caught the glass from Whalen's hand and poured some brandy
slowly between the bluish lips. "Some one ring for Krool," he added.

A moment later Krool entered. "The doctor--my doctor and his own--and a
couple of nurses," Byng said, sharply, and Krool nodded and vanished.
"Perhaps it's only a slight heart-attack, but it's best to be on the
safe side."

"Anyhow, it shows that Wallstein needs to let up for a while,"
whispered Fleming.

"It means that some one must do Wallstein's work here," said Barry
Whalen. "It means that Byng stays in London," he added, as Krool
entered the room again with a rug to cover Wallstein.

Barry saw Krool's eyes droop before his words, and he was sure that the
servant had reasons for wishing his master to go to South Africa. The
others present, however, only saw a silent, magically adept figure
stooping over the sick man, adjusting the body to greater ease,
arranging skilfully the cushion under the head, loosening and removing
the collar and the boots, and taking possession of the room, as though
he himself were the doctor; while Byng looked on with satisfaction.

"Useful person, eh?" he said, meaningly, in an undertone to Barry
Whalen.

"I don't think he's at home in England," rejoined Barry, as meaningly
and very stubbornly: "He won't like your not going to South Africa."

"Am I not going to South Africa?" Byng asked, mechanically, and looking
reflectively at Krool.

"Wallstein's a sick man, Byng. You can't leave London. You're the only
real politician among us. Some one else must go to Johannesburg."

"You--Barry?"

"You know I can't, Byng--there's my girl. Besides, I don't carry enough
weight, anyhow, and you know that too."

Byng remembered Whalen's girl--stricken down with consumption a few
months before. He caught Whalen's arm in a grip of friendship. "All
right, dear old man," he said, kindly. "Fleming shall go, and I'll
stay. Yes, I'll stay here, and do Wallstein's work."

He was still mechanically watching Krool attend to the sick man, and he
was suddenly conscious of an arrest of all motion in the half-caste's
lithe frame. Then Krool turned, and their eyes met. Had he drawn
Krool's eyes to his--the master-mind influencing the subservient
intelligence?

"Krool wants to go to South Africa," he said to himself with a strange,
new sensation which he did not understand, though it was not quite a
doubt. He reassured himself. "Well, it's natural he should. It's his
home....