know, Baas. They say spook of some one who has been killed.”
“Rubbish,” I replied. “Tell them to go and catch the spook; we don’t want a lot of noisy fellows howling chanties here all night.”
Then it was that Anscombe broke in in his humorous, rather drawling voice.
“How can you be so hard-hearted, Quatermain? After the supernatural terror which, as I told you, I experienced in that very place, I wouldn’t condemn a kicking mule to go through it in this darkness. Let the poor devils stay; I daresay they are tired.”
So I gave in, and presently saw their fires beginning to burn through the end canvas of the wagon which was unlaced because the night was hot. Also later on I woke up, about midnight I think, and heard voices talking, one of which I reflected sleepily, sounded very like that of Footsack.
Waking very early, as is my habit, I peeped out of the wagon, and through the morning mist perceived Footsack in converse with a particularly villainous-looking person. I at once concluded this must be Karl, evidently a Bastard compounded of about fifteen parts of various native bloods to one of white, who, to add to his attractions, was deeply scarred with smallpox and possessed a really alarming squint. It seemed to me that Footsack handed to this man something that looked suspiciously like a bottle of squareface gin wrapped up in dried grass, and that the man handed back to Footsack some small object which he put in his mouth.
Now, I wondered to myself, what is there of value that one who does not eat sweets would stow away in his mouth. Gold coin perhaps, or a quid of tobacco, or a stone. Gold was too much to pay for a bottle of gin, tobacco was too little, but how about the stone? What stone? Who wanted stones? Then suddenly I remembered that these people were said to come from Kimberley, and whistled to myself. Still I did nothing, principally because the mist was still so dense that although I could see the men’s faces, I could not clearly see the articles which they passed to each other about two feet lower, where it still lay very thickly, and to bring any accusation against a native which he can prove to be false is apt to destroy authority. So I held my tongue and waited my chance. It did not come at once, for before I was dressed those Basutos had departed together with their leader Karl, for now that the sun was up they no longer feared the haunted bush.
It came later, thus: We were trekking along between the thorns upon a level and easy track which enabled the driver Footsack to sit upon the “voorkisse” or driving box of the wagon, leaving the lad who is called the voorlooper to lead the oxen. Anscombe was riding parallel to the wagon in the hope of killing some guineafowl for the pot (though a very poor shot with a rifle he was good with a shot-gun). I, who did not care for this small game, was seated smoking by the side of Footsack who, I noted, smelt of gin and generally showed signs of dissipation. Suddenly I said to him—
“Show me that diamond which the Bastard Karl gave you this morning in payment for the bottle of your master’s drink.”
It was a bow drawn at a venture, but the effect of the shot was remarkable. Had I not caught it, the long bamboo whip Footsack held would have fallen to the ground, while he collapsed in his seat like a man who has received a bullet in his stomach.
“Baas,” he gasped, “Baas, how did you know?”
“I knew,” I replied grandly, “in the same way that I know everything. Show me the diamond.”
“Baas,” he said, “it was not the Baas Anscombe’s gin, it was some I bought in Pilgrim’s Rest.”
“I have counted the bottles in the case and know very well whose gin it was,” I replied ambiguously, for the reason that I had done nothing of the sort. “Show me the diamond.”
Footsack fumbled about his person, his hair, his waistcoat pockets and even his moocha, and ultimately from somewhere produced a stone which he handed to me. I looked at it, and from the purity of colour and size, judged it to be a diamond worth £200, or possibly more. After careful examination I put it into my pocket, saying,
“This is the price of your master’s gin and therefore belongs to him as much as it does to anybody. Now if you want to keep out of trouble, tell me—whence came it into the hands of that man, Karl?”
“Baas,” replied Footsack, trembling all over, “how do I know? He and the rest have been working at the mines; I suppose he found it there.”
“Indeed! And did he find others of the same sort?”
“I think so, Baas. At least he said that he had been buying bottles of gin with such stones all the way down from Kimberley. Karl is a great drunkard, Baas, as I am sure, who have known him for years.”
“That is not all,” I remarked, keeping my eyes fixed on him. “What else did he say?”
“He said, Baas, that he was very much afraid of returning to the Baas Marnham whom the Kaffirs call White-beard, with only a few stones left.”
“Why was he afraid?”
“Because the Baas Whitebeard, he who dwells at Tampel, is, he says, a very angry man if he thinks himself cheated, and Karl is afraid lest he should kill him as another was killed, he whose spook haunts the wood through which those silly people feared to pass last night.”
“Who was killed and who killed him?” I asked.
“Baas, I don’t know,” replied Footsack, collapsing into sullen silence in a way that Kaffirs have when suddenly they realize that they have said too much. Nor did I press the matter further, having learned enough.
What had I learned? This: that Messrs. Marnham & Rodd were illicit diamond buyers, I.D.B.‘s as they are called, who had cunningly situated themselves at a great distance from the scene of operations practically beyond the reach of civilized law. Probably they were engaged also in other nefarious dealings with Kaffirs, such as supplying them with guns wherewith to make war upon the Whites. Sekukuni had been fighting us recently, so that there would be a very brisk market for rifles. This, too, would account for Marnham’s apparent knowledge of that Chief’s plans. Possibly, however, he had no knowledge and only made a pretence of it to keep us out of the country.
Later on I confided the whole story and my suspicions to Anscombe, who was much interested.
“What picturesque scoundrels!” he exclaimed, “We really ought to go back to the Temple. I have always longed to meet some real live I.D.B.‘s.”
“It is probable that you have done that already without knowing it. For the rest, if you wish to visit that den of iniquity, you must do so alone.”
“Wouldn’t whited sepulchre be a better term, especially as it seems to cover dead men’s bones?” he replied in his frivolous manner.
Then I asked him what he was going to do about Footsack and the bottle of gin, which he countered by asking me what I was going to do with that diamond.
“Give it to you as Footsack’s master,” I said, suiting the action to the word. “I don’t wish to be mixed up in doubtful transactions.”
Then followed a long argument as to who was the real owner of the stone, which ended in its being hidden away be produced if called for, and in Footsack, who ought have had a round dozen, receiving a scolding from his master, coupled with the threat that if he stole more gin he would be handed over to a magistrate—when we met one.
On
