ggon whip and the harsh yell of the driver, from the
street outside; the clear, deep-toned voices of a group of Kafirs
passing along the footway, rising and falling in cadenced modulation,
the barking of a cur, these were the sounds--everyday sounds--that smote
upon his ear in the drowsy afternoon heat. Then rose another, and
hearing it he quickly put the photograph face downwards, drawing over it
a litter of papers. The sound was that of steps, ascending the wooden
staircase--for Warren chose to have his own office off the ground floor,
contrary to usual custom in Gydisdorp, so as to ensure greater privacy.

"Come in."

There entered the same clerk, having barely had time to knock.

"Mr Wyvern would like to see you, sir."

"Wyvern? Certainly. In a minute or two. I'll ring."

The clerk retired. The "minute or two" was spent by Warren in carefully
wrapping up the photograph again and replacing it in the drawer. Which
done he banged the spring handbell on his table and waited.

"Why, Wyvern, my dear old chap, how are you? Glad to see you again--
only wish I could be of more use to you though."

He was wringing the other's hand, and his tone was of the most cordial
Warren knew how to play on the cordiality stop in a way to soothe the
most suspicious, and Wyvern was not suspicious.

"Oh, I'm all right," said the other, with a careless laugh, not
altogether free from a note of despondency.

"By Jove! You look it too," said Warren, taking in the tall, fine
figure, and the clear-cut face with its hall-mark of breeding stamped
large. The clear blue eyes, too, were those of a man in the pink of
condition, and taking it all in he realised that with his own powers of
attraction, which were undoubted, he himself would be nowhere beside
this one, or, at any rate, not where he wanted to be--and the rest
didn't matter. "Well, now, what are the latest developments? They are
going to foreclose, aren't they?"

"Yes. It doesn't matter much in the long run. I've got another scheme
on hand now. I'm going to sell out and clear."

"Eh? The deuce you are?" cried Warren, surprised out of his normal and
impassive attitude. "Have a drink, old chap--then we can talk things
over snugly. What'll you have? Whisky or _dop_?"

"_Dop_, thanks. It's a Heaven-sent liquor for this climate."

Warren took the opportunity while getting out the said refreshment to
pull himself together. The other's news had come just in the n