ady the deathly whiteness was passing from his cheeks.

"Where is Da Souza?" he asked.

"Gone back to England," Cathcart answered, looking out of the open
casement shaded from the sun by the sloping roof. "His steamer started
yesterday."

Trent was puzzled. He scarcely understood this move.

"Did he give any reason?"

Cathcart smoked for a moment in silence. After all though a disclosure
would be unpleasant, it was inevitable and as well now as any time. "I
think," Cathcart said, "that he has gone to try and sell his shares in
the Bekwando concessions."

"Gone--to--sell--his--shares!" Trent repeated slowly. "You mean to say
that he has gone straight from here to put a hundred thousand Bekwando
shares upon the market?"

Cathcart nodded.

He said so!

"And why? Did he tell you that?"

"He has come to the conclusion," Cathcart said, "that the scheme is
impracticable altogether and the concessions worthless. He is going to
get what he can for his shares while he has the chance."

Trent drained his tumbler and lit a cigar. "So much for Da Souza," he
said. "And now I should like to know, Mr. Stanley Cathcart, what the
devil you and your assistant are doing shacking here in the cool of the
day when you are the servants of the Bekwando Company and there's work
to be done of the utmost importance? The whole place seems to be asleep.
Where's your labour? There's not a soul at work. We planned exactly
when to start the road. What the mischief do you mean by wasting a
fortnight?"

Cathcart coughed and was obviously ill-at-ease, but he answered with
some show of dignity.

"I have come to the conclusion, Mr. Trent, that the making of the road
is impracticable and useless. There is insufficient labour and poor
tools, no satisfactory method of draining the swampy country, and
further, I don't think any one would work with the constant fear of an
attack from those savages."

"So that's your opinion, is it?" Trent said grimly.

"That is my opinion," Cathcart answered. "I have embodied it in a report
which I despatched to the secretary of the Company by Mr. Da Souza."

Trent rose and opened the door which swung into the little room.

"Out you go!" he said fiercely.

Cathcart looked at him in blank astonishment.

"What do you mean?" he exclaimed. "These are my quarters!"

"They're nothing of the sort," Trent answered. "They are the
headquarters in this country of the Bekwando Company, with which you
have nothing