ossibility of awkward claims as to `treasure trove,' and all
that, they may have hit upon the dodge of bringing it across the sea
right out of the ordinary course. Well, now, that theory is just as
good as the other. It may be hundreds of years since the swag had a
lawful owner or owners. Eh?"

"Yes, that's all right too."

"Very well then. We are just as much entitled to the use of it as
anyone else. We want money. I do, and judging from that portrait we
were talking about just now, why, you poor old chap, you want it a
darned sight more. Is that sound reasoning?"

"Perfectly." His last sight of Lalante came before Wyvern's mental
gaze; the bitterness and desolation of their parting. Oh, anything that
should bring her to him, should secure her to him, provided it was not
downright dishonest--and what would he not go through!

"Mind you," went on Fleetwood, "we haven't got the stuff yet, and it'll
be a job carrying plenty of risk with it before we do. The Zulu country
is a simmering volcano just now over the restoration of Cetywayo. The
Usutu faction--that is the King's faction--and the other side bossed by
John Dunn, Sibepu, Hamu and the rest, are glaring at each other all
ready to jump at each other's throats, and when they do it'll be all
hell let loose. Our war'll be a fleabite to it. We'll go in, of
course, ostensibly as traders, and then be guided by events."

Wyvern nodded. The prospect of adventure fired his blood. In it he
would at any rate partially lose that sense of desolation which was upon
him day and night.

"So you see, old chap," went on Fleetwood, "I didn't lug you up here to
make your fortune out of trading beads, and butcher knives, and yards of
Salampore cloth; and, I hope before this time next year to come and do
best man at your wedding. Eh?"

"That you shall if it comes off--which of course will depend on our
success. By the way, where is this Hlabulana now?"

"He's at a kraal on the Umvoti, near Stanger, keeping in touch with me.
Success? Of course we'll meet success. Now we've had our say we'll go
back and drink to it. After all Durban's an infernally thirsty place.
Success! I should think so."

Yet at that moment Bully Rawson, unscrupulous ruffian and general
cut-throat, was repeating over and over again Warren's emphatic, if
laconic, instructions, "Take care of him. Do you hear? _Take care of
him_," and was promising himself that he would.

CHAPTER FIFTE