certain following, attracted by his skill with cards and dice, but he was more feared than liked, and his reputation as a dangerous gunman kept inquisitive strangers at a safe distance. He was well known in every den frequented by the criminal and vicious, and it was in one of these resorts that Hickey had met him. The sailor had lost all his savings at faro. Dead broke, he was ready for anything which promised to recoup his fortunes. Handsome Jack laid before him a scheme which would make them both rich beyond the dreams of avarice. The recent discoveries on the Vaal had startled the world. A native had picked up a stone weighing over 80 carats. They might be equally lucky. All that was needed was pluck and patience. The plan was to make their way as best they could to the Vaal fields, jump a claim, and dig for diamonds.
They set out secretly, avoiding the larger caravans, making the long trek across the great plateau, partly by ox wagon, partly on foot. The trail led through a wild, desolate country, and gradually they left civilization hundreds of miles behind them. As far as the eye could reach in every direction was a monotonous desert of stone and sand, broken every now and then by small kopjies, the sides and summits of which were sparsely covered with thick brush and coarse grass. Scattered here and there, some twenty miles apart, were the homesteads of the Boer farmers and the thatched kraals of the dark-skinned Kaffirs. Over this lonely waste sheep and cattle wandered undisturbed by springbok, ostriches, crocodiles, mountain lions and other wild animals.
In this barren spot Nature had concealed her treasures. A child's cry of joy over a pretty pebble led to their discovery. The little son of a Boer farmer was playing one day in the fields near the homestead when his eye was attracted by something glittering at his feet. Stooping, he picked up a stone unlike any other he had ever seen. Interested, he began to look for others and found a number of them, which with great glee he carried home to show his mother. The worthy woman paid little heed to what, in her ignorance, she regarded merely as pretty stones, but she happened to speak about them to a neighboring farmer, who asked to look at them. Already tired of his new plaything, the child had thrown the stones away, but one was found in the field close by, and the neighbor, a shrewd Dutchman, who had heard of certain stones picked up in that locality having a certain value, offered to buy it. The good woman laughed at the idea of selling a stone, and made him a present of it. The farmer took it to the nearest town, where experts declared it to be a twenty-one carat diamond, worth $2,500. Round the world the telegraph flashed this remarkable story, and the rush to South Africa began. That was in 1870. In May of that year there were about a hundred men at the diggings in the Vaal fields. Before the next month had closed there were seven hundred. By April of the following year five thousand men were digging frantically in the mud along the Vaal and Orange rivers.
It was a rough, lawless gathering of men of every nationality under the sun, the criminal and the vicious, the idle and the worthless. The region being inside the border lines of the waste territory that lay between the Boers and the Hottentots, it was therefore No Man's Land, and beyond the pale of established law and order. The miners, compelled, in self-protection, to institute laws of their own, appointed committees to issue licenses, keep the peace, and punish offenders. Natives were whipped; white men were banished, and from this rough-and-ready justice there was no appeal.
When Handsome and Hickey arrived at the diggings, the fever was still at its height, and having secured a claim, they went to work with a will. Claims were thirty feet square, and to prevent speculation in them the owner, in order to hold title, was compelled to toil incessantly. It was hard work, harder work than Handsome had ever been put to in all his life. At the end of a few days, the skin was scraped off his hands from shoveling, and he had such a kink in his back that he couldn't straighten up. But he had come to stay, and a little; discomfort was not going to scare him. Their implements, purchased at the diggings, consisted of pick, shovel and rocker, this last being a box arranged on rockers like a baby's cradle. It was a clumsy yet useful contrivance, in which were fastened, one above the other, wire screens of varying fineness, the coarsest being on top. As Handsome dug the yellow earth out of the hole he shoveled it into the top screen. When it was full Hickey poured in water while he rocked. The water washed the dirt through the holes, leaving the stones. These were taken out, emptied onto a sorting table, where Handsome scraped off the worthless peddles [Transcriber's note: pebbles?], saving anything that seemed of value. As a rule, and much to Hickey's disgust, the table was scraped clean. Sometimes the sailor would make a joyful exclamation on seeing some glittering pieces of rock crystal, thinking he had found a prize, only to be disappointed a moment later when a more experienced miner assured him it was worthless. Both soon learned, however, to recognize at sight the precious gems, and, although few came their way, they saw many brought to the surface by luckier neighbors. One day sounds of great rejoicing was heard in their tent. They had worked hard for over a month without finding anything, and were feeling greatly discouraged and dejected, when all at once something happened. Handsome had been rocking the cradle in a listless sort of way, and Hickey was sorting the residue, when suddenly the sailor gave a wild whoop of delight. Darting forward, he held up a glittering stone. Examination proved it to be a genuine diamond, weighing about ten carats, and valued at about $1,000. It was not much of a find, but it was enough to turn their heads. Dropping all work, they both proceeded to have "a good time," going on a drunken orgie, which lasted just as long as the money held out. When they came to their senses they were worse off than before. Weakened by prolonged debauch, they were in no mood for digging, and to complicate matters some one had jumped their claim during their absence. Even their tools had disappeared. Without resource or credit, they could not procure others. Yet work they must to keep the wolf from the door, so, cursing others when they had only themselves to blame, Handsome secured employment, digging for another miner, while the sailor performed such occasional odd jobs as he could pick up.
Broken in spirit, enraged at the long spell of ill luck, Handsome began to drink heavily. Every cent he made went to the grog shop, and Hickey, never over fond of work at any time, was only too glad of an excuse to drink with him. The two cronies filled themselves with rum until their reason tottered, and they became beasts, refusing to work, growing ugly, even menacing, preferring to beg the food their empty stomachs craved for rather than toil, as before. At last they made themselves such a nuisance that the attention of the vigilance committee was called to their particular case. In short order they were hauled up and ordered to leave camp. There was no alternative but to obey, and thus began the dreary trek homeward of the two broken and miserable outcasts.
"We cawn't go on much longer like this," moaned Hickey.
He made a painful effort to get up, but his joints, stiff from the all-night exposure, refused to obey his will, and he fell back with a groan. Handsome, more successful, had already risen, and was scanning the horizon on every side. Except for the kopjies, which in places obstructed the view, there was a clear range for ten miles or more. If anything alive moved within the field of vision, they could not help seeing it, but nothing greeted their eyes. There was neither man or beast to be seen; seemingly they were still many weary miles from the nearest homestead.
"We must go on," replied Handsome determinedly. Impatiently he added: "What do you want to do—stay here and let the jackals gnaw your bones?"
Hickey, too weak to argue, shook his head despondently.
"You go on, Handsome. Leave me here. I cawn't go any further, s' help me Gawd! My feet hurt somethin' awful. I'm all in. If ye get 'ome safe, go and see the old folks, will ye, and tell 'em I put up a good fight?"
"Hell!" retorted the other savagely. "Don't squat there crying like a baby. Be a man. Get up and let's hike it to the nearest homestead." Shading his eyes as he gazed earnestly over the plain, he added: "I see smoke in the distance. It can't be far off. Come——"
Suddenly, to his astonishment, Hickey leaped to his feet, with an agility unheard of in one so nearly dying. Pointing to the nearest kopjie, he shouted hoarsely:
"Look! There's a man—near that kopjie—he's coming this way!"
It was no dream. A man, unarmed and unaccompanied, was advancing toward them. From his dress and manner, it was easy to see that he was not a Boer farmer. He looked more like an Englishman or an American.
Scarcely able to believe the evidence of his own eyes, Handsome watched his progress.
As he came nearer, he waved his hand to show that he saw them, and he walked faster, as if afraid that they might disappear before he could reach them. Hickey, unable to restrain himself, had run forward, and in a few minutes they met.
"Who are you?" demanded the stranger, whose face, shaded as it was by a big canvas helmet, it was difficult to see.
"Miners from the Vaal," answered Hickey. "Who are you?"
"I am a Frenchman—François Chalat. I am ze valet of an American gentleman. Our party not know ze road. We has wandered from what you call ze trail. Will you show ze way to us?"
"Where's your party?" demanded Hickey.
François pointed to a kopjie about three miles distant.
"There! Behind zat hill."
Just at that moment, Handsome came lumbering up almost on the run, anxious to know what it was all about.
"Have you any whiskey?" was his first breathless ejaculation. "We're starving."
The valet made no answer. He was too startled to speak. Drawing back a few steps, he stared blankly at the big fellow. For several minutes he stood as if struck dumb. Presently, when he found his speech, he asked in awed tones:
"Who are you? What's your name?"
"What business is it of yours?" snapped Handsome, with some show of irritation. "Have you any food or whiskey? We're starving."
The valet made no answer, but just stared in astonished silence at the big six-footer who towered above him. For a moment he had thought it a trick that his master had played upon him. By walking quickly he had got there before him, and dressed up in these rags just to have fun with him. But that matted hair and that chin, with its weeks of growth of beard. He could not be deceived in that. No, this man was not his employer. Could it be possible, was it—his twin brother long since given up for dead? The same physique, the same features, the same eyes, the same thick, bushy hair with the single lock of white hair in the center of the forehead. There was no room for doubt. It was his employer's brother. It was just as well to make friends. Drawing a flask from his pocket and holding it out, he said:
"Here, take a drink. You need it."
Eagerly, Handsome snatched it out of his hand.
"You bet we do."
He took a deep gulp and handed it to Hickey, whose bleary eyes had watered at the very sight of the flask. François turned to Handsome.
"Where is ze trail?" he asked.
"Over yonder," growled the big fellow in surly tones and making a sweeping gesture with his arm which embraced every quarter of the compass.
"Rather indefinite, I should say," smiled the valet. "Where you go? Are you on ze way to ze mines?"
Handsome Jack took another pull at the flask. His good humor returning in proportion as he felt warmed up by the spirits, he said more amiably:
"I guess not. My pal and I have enough of the cursed place—ain't we, Hickey?"
The sailor man glanced dolefully at his limping foot, and nodded his head in acquiescence.
"You show us the trail home. My boss is very rich man," interrupted François quickly. "He pay anything."
Handsome pricked up his ears.
"Oh, he's rich, is he?"
The valet laughed as he replied:
"All Americans rich—très riches. Did you ever hear of poor Americans?"
Hickey took another drink and snickered. Handsome looked thoughtful. After a pause, he said:
"What your boss' name?"
"Monsieur Traynor of the Americo-African Mining Co."
Handsome started.
"What? Kenneth Traynor, of the Americo-African Mining Company—the people who made those sensational finds."
"Yes—he's vice-president of the company."
Handsome gave a low, expressive whistle.
"He's rich—all right! Do you know what those stones are worth?"
"Over a million dollairs."
"And he came out here to——"
The valet nodded.
"Oui—zat's it—to get ze big diamonds. We're on our way back from ze mines now. He has ze stones in his possession."
"And taking them to New York?" gasped Handsome; "a million dollars' worth?"
"Yes—taking zem to New York. That's what he came out for. We want to reach ze coast as soon as possible. Again I ask. Will you guide us back to ze trail?"
For a few moments Handsome made no answer. The thoughtful expression on his pale, care-worn face showed that he was thinking hard. What was passing in his mind no one knew, but whatever it was it caused the lines about his strong mouth to tighten and the steely blue eyes to flash. A million dollars? God! What will a man not do for a million dollars? Turning to the valet, he said hastily:
"Yes, I'm on. Take me to your party. I'll show you the trail. Quick, lead the way."
Traveling to and from the diamond fields in the days immediately following the first rush was not an unmixed joy. Express wagons drawn by eight horses or mules and running from Cape Town to Klipdrift once a week charged passengers sixty dollars a head, the journey across the plains taking about eight days. Travelers whose business was so urgent that they could not wait for the regular stage had to hire a team of their own at a much higher expense.
Kenneth did not mind the cost, if only he was able to make good time. The trip to the mines had been accomplished without mishap. Everything had gone as well as could be desired. He had been successful in securing valuable land options for the company, and at last the two precious stones were in his possession. That it was a big responsibility, he fully realized. The very knowledge that he had on his person gems worth over a million dollars, and this in a wild, uncivilized country where at any moment he might be followed, ambushed and killed, and no one the wiser, was not calculated to calm his nerves. But Kenneth Traynor had never known the meaning of the word fear. He was ready for any emergency and he went about unarmed, cool and unruffled. From his demeanor at least no one could guess that he ever gave a thought to the valuable consignment of which he was the guardian. Of course, it had been impossible to keep the thing secret. Everybody at the mines knew he had come out for the purpose of taking the big stones to America. Even his drivers knew, and so did François. The news was public property and was eagerly discussed over every camp fire as one of the sensations of the day. All this publicity did not tend to lessen the risk, and that was why he was so anxious to reach Cape Town without the least possible delay. He had timed his departure from the mines so as to just catch the steamer for England, and now, after all his trouble and careful calculation, the fool mule drivers had gone and lost the trail. It was most exasperating.
The wagon had come to a halt the night before under shelter of a fair-sized kopjie. The mules, tormented by the deadlytetsefly, stood whisking their tails and biting savagely at their hereditary enemy; the drivers, indifferent and stolid, sat on the ground smoking their pipes, while Kenneth, fuming at this unlooked for mishap which threatened an even more serious delay, strode up and down theveldt, swearing at the mules, the stolid drivers and everything else in sight.
François, who had left camp for assistance long before sunrise, had not yet returned. Unless help came soon they'd be held there another night. There was no use trying to proceed without a guide, for they might find themselves going round and round in a circle. There was nothing to do but wait until help came.
Sitting down on the stump of a tree near the fire, he tried to possess his soul in patience while one of the teamsters, who also officiated as cook, busied himself getting breakfast. It was now broad daylight; the weather clear and cold. As he sat there idly and smoked reflectively, his thoughts wandered homeward, four thousand miles across the seas. He wondered what Helen was doing, if little Dorothy was well, if everything was all right. Only now he realized what the word home meant to him, and a chill ran through him as he thought of all the things that could happen. Yet how foolish it was to worry. What could happen? Helen had her sister constantly with her, and she was well looked after by Mr. Parker and Wilbur Steell. It was absurd to have any anxiety on that score. Besides, if anything had gone wrong, they would certainly have called him. He had had several letters from Helen, all of them saying she and baby were well and waiting eagerly for his return. Yes, he would soon be home now. In another two days he would reach Cape Town. From there to Southampton was only a fortnight's sail, and in another week he would be in New York.
These and kindred thoughts of home ran through his mind as he sat before the camp fire and tranquilly smoked his pipe. The drivers were busying themselves cleaning the harness, the mules were docilely browsing, the air was filled by a fragrant odor of coffee. His memories went back to his boyhood days. He recalled what the old nurse had told him about a twin brother. How strange it would be if he ever turned up. Such things were possible, of course, but hardly probable. No, the chances were that he was dead. If he had lived, how different everything might have been. He would have inherited half their father's money. What had been enough to start one so well in life would only have been a meagre provision for two. Yet it might have been an advantage, forced him to still greater effort. He might have got even farther than he had—who knows?
At that moment his reflections were interrupted by the sound of voices in the distance. He heard some one running. One of the teamsters came up hurriedly and exclaimed breathlessly:
"He's found some one, sir; he's got two men with him. They're coming now."
Kenneth jumped up and, shading his eyes, looked out across the yellow waste of stones and gravel. About a mile away he saw François, accompanied by two strangers, who looked like miners. They were tattered and miserable looking, as if down on their luck. One of them was limping as if lame; the other, much taller, although ragged and forlorn, had a soldierly bearing and the appearance of a gentleman. The valet, who had been walking faster than his companions, came up at that instant.
"Who have you got there?" demanded Kenneth.
"Two miners, monsieur. I found zem several miles away on zeveldt. They have tramped for days without food; they are starving."
"Do they know the trail?"
"Yes, monsieur. Ze big man knows ze trail. He will show ze way—for a consideration."
"Good! First give them some breakfast and then we'll go."
He waved his hand in the direction of the cook's mess, where the coffee was already steaming on the fire, and, turning away, began to gather his things together, preparatory to departure. There was no reason why he should have anything to say to the strangers. In fact, it would be better if they did not see him, or know who he was. It was possible that they had been at the mines when he arrived, in which case they would instantly recognize him as the American who had come to take the big diamonds to New York. Besides, they were not particularly attractive objects. What did their adventures and mishaps matter to him? He had troubles of his own. François could look after their wants. The main thing was to find the trail and get started back toward Cape Town as soon as possible. When the strangers had been fed they would set out, and, the trail once found, he would give them a lift on their way and a few sovereigns into the bargain. That would more than compensate them for all their trouble.
Meanwhile he thought he would take a quiet walk. His legs were stiff from sitting so long. A little exercise would do him the world of good. So, without a word to anybody, he slipped out of camp unobserved and started off at a brisk gait.
The region where they had halted seemed to be the center of Nowhere, a land where had reigned for all time the abomination of desolation spoken of by all the prophets. Knocking about the world, as he had done for a lifetime, Kenneth had seen some queer spots in the world, but never had he come across so savagely repellent a spot as this. It was Nature in her harshest mood—not a vestige in any direction of human or animal life. There was not a farm, not a Boer or Kaffir, not even a tree to be seen. Nothing in every direction but a monotonous waste of yellow sand, rough stones and stunted grass. An unnatural stillness filled the air, making the silence oppressive, and uncanny. The soil was so poor that cultivation was impossible. The ground, strewn with broken rocks and sharp stones which cut the shoes and hurt the feet, suggested that in prehistoric times the plateau had been swept by a volcanic tempest. The slopes of the few scattered kopjies were sparsely covered with verdure and as he strode along, he passed here and there clumps of trees, veritable oases in the desert, or deep water holes under overhanging rocks where under cover of night, strange beasts came to drink. Apart from these few oases, it was a dreary monotonous waste of rock and sand, where neither beast or man could find food or shelter.
He had walked about three miles and was just passing a kopjie where a group of stunted trees offered a little shelter from the glare of the sun on the yellow gravel when he began to feel tired. Sitting down on a decayed tree stump, he took out his pipe, removed his helmet, and laying lazily back, closed his eyes, a favorite trick of his when he wished to concentrate his thoughts.
The trip, tiresome as it was, had certainly been worth while. His ambitious dreams had been more than realized. He could scarcely wait for his arrival to tell Helen the good news. He had secured signatures to a plan of consolidation of practically all the mining companies operating in South Africa. Until now, these companies had been engaged in a fierce and disastrous competition, which cut into each other's profits and cheapened the market price of stones. He had suggested a scheme of amalgamation which would put all the mines under one management, and fix arbitrary prices for diamonds which henceforth could not be sold under a certain figure agreed upon by the Syndicate. This plan, which had the general approval of the mining companies, practically gave Kenneth Traynor control of the diamond industry of the world, an industry which in South Africa alone had already produced 100,000,000 carats estimated to be worth $750,000,000. Overnight, Kenneth found himself many times a millionaire.
It had come at last—what he waited for all these years. This new consolidation deal meant great wealth to its promoters. What would he do with it? Most men need only enough for their actual needs, but he had higher aims. An ardent socialist he would use his money for the cause. Not, however, in the way others did, but to buy influence, power. He would fight Capitalism, in his own way. He would go into politics, run for public office, try and remedy some of the economic abuses from which people of the United States were now suffering. He would wage warfare on the high cost of living, on Greed and Graft. He would attack the Plutocracy in its stronghold, lay bare the inner workings of the System, the concentration of the wealth of the entire country in the hands of a few, by which the rich each year were becoming richer and the poor each year poorer. It would not be the first time a multi-millionaire had espoused the cause of the proletariat, but he would carry on the fight more vigorously than anyone had done. He would force an issue, make Greed disgorge its ill-gotten gains and accord to Labor its rightful place in the sun, its proper share of the world's production of wealth. His sympathies in the bitter struggle between the capitalists and the wage earners were wholly with the people who under the present wage system, had little chance to raise themselves from the mire. But he was intelligent enough to realize that the faults were not all on the side of Capital. Labor, too, needed the curb at times. Too ready to listen to the reckless harangues of irresponsible professional demagogues, wage earners were often as tyrannical as capitalists, insisting on impossible demands, rejecting sober compromise which, in the end, must be the basis of all amicable relations between employer and employed.
For some time he sat there, giving free rein to his imagination, when suddenly he fancied he heard the sound of heavy footsteps crunching on the hard sand. Raising his head he looked quickly round but seeing no one, concluded he was mistaken. Looking at his watch, he was amazed to find that he had been away from camp a whole hour. There was no time to be lost. The men had certainly finished eating by now; they could start at once. Jumping up he turned round to retrace his steps the same way he had come, when, suddenly, a shadow fell between him and the white road. Looking up, he was startled to see himself reflected as in a mirror against the green background of the kopjie.
At first he thought he must be ill. The walk, the sun, the exposure had no doubt overstimulated him and made him excited and feverish. He was seeing things. His success with the diamond deal had affected his brain. Of course, it was only an hallucination. The next time he looked this fantastic creation of his disordered mind would be gone. Again he glanced up in the direction of the kopjie. The apparition was still there, a horrible, monstrous, distortion of himself, standing still, speechless, staring at him. That it was only a mirage there could be no doubt. He had heard of such mirages at sea and also in the Sahara where wandering Arabs have beheld long caravans journeying in the skies. But he had never heard of a mirage lasting as long as this one. Would it never disappear? It must be a nightmare which still obsessed him. That was it. He had fallen asleep on the tree and was not yet awake. With an effort he made a step forward and tried to articulate, but the words stuck in his throat. Suddenly the spell was broken by the apparition itself, which moved and spoke. He recognized who it was now—one of the strangers brought in by François—but that astonishing likeness of himself—
Judging by the astonished expression on his face, Handsome was just as much surprised as Kenneth at the encounter. After satisfying his hunger he, too, had strayed away from the camp, unable to control his impatience while the teamsters were harnessing the mule team. He had left Hickey to gorge still more while he strutted on by himself, cogitating on what the valet had told him in regard to the diamonds. This sudden meeting with the very man who had been uppermost in his thoughts was surprising enough, and instantly he, also, was struck with the extraordinary resemblance between them.
"Who the devil are you?" he demanded in surly tones.
Thus rudely aroused to the reality, and seeing that it was really a creature of flesh and blood he had to deal with and not a creature of another world, Kenneth answered haughtily:
"I'm not accustomed to being addressed in that manner."
Handsome laughed mockingly. With affected politeness he retorted:
"Your lordship's servant! What is his lordship's pleasure?"
Kenneth did not hear the taunting reply or heed the sneer. He was still staring at this counterpart of himself, this very image yet who was not himself, but a human derelict, a wretched, sodden outcast. All at once, an overwhelming, horrible suggestion rushed across his brain. Could it be, was it—his long lost twin brother? Almost gasping, he demanded:
"Who are you?"
Handsome chuckled.
"I don't know."
"What is your name?"
The man chuckled.
"They call me Handsome. That's because I'm a good looker. I have had a good many other names, but I've forgotten what they are. The police know. It's all in the records."
"My God—a police record!"
"What of it?" Bitterly he added: "We can't all be fine gentlemen and millionaires."
"Where are you from?"
"Nowhere."
"Who were your parents?"
"Never had any that I know of."
Kenneth started forward and, seizing the man's left hand, closely examined it. Yes, there was the scar on the index finger of the left hand. No further doubt was possible. This was his brother. Handsome, meantime, had been watching the other's agitation with mingled interest and amusement.
Hoarsely, Kenneth cried:
"Where have you been all these years?"
Handsome stared as if he thought his interlocutor had gone crazy. Almost angrily he retorted:
"What d——d business is it of yours?"
Paying no heed to the miner's offensive attitude, and anxious only to learn something of his history, Kenneth approached him and held out his hand.
"I wish to be your friend."
Handsome drew back suspiciously. Always associated with evil himself, he looked for only evil from others. Bitterly he retorted:
"My friend—what do your kind care for poor devils like me?"
For answer, Kenneth removed his helmet, suddenly revealing the solitary lock of white hair. Handsome fell back in surprise. For the first time he realized the extraordinary resemblance. He had noticed a marked likeness before, but now the diamond promoter's helmet was off, it was positively startling. Hoarsely he exclaimed:
"The devil! Who are you? You look just like——"
Kenneth looked at him keenly for a moment. Then he said calmly:
"Yes—I look just like you. No wonder. You are—my brother!"