ity of missing him, is it wise, in
view of the tremendous rumpus this affair will make, for us to be seen
prowling around together at this time of night? Remembering, too, that
Tom is your boy?"

The Jew answered with a snarl of rage, recognising the force of what the
other said. Then, after a little further waiting, he could stand it no
longer, and the pair sallied forth.

Carefully, in the darkness they reconnoitred Roden Musgrave's modest
abode, but all was quiet, all as usual. Then they patrolled the
township, no lengthy task. But of the defaulting Tom, not a sign.

"I feel like ripping his black hide off him in the morning," snarled
Tom's master savagely. "Well, he may have mistaken my orders about
returning to report to-night, and if he's brought the job off all right,
that'll put things more than square. And I'm certain he has."

"Let's hope so, anyhow," replied Lambert. And hoping being all they
could do for the present, the worthy pair separated for the night.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

HOIST WITH HIS OWN PETARD.

When Tom, the store-boy, reached his master's premises at an early hour
on the following morning, early as it was, his said master was there to
meet him.

"Well, Tom?"

"Morrow, _Baas_!"

"Did you get what you wanted?"

"_Ja, Baas_."

"You got it all right?"

"_Ja, Baas_."

Sonnenberg could hardly conceal his delight.

"And, Tom, what did _he_ say," with a nod in the direction meant, "when
he gave it you?"

"What did he say?"

"Yes, you fool. What did he say? That was what I asked."

"Say? say?" repeated the Kaffir, as though to recollect. "_Au_! he said
I would be glad in the morning to find what I wanted most."

"Was that all?"

"_Ja, Baas_."

"And your brother, Ndimbi, he saw the whole affair?"

"_Ja, Baas_."

"All right, Tom. Get to your work now," said Sonnenberg, turning away.
The bird was trapped now. As pretty a case as ever was proved in broad
daylight. It was early yet, but no longer able to conceal his
impatience he went to knock up Lambert.

It was close upon the breakfast hour at the Barkly Hotel, and a knot of
men were collected on the _stoep_ waiting for the bell. There came
strolling up Roden Musgrave and Emerson, the bank-manager.

"Wish to the Lord you'd go and shoot some game, Musgrave," the latter
was saying. "Jones has been giving us more than enough of his rag yard
of late."

"His what?" said a man who was within earshot.

"Oh, o