thing else of value that Richard Mildare had owned, possessed a
strange fascination for the thief. It was extraordinarily like.... He hung
it by its slender gold chain about his thick neck, and gloated over and
grudged the beauty that it recalled.

It is horrible to speak of love in connection with the man Bough, but if
ever he had known it, it was now. His victim of old time had become his
tyrant. Replete with vile pleasures, he longed for her the more.

He even became sentimental at times, telling himself that all he had
sought was to repair the wrong, and make an honest woman of the Kid. She
should have been lapped in luxury, worn jewels equalling any Duchess's. He
was a man of money now. A little delay, to become yet more rich, and
arrange for the safe burying of Bough--then Van Busch, of Johannesburg,
capitalist and financier, would descend upon London in a shower of gold,
furnish a house in Hyde Park or Mayfair in topping style; own
four-in-hands, and motor-cars, and opera-boxes, and see all Society
fluttering to his feet to pick up scattered crumbs of the golden pudding.

It really seemed as though the dream would be realised. The gross,
squarely-built man with the bushy whiskers and the light strange eyes,
found success attend his every enterprise from that hour in which he had
spilt life upon the pavement of the Convent chapel. The tarantula-pounce
never missed a prey. Every knavish venture brought in money or money's
worth, every base plot was carried through triumphantly. Bough, _alias_
Van Busch, was not ordinarily a superstitious man, but his run of luck
made him almost afraid at times.

He scented the Relief before the besiegers, undertook to scout for Young
Eybel in the direction of Diamond Town, and ingeniously warned Colonel
Cullings of a Boer plan for cutting off the Flying Column on the scorching
western plains, which resulted in the capture of two waggon-loads of
burghers, their rations, ammunition, and Mausers--a most satisfying haul.
He placed before the leader of the British Force intercepted telegrams
which threw invaluable light on Dutch moves. No more single-minded,
ingenuous, and patriotic British South African ever drew breath than Mr.
Van Busch, of Johannesburg. And verily he reaped his reward, in an
officially countersigned railway pass, which would enable the patriot to
render some further services to British arms, and a great many more to Van
Busch, of Johannesburg.

He had his knavis