crime. What jury in the world but would
convict you on your own evidence? Besides, you knew--"

He paused to deliver a blow on the barest chance. It was an insidious
challenge which, if it failed, might do more harm to others, might do
great harm, but he plunged. "You knew about the needle."

Krool was cowed and silent. On a venture Stafford had struck straight
home.

"You knew that Mr. Fellowes had stolen the needle from Mr. Mappin at
Glencader," he added.

"How you know that?" asked Krool, in a husky, ragged voice.

"I saw him steal it--and you?"

"No. He tell me."

"What did he mean to do with it?"

A look came into Krool's eyes, malevolent and barbaric.

"Not to kill himself," he reflected. "There is always some one a man or
a woman want kill."

There was a hideous commonplaceness in the tone which struck a chill to
Stafford's heart.

"No doubt there is always some one you want to kill. Now listen, Krool.
You think you've got a hold over me--over Mrs. Byng. You threaten.
Well, I have passed through the fire of the coroner's inquest. I have
nothing to fear. You have. I saw you in the street as you watched. You
came behind me--"

He remembered now the footsteps that paused when he did, the figure
behind his in the dark, as he watched for Jasmine to come out from
Fellowes' rooms, and he determined to plunge once more.

"I recognized you, and I saw you in the Strand just before that. I did
not speak at the inquest, because I wanted no scandal. If I had spoken,
you would have been arrested. Whatever happened your chances were worse
than those of any one. You can't frighten me, or my friends in there,
or the Baas, or Mrs. Byng. Look after your own skin. You are the vile
scum of the earth,"--he determined to take a strong line now, since he
had made a powerful impression on the creature before him--"and you
will do what the Baas likes, not what you like. He saved your life. Bad
as you are, the Baas is your Baas for ever and ever, and what he wants
to do with you he will do. When his eyes look into yours, you will
think the lightning speaks. You are his slave. If he hates you, you
will die; if he curses you, you will wither."

He played upon the superstitious element, the native strain again. It
was deeper in Krool than anything else.

"Do you think you can defy them?" Stafford went on, jerking a finger
towards the other room. "They are from the veld. They will have you as
sure as the crack of a whip. Th