ure, which he'll tell us more about after dinner, which has hit my
fancy amazingly. As far as I can make out, Cressey--that's the name of
the man--has discovered some extraordinary link with the past--a Kaffir
woman, chief of some native tribe, with good white blood in her veins.
Cressey has got some of her belongings, and has promised to show them to
us later on."

"But," put in Jack Compton, "what sort of a man is this Cressey? Can
you depend upon what he says? There are some champion liars in this
country, and any amount of improbable yarns floating from one ear to
another. The Afrikander is the most credulous person in the world, and
there's something in the climate which quickly infects the Britisher--
witness yourself. I suppose gold and diamonds are primarily responsible
for it all, and the old-fashioned Boer, who's the most marvel-swallowing
creature of the nineteenth century."

"That's all right, old chap," laughingly replied Tim Bracewell. "I
won't say any more at present. You shall judge for yourself. In my
opinion this man Cressey isn't one of your natural-born Ananiases. He
gives one the impression of being perfectly straightforward. He's a
quiet, unassuming sort of man, rather hard to draw than otherwise. By
the bye, we mustn't talk too loud--he's got a bedroom somewhere in this
building."

Half an hour later the two friends were lounging about the _stoep_ of
the International, waiting the summons to dinner, when a quiet-looking
man in blue serge came up the steps. Tim Bracewell stepped forward and
met him, and introduced him to Compton. The new comer was a well-set-up
man of middle height. He had fair brown hair, a short beard, and a pair
of keen, steady, blue-grey eyes.

After dinner, which the three men partook of at a table together, they
came out to the _stoep_ again, and fixed themselves in a snug corner for
coffee and cigars. They had exchanged a good deal of their experiences
together at the dinner-table, and Tim Bracewell now called upon Cressey
to give them the promised history of his main adventure.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Well," said Cressey, "it's a queer yarn, and I don't know what you'll
say to it. You're the first I've told it to; and let me ask you not to
talk about it outside. I don't want to be bothered by papers and
interviewers and all the rest of it. I shall report my story to the
Colonial Secretary for what i