buried in the flesh of his fat,
white hands. Side by side he had worked with Trent for years without
being able to form any certain estimate of the man or his character.
Many a time he had asked himself what Trent would do if he knew--only
the fear of his complete ignorance of the man had kept him silent all
these years. Now the crisis had come! He had spoken! It might mean ruin.

"Send for him?" Da Souza said. "Why? His memory has gone--save for
occasional fits of passion in which he raves at you. What would people
say?--that you tried to kill him with brandy, that the clause in the
concession was a direct incentive for you to get rid of him, and you
left him in the bush only a few miles from Buckomari to be seized by the
natives. Besides, how can you pay him half? I know pretty well how you
stand. On paper, beyond doubt you are a millionaire; but what if all
claims were suddenly presented against you to be paid in sovereigns?
I tell you this, my friend, Mr. Scarlett Trent, and I am a man of
experience and I know. To-day in the City it is true that you could
raise a million pounds in cash, but let me whisper a word, one little
word, and you would be hard pressed to raise a thousand. It is true
there is the Syndicate, that great scheme of yours yesterday from which
you were so careful to exclude me--you are to get great monies from
them in cash. Bah! don't you see that Monty's existence breaks up that
Syndicate--smashes it into tiny atoms, for you have sold what was not
yours to sell, and they do not pay for that, eh? They call it fraud!"

He paused, out of breath, and Trent remained silent; he knew very well
that he was face to face with a great crisis. Of all things this was the
most fatal which could have happened to him. Monty alive! He remembered
the old man's passionate cry for life, for pleasure, to taste once more,
for however short a time, the joys of wealth. Monty alive, penniless,
half-witted, the servant of a few ill-paid missionaries, toiling all
day for a living, perhaps fishing with the natives or digging, a slave
still, without hope or understanding, with the end of his days well in
view! Surely it were better to risk all things, to have him back at any
cost? Then a thought more terrible yet than any rose up before him like
a spectre, there was a sudden catch at his heart-strings, he was cold
with fear. What would she think of the man who deserted his partner,
an old man, while life was yet in him, and s