inUBUUNnT 
 
 fSfii* 

 
 UBR A * ; 
 
 UNlVEK 
 
 1TV 
 
 O* 
 
 QAUF^ R 
 
 N>A 
 
 SAN 
 
 DIEGO
 
 PR 5299 S5 W5 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO 
 
 3 1822 01288 0324 
 
 K 

 
 SHE LAID HER HAND ON HIS ARM, AND FOR A MOMENT 
 HIS FINGERS PRESSED HERS 
 
 [See p. i3
 
 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 HENRY SETON MERRIMAN 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON
 
 COPYRIGHT. IB94. BY HARPER a BROTHERS 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 
 I-P
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAGB 
 
 I. TWO GENERATIONS 1 
 
 II. OVER THE OLD GROUND 8 
 
 III. A FAREWELL 16 
 
 IV. A TRAGEDY o 23 
 
 V. WITH EDGED TOOLS 30 
 
 VI. UNDER THE LINE 36 
 
 VII. THE SECRET OF THE SIMIACINK ......... 43 
 
 VIII. A RECRUIT 51 
 
 IX. TO PASS THE TIME 58 
 
 X. LOANGO 65 
 
 XI. A COMPACT . . . . . , 73 
 
 XII. A MEETING 81 
 
 XIII. IN BLACK AND WHITE 87 
 
 XIV. PANIC - STRICKEN 95 
 
 XV. A CONFIDENCE 103 
 
 XVI. WAR ,110 
 
 XVII. UNDERHAND 118 
 
 XVIII. A REQUEST . 125 
 
 XIX. IVORY 132 
 
 XX. BROUGHT TO THE SCRATCH 140 
 
 XXI. THE FIRST CONSIGNMENT ........... 148 
 
 XXII. THE SECOND CONSIGNMENT 156 
 
 XXIII. MERCURY 163 
 
 XXIV. NEME8I3 lVl 
 
 XXV. TO THE RESCUE 178 
 
 XXVI. IN PERIL 186 
 
 XXVII. OFF DUTY 194 
 
 XXVIII. A SLOW RECOVERY 202 
 
 XXIX. A CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE 209
 
 IV CONTENTS 
 
 chap. page 
 
 xxx. old birds 21*7 
 
 xxxi. seed-time 225 
 
 xxxii. an envoy 233 
 
 xxxiii. dark dealing 241 
 
 xxxiv. among thorns 249 
 
 xxxv. engaged 257 
 
 xxxvi. no compromise 265 
 
 xxxvii. foul play 2*72 
 
 xxxviii. the accursed camp 2*79 
 
 xxxix. the extenuating circumstance ........ 287 
 
 xl. sir john's last card 295 
 
 xli. a trois 303 
 
 xlii. a strong friendship 811 
 
 xliii. a long debt 319 
 
 xliv. made up 327 
 
 xlv. the telegram „ „ . . . 334
 
 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 TWO GENERATIONS 
 
 " Why, all delights are vain, but that most vain 
 Which with pain purchased doth inherit pain." 
 
 " My dear — madam — what you call heart does not come 
 into the question at all." 
 
 Sir John Meredith was sitting slightly behind Lady Can- 
 tourne, leaning towards her with a somewhat stiffened rep- 
 lica of his former grace. But he was not looking at her 
 — and she knew it. 
 
 They were both watching a group at the other side of 
 the great ball-room. 
 
 " Sir John Meredith on Heart," said the old lady, with a 
 depth of significance in her voice." 
 
 "And why not?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed. Why not ?" 
 
 Sir John smiled with that well-bred cynicism which a 
 new school has not yet succeeded in imitating. They both 
 belonged to the old school, these two ; and their vvorldliness, 
 their cynicism, their conversational attitude belonged to a 
 by-gone period. It was a cleaner period in some ways — a 
 period devoid of slums. Ours, on the contrary, is an age 
 of slums, wherein we all dabble to the detriment of our hands 
 — mental, literary, and theological. 
 
 Sir John moved slightly in his chair, leaning one hand
 
 2 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 on one knee. His back was very flat, his clothes were 
 perfect, his hair was not his own, nor yet his teeth. But 
 his manners were entirely his own. His face was eighty 
 years old, and yet he smiled his keen society smile with 
 the best of them. There was not a young man in the room 
 of whom he was afraid, conversationally. 
 
 "No, Lady Cantourne," he repeated. "Your charming- 
 niece is heartless. She will get on." 
 
 Lady Cantourne smiled and drew the glove farther up 
 her stout and motherly right arm. 
 
 " She will get on," she admitted. " As to the other, it 
 is early to give an opinion." 
 
 "She has had the best of trainings — " he murmured. 
 And Lady Cantourne turned on him with a twinkle amid 
 the wrinkles. 
 
 " For which ?" she asked. 
 
 " Choisissez /" he answered, with a bow. 
 
 One sees a veteran swordsman take up the foil with a 
 tentative turn of the wrist, lunging at thin air. His zest 
 for the game has gone ; but the skill lingers, and at times 
 he is tempted to show the younger blades a pass or two. 
 These were veteran fencers with a skill of their own which 
 they loved to display at times. The zest was that of re- 
 membrance; the sword-play of words was above the head 
 of a younger generation given to slang and music-hall airs ; 
 and so these two had little bouts for their own edification, 
 and enjoyed the glitter of it vastly. 
 
 Sir John's face relaxed into the only repose he ever 
 allowed it; for he had a habit of twitching and moving 
 his lips such as some old men have. And occasionally, 
 in an access of further senility, he fumbled with his fingers 
 at his mouth. He was clean shaven, and even in his old 
 age he was handsome beyond other men — standing an 
 upright six feet two. 
 
 The object of his attention was the belle of that ball, 
 Miss Millicent Chyne, who was hemmed into a corner by a
 
 TWO GENERATIONS 3 
 
 group of eager dancers anxious to insert their names in 
 some corner of her card. She was the fashion at that time. 
 And she probably did not know that at least half of the 
 men crowded round because the other half were there. 
 Nothing succeeds like the success that knows how to draw 
 a crowd. 
 
 She received the ovation self -possessedly enough, but 
 without that hauteur affected by belles of balls — in books. 
 She seemed to have a fresh smile for each new applicant — 
 a smile which conveyed to each in turn the fact that she 
 had been attempting all along to get her programme safely 
 into his hands. A halting masculine pen will not be 
 expected to explain how she compassed this, beyond a gentle 
 intimation that masculine vanity had a good deal to do 
 with her success. 
 
 " She is having an excellent time," said Sir John, weigh- 
 ing on the modern phrase with a subtle sarcasm. He was 
 addicted to the use of modern phraseology, spiced with a 
 cynicism of his own. 
 
 "Yes; I cannot help sympathizing with her — a little," 
 answered the lady. 
 
 " Nor I. It will not last." 
 
 " Well, she is only gathering the rose-buds." 
 
 " Wisely so, your ladyship. They at least look as if they 
 were going to last. The full-blown roses do not." 
 
 Lady Cantourne gave a little sigh. This was the differ- 
 ence between them. She could not watch without an occa- 
 sional thought for a time that was no more. The man 
 seemed to be content that the past had been lived through 
 and would never renew itself. 
 
 "After all," she said, "she is my sister's child. The 
 sympathy may only be a matter of blood. Perhaps I was 
 like that myself once. Was I? You can tell me." 
 
 She looked slowly round the room and his face hardened. 
 He knew that she was reflecting that there was no one 
 else who could tell her ; and he did not like it.
 
 4 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " No," he answered, readily. 
 
 " And what was the difference ?" 
 
 She looked straight in front of her with a strange old- 
 fashioned demureness. 
 
 "Their name is legion, for they are many." 
 
 " Name a few. Was I as good-looking as that, for in- 
 stance ?" 
 
 He smiled — a wise, old, woman-searching smile. 
 
 " You were better - looking than that," he said, with a 
 glance beneath his lashless lids. " Moreover, there was 
 more of the grand lady about you. You behaved bettei\ 
 There was less shaking hands with your partners, less nod- 
 ding and becking, and none of that modern forwardness 
 which is called, I believe, camaraderie." 
 
 "Thank you, Sir John," she answered, looking at him 
 frankly with a pleasant smile. "But it is probable that we 
 had the faults of our age." 
 
 He fumbled at his lips, having reasons of his own for 
 disliking too close a scrutiny of his face. 
 
 " That is more than probable," he answered, rather in- 
 distinctly. 
 
 "Then," she said, tapping the back of his gloved hand 
 with her fan, " we ought to be merciful to the faults of a 
 succeeding generation. Tell me, who is that young man 
 with the long stride who is getting himself introduced 
 now ?" 
 
 "That," answered Sir John, who prided himself upon 
 knowing every one — knowing who they were and who they 
 were not — " is young Oscard." 
 
 " Son of the eccentric Oscard ?" 
 
 " Son of the eccentric Oscard." 
 
 " And where did he get that brown face ?" 
 
 " He got that in Africa, where he has been shooting. 
 He forms part of some one else's bag at the present 
 moment." 
 
 " What do you mean ?"
 
 TWO GENERATIONS 5 
 
 " He has beeu apportioned a dance. Your fair niece has 
 bagged him." 
 
 If he had only known it, Guy Oscard won the privilege 
 of a waltz by the same brown face which Lady Cantourne 
 had so promptly noted. Coupled with a sturdy upright- 
 ness of carriage, this raised him at a bound above the pallid 
 habitues of ball-room and pavement. It was, perhaps, only 
 natural that Millicent Chyne should have noted this man as 
 soon as he crossed the threshold. He was as remarkable as 
 some free and dignified denizen of the forest in the midst 
 of domestic animals, She mentally put him down for a 
 waltz, and before five minutes had elapsed he was bowing 
 before her while a mutual friend murmured his name. One 
 does not know how young ladies manage these little affairs, 
 but the fact remains that they are managed. Moreover, it 
 is a singular thing that the young persons who succeed in 
 the ball-room rarely succeed on the larger and rougher floor 
 of life. Your belle of the ball, like your Senior Wrangler, 
 never seems to do much afterwards — and Afterwards is 
 Life. 
 
 The other young men rather fell back before Guy Oscard 
 — scared, perhaps, by his long stride, and afraid that he 
 might crush their puny toes. This enabled Miss Chyne to 
 give him the very next dance, of which the music was com- 
 mencing. 
 
 " I feel rather out of all this," said Oscard, as they moved 
 away together. " You must excuse uncouthness." 
 
 " I see no signs of it," laughed Millicent. " You are be- 
 having very nicely. You cannot help being larger and 
 stronger than — the others. I should say it was an advan- 
 tage and something to be proud of." 
 
 " Oh, it is not that," replied Oscard ; " it is a feeling of 
 unkemptness and want of smartness among these men who 
 look so clean and correct. Shall we dance I" 
 
 He looked down at her with an admiration which almost 
 amounted to awe, as if afraid of entering the throng with
 
 6 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 such a dainty and wonderful charge upon his powers of 
 steering. Millicent Chyne saw the glance and liked it. 
 It was different from the others, quite devoid of criticism, 
 rather simple and full of honest admiration. She was so 
 beautiful that she could hardly be expected to be unaware 
 of the fact. She bad merely to make comparisons, to look 
 in the mirror and see that her hair was fairer and softer, 
 that her complexion was more delicately perfect, that her 
 slight, rounded figure was more graceful than any around 
 her. Added to this she knew that she had more to say 
 than other girls— a larger stock of those little frivolous, 
 advice-seeking, aid-demanding nothings than her compeers 
 seemed to possess. 
 
 She knew that in saying them she could look brighter 
 and prettier and more intelligent than her competitors. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " let us dance by all means." 
 
 Here also she knew her own proficiency, and in a few 
 seconds she found that her partner was worthy of her skill. 
 
 " Where have you been F' she asked, presently, " I am 
 sure you have been away somewhere, exploring or some- 
 thing." 
 
 " I have only been in Africa, shooting." 
 
 "Ob, how interesting! You must tell me all abont itP 
 
 " I am afraid," replied Guy Oscard, with a somewhat shy 
 laugh, " that that would not be interesting. Besides, I could 
 not tell you now." 
 
 " No, but some other time. I suppose you are not going 
 back to Africa to-morrow, Mr. Oscard f 
 
 "Not quite. And perhaps we may meet somewhere 
 else." 
 
 " I hope so," replied Miss Chyne. " Besides, you know 
 my aunt, Lady Cantourne. I live with her, you know." 
 
 " I know her slightly." 
 
 " Then take an opportunity of improving the acquaint- 
 anceship. She is sitting under the ragged banner over 
 there."
 
 TWO GENERATIONS 7 
 
 Millicent Chyne indicated the direction with a nod of 
 the head, and while he looked she took the opportunity of 
 glancing hastily rouud the room. She was seeking some 
 one. 
 
 "Yes," said Oscard, " I see her, talking to an old gentle- 
 man who looks like Voltaire. I shall give her a chance of 
 recognizing me before the evening is out. I don't mind 
 being snubbed if — " 
 
 He paused, and steered neatly through a narrow place. 
 
 M If what ?" she asked, when they were in swing again. 
 
 " If it means seeing you again," he answered, bluntly — 
 more bluntly than she was accustomed to. But she liked 
 it. It was a novelty after the smaller change of ball-room 
 compliments. 
 
 She was watching the door all the while. 
 
 Presently the music ceased, and they made their way 
 back to the spot whence he had taken her. She led the 
 way thither by an almost imperceptible pressure of her 
 fingers on his arm. There were several men waiting there, 
 and one or two more entering the room and looking lan- 
 guidly round. 
 
 "There comes the favored one," Lady Cantourne mut- 
 tered, with a veiled glance towards her companion. 
 
 Sir John's gray eyes followed the direction of her glance. 
 
 " My bright boy f ' he inquired, with a wealth of sarcasm 
 on the adjective. 
 
 " Your bnght boy." She replied. 
 
 " I hope not," he said, curtly. 
 
 They were watching a tall fair man in the doorway who 
 3eemed to know everybody, so slow was his progress into 
 the room. The most remarkable thing about this man was 
 a certain grace of movement. He seemed to be specially 
 constructed to live in narrow, hampered places. He was 
 above six feet; but, being of slight build, he moved with a 
 certain languidness which saved him from that unwieldiness 
 usually associated with large men in a drawing-room.
 
 8 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Such was Jack Meredith, one of the best-known figures 
 in London society. He had hitherto succeeded in moving 
 through the mazes of that coterie, as he now moved through 
 this room, without jarring any one. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 OVER THE OLD GROUND 
 " A man who never makes mistakes never makes anything else either." 
 
 Miss Millicent Chyne was vaguely conscious of suc- 
 cess — and such a consciousness is apt to make the best of 
 us a trifle elated. It was certainly one of the best balls of 
 the season, and Miss Chyne's dress was, without doubt, one 
 of the most successful articles of its sort there. 
 
 Jack Meredith saw that fact, and noted it as soon as he 
 came into the room. Moreover, it pleased him, and he was 
 pleased to reflect that he was no mean critic in such mat- 
 ters. There could be no doubt about it, because he knew 
 as well as any woman there. He knew that Millicent Chyne 
 was dressed in the latest fashion — no furbished - up gown 
 from the hands of her maid, but a unique creation from 
 Bond Street. 
 
 " Well," she asked, in a low voice as she handed him her 
 programme, " are you pleased with it f 
 
 " Eminently so." 
 
 She glanced down at her own dress. It was not the 
 nervous glance of the debutante, but the practised flash of 
 experienced eyes which see without appearing to look. 
 
 " I am glad," she murmured. 
 
 He handed her back the card with the orthodox smile 
 and bow of gratitude, but there was something more in hia 
 eyes.
 
 OVER THE OLD GROUND 9 
 
 "Is that what you did it for?" he inquired. 
 
 " Of course," with a glance half coquettish, half humble. 
 
 She took the card, and allowed it to drop pendent from 
 her fan without looking at it. He had written nothing on 
 it. This was all a form. The dances that were his had 
 been inscribed on the engagement - card long before by 
 smaller fingers than his. 
 
 She turned to take her attendant partner's arm with a 
 little flaunt — a little movement of the hips to bring her 
 dress, and possibly herself, more prominently beneath Jack 
 Meredith's notice. His eyes followed her with that incom- 
 parably pleasant society smile which he had no doubt in- 
 herited from his father. Then he turned and mingled with 
 the well-dressed throng, bowing where he ought to bow — 
 asking with fervor for dances in plain but influential quar- 
 ters where dances were to be easily obtained. 
 
 And all the while his father and Lady Cantourne watched. 
 
 " Yes, I think" the lady was saying, " that that is the 
 favored one." 
 
 " I fear so." 
 
 " I notice," observed Lady Cantourne, " that he asked 
 for a dance." 
 
 " And apparently got one — or more." 
 
 " Apparently so, Sir John." 
 
 " Moreover — " 
 
 Lady Cantourne turned on him with her usual vivacity. 
 
 " Moreover ?" she repeated. 
 
 " He did not need to write it down on the card ; it was 
 written there already." 
 
 She closed her fan with a faint smile. 
 
 " I sometimes wonder," she said, " whether, in our young 
 days, you were so preternaturally observant as you are 
 now." 
 
 " No," he answered, " I was not. T affected scales of the 
 very opaquest description, like the rest of my kind." 
 
 In the meantime this man's son was going about his busi-
 
 10 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 ness with a leisurely savoir-faire which few could rival. 
 Jack Meredith was the beau-ideal of the society man in the 
 best acceptation of the word. One met him wherever 
 the best people congregated, and he invariably seemed to 
 know what to do and how to do it better than his com- 
 peers. If it was dancing in the season, Jack Meredith 
 danced, and no man rivalled him. If it was grouse-shoot- 
 ing, Jack Meredith held his gun as straight as any man. 
 All the polite accomplishments in their season seemed to 
 come to him without effort ; but there was in all the same 
 lack of heart — that utter want of enthusiasm which im- 
 parted to his presence a subtle suggestion of boredom. 
 The truth was that he was over-educated. Sir John had 
 taught him how to live and move and have his being with 
 so minute a care, so keen an insight, that existence seemed 
 to be nothing but an habitual observance of set rules. 
 
 Sir John called him sarcastically his " bright boy," his 
 "hopeful offspring," the " pride of his old age ;" but some- 
 where in his shrivelled old heart there nestled an unbounded 
 love and admiration for his son. Jack had assimilated his 
 teaching with a wonderful aptitude. He had as nearly as 
 possible realized Sir John Meredith's idea of what an Eng- 
 lish gentleman should be, and the old aristocrat's standard 
 was uncompromisingly high. Public school, university, 
 and two years on the Continent had produced a finished 
 man, educated to the finger-tips, deeply read, clever, bright, 
 and occasionally witty ; but Jack Meredith was at this time 
 nothing more than a brilliant conglomerate of possibilities. 
 He had obeyed his father to the letter with a conscientious- 
 ness bred of admiration. He had always felt that his fa- 
 ther knew best. And now he seemed to be waiting — pos- 
 sibly for further orders. He was suggestive of a perfect 
 piece of mechanism standing idle for want of work delicate 
 enough to be manipulated by its delicate craft. Sir John 
 had impressed upon him the desirability of being indepen- 
 dent, and he had promptly cultivated that excellent quality,
 
 OVER THE OLD GROUND 11 
 
 taking kindly enough to rooms of his own in a fashionable 
 quarter. But upon the principle of taking a horse to the 
 water and being unable to make him drink, Sir John had 
 not hitherto succeeded in making Jack take the initiative. 
 He had turned out such a finished and polished English 
 gentleman as his soul delighted in, and now he waited in 
 cynical silence for Jack Meredith to take his life into his 
 own hands and do something brilliant with it. All that he 
 had done up to now had been to prove that he could attain 
 to a greater social popularity than any other man of his 
 age and station ; but this was not exactly the success that 
 Sir John Meredith coveted for his son. He had tasted of 
 this success himself, and knew its thinness of flavor — its 
 fleeting value. 
 
 Behind his keen old eyes such thoughts as these were 
 passing while he watched Jack go up and claim his dance at 
 the hands of Miss Millicent Chyne. He could almost guess 
 what they said ; for Jack was grave, and she smiled demure- 
 ly. They began dancing at once, and as soon as the floor 
 became crowded they disappeared. 
 
 Jack Meredith was an adept at such matters. He knew 
 a seat at the end of a long passage where they could sit, the 
 beheld of all beholders who happened to pass ; but no one 
 could possibly overhear their conversation — no one could 
 surprise them. It was essentially a strategical position. 
 
 " Well," inquired Jack, with a peculiar breathlessness, 
 when they were seated, " have you thought about it ?" 
 
 She gave a little nod. 
 
 They seemed to be taking up some conversation at a 
 point where it had been dropped on a previous occasion. 
 
 " And ?" he inquired, suavely. The society polish was 
 very thickly coated over the man, but his eyes had a hungry 
 look. 
 
 By way of reply her gloved hand crept out towards his, 
 which rested on the chair at his side. 
 
 " Jack !" she whispered ; and that was all.
 
 12 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 It was very prettily done, and quite naturally. He was 
 a judge of such matters, and appreciated the girlish sim- 
 plicity of the action fully. 
 
 He took the small gloved hand and pressed it lovingly. 
 The thoroughness of his social training prevented any fur- 
 ther display of affection. 
 
 " Thank Heaven !" he murmured. 
 
 They were essentially of the nineteenth century — these 
 two. At a previous dance he had asked her to marry him ; 
 she had deferred her answer, and now she had given it. 
 These little matters are all a question of taste. We do not 
 kneel nowadays, either physically or morally. If we are a 
 trifle off-hand, it is the women who are to blame. They 
 should not write in magazines of a doubtful reputation in 
 language devoid of the benefit of the doubt. They are equal 
 to us. Bienf One does not kneel to an equal. A better 
 writer than any of us says that men serve women kneeling, 
 and when they get to their feet they go away. We are be- 
 ing hauled up to our feet now. 
 
 " But — " began the girl, and went no further. 
 " But what ?" 
 
 " There will be difficulties." 
 
 " No doubt," he answered, with quiet mockery. " There 
 always are. I will see to them. Difficulties are not without 
 a certain advantage. They keep one on the alert." 
 
 " Your father," said the girl. " Sir John— he will object." 
 Jack Meredith reflected for a moment, lazily, with that 
 leisureliness which gave a sense of repose to his presence. 
 " Possibly," he admitted, gravely. 
 
 " He dislikes me," said the girl. " He is one of my fail- 
 ures." 
 
 " I did not know you had any. Have you tried ? I can- 
 not quite admit the possibility of failure." 
 
 Millicent Chyne smiled. He had emphasized the last re- 
 mark with lover -like glance and tone. She was young 
 enough; her own beauty was new enough to herself to
 
 OVER THE OLD GROUND 13 
 
 blind her to the possibility mentioned. She had not even 
 got to the stage of classifying as dull all men who did not 
 fall in love with her at first sight. It was her first season, 
 one must remember. 
 
 " I have not tried very hard," she said ; " but I don't see 
 why I should not fail." 
 
 " That is easily explained." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " No looking-glass about." 
 
 She gave a little pout, but she liked it. 
 
 The music of the next dance was beginning, and, remem- 
 bering their social obligations, they both rose. She laid her 
 hand on his arm, and for a moment his fingers pressed hers. 
 He smiled down into her upturned eyes with love, but with- 
 out passion. He never for a second risked the " gentle- 
 man " and showed the " man." He was suggestive of a 
 forest pool with a smiling, rippled surface. There might 
 be depth, but nothing had yet reached beyond the surface. 
 
 " Shall we go now," he said, " and say a few words in 
 passing to my redoubtable father? It might be effective." 
 
 " Yes, if you like," she answered, promptly. There is 
 no more confident being on earth than a pretty girl in a 
 successful dress. 
 
 They met Sir John at the entrance of the ball-room. He 
 was wandering about, taking in a vast deal of detail. 
 
 " Well, young lady," he said, with an Old- World bow, 
 " are you having a successful evening ?" 
 
 Millicent laughed. She never knew quite how to take 
 Sir John. 
 
 "Yes, I think so, thank you," she answered, with a 
 pretty smile. " I am enjoying myself very much." 
 
 There was just the loast suggestion of shyness in her 
 manner, and it is just possible that this softened the old 
 cynic's heart, for his manner was kinder, and almost 
 fatherly when he spoke again. 
 
 •' Ah 1" he said, " at your time of life you do not want
 
 14 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 much — plenty of partners and a few ices. Both easily 
 obtainable." 
 
 The last words were turned into a compliment by the 
 courtly inclination of the head that accompanied them. 
 
 The exigencies of the moment forced the young people 
 to go with the stream. 
 
 " Jack," said Sir John, as they passed on, " when you 
 have been deprived of Miss Chyne's society, come and con- 
 sole yourself with a glass of sherry." 
 
 The dutiful son nodded a semi-indifferent acquiescence 
 and disappeared. 
 
 " Wonderful thing, sherry !" observed Sir John Meredith, 
 for his own edification. 
 
 He waited there until Jack returned, and then they set 
 off in search of refreshment. The son seemed to know his 
 whereabouts better than the father. 
 
 " This way," he said — " through the conservatory." 
 
 Amid the palms and tropical ferns Sir John paused. 
 A great deal of care had been devoted to this conservatory. 
 Half hidden among languorous scented flowers were a 
 thousand tiny lights, while overhead in the gloom towered 
 graceful palms and bananas. A fountain murmured pleas- 
 antly amid a cluster of maidenhairs. The music from the 
 ball-room fell softly over all. 
 
 Sir John Meredith and his son stood in silence, looking 
 around them. Finally their eyes met. 
 
 " Are you in earnest with that girl ?" asked Sir John, 
 abruptly. 
 
 " I am," replied Jack. He was smiling pleasantly. 
 
 " And you think there is a chance of her marrying you 
 — unless, of course, something better turns up ?" 
 
 " With all due modesty I do." 
 
 Sir John's hand was at his mouth. He stood up his full 
 six feet two and looked hard at his son, whose eyes were 
 level with his own. They were ideal representatives of 
 their school,
 
 OVER THE OLD GROUND 15 
 
 " And what do you propose marrying upon ? She, I 
 understand, has about eight hundred a year. I respect you 
 too much to suspect any foolish notions of love in a 
 cottage." 
 
 Jack Meredith made no reply. He was entirely depend- 
 ent upon his father. 
 
 " Of course," said Sir John, " when I die you will be a 
 baronet, and there will be enough to live on like a gentle- 
 man. You had better tell Miss Cbyne that. She may not 
 know it. Girls are so innocent. Bat I am not dead yet, 
 and I shall take especial care to live some time." 
 
 " In order to prevent my marriage ?" suggested Jack. 
 He was still smiling, and somehow Sir John felt a little 
 uneasy. He did not understand that smile. 
 
 " Precisely so," he said, rather indistinctly. 
 
 " What is your objection ?" inquired Jack Meredith, 
 after a little pause. 
 
 " I object to the girl." 
 
 " Upon what grounds?" 
 
 " I should prefer you to marry a woman of heart." 
 
 " Heart ?" repeated Jack, with a suspicion of hereditary 
 cynicism. " I do not think heart is of much consequence. 
 Besides, in this case, surely that is my province ; you would 
 not have her wear it on her sleeve?" 
 
 " She could not do that : not enough sleeve." 
 
 Sir John Meredith had his own views on ladies' dress. 
 
 " But," he added, " we will not quarrel. Arrange mat- 
 ters with the young lady as best you can. I shall never 
 approve of such a match, and without my approval you 
 cannot well marry." 
 
 " I do not admit that." 
 
 14 Indeed ?" 
 
 44 Your approval means money," explained this dutiful 
 son politely, "I might manage to make the money for 
 myself." 
 
 $ir John moved away,
 
 16 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " You might," he admitted, looking back. " I should be 
 very glad to see you doing so. It is an excellent thing — 
 money." 
 
 And he walked leisurely away. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A FAREWELL 
 
 " Since called 
 The Paradise of Fools, to few unknown." 
 
 Having been taught to take all the chances and changes 
 of life with a well-bred calmness of demeanor, Jack Mere- 
 dith turned the teaching against the instructor. He pur- 
 sued the course of his social duties without appearing to de- 
 vote so much as a thought to the quarrel which had taken 
 place in the conservatory. His smile was as ready as ever, 
 his sight as keen where an elderly lady looked hungry, his 
 laughter as near the surface as society demands. It is prob- 
 able that Sir John suffered more, though he betrayed noth- 
 ing. Youth has the upperhand in these cases, for life is a 
 larger thing when we are young. As we get on in years, 
 our eggs, to use a homely simile, have a way of accumulat- 
 ing into one basket. 
 
 At eleven o'clock the next morning Sir John Meredith's 
 valet intimated to his master that Mr. Meredith was waiting 
 in the breakfast-room. Sir John was in the midst of his 
 toilet — a complicated affair, which, like other works of art, 
 would not bear contemplation when incomplete. 
 
 "Tell him," said the uncompromising old gentleman, 
 " that I will come down when I am ready." 
 
 He made a more careful toilet than usual, and finally came 
 down in a gay tweed suit, of which the general effect was
 
 A FAREWELL 17 
 
 distinctly heightened by a pair of white gaiters. He was 
 upright, trim, and perfectly determined. Jack noted that 
 his clothes looked a little emptier than usual — that was all. 
 
 " Well," said the father, " I suppose we both made fools 
 of ourselves last night." 
 
 " I have not yet seen you do that," replied the son, lay- 
 ing aside the morning paper which he had been reading. 
 
 Sir John smiled grimly. He hoped that Jack was right. 
 
 " Well," he added, "let us call it a difference of opinion." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Something in the monosyllable made the old gentleman's 
 lips twitch nervously. 
 
 " I may mention," he said, with a dangerous suavity, 
 " that I still hold to my opinion." 
 
 Jack Meredith rose, without haste. This, like the inter- 
 view of the previous night, was conducted upon strictly 
 high-bred and gentlemanly lines. 
 
 " And I to mine," he said. " That is why I took the lib- 
 erty of calling at this early hour. I thought that perhaps 
 we might effect some sort of a compromise." 
 
 " It is very good of you to make the proposal." Sir 
 John kept his fingers away from his lips by an obvious ex- 
 ercise of self-control. " I am not partial to compromises ; 
 they savor of commerce." 
 
 Jack gave a queer, curt nod, and moved towards the door. 
 Sir John extended his unsteady hand and rang the bell. 
 
 " Good-morning," he said. 
 
 " Garle," he added, to the servant who stood in the door- 
 way, " when you have closed the door behind Mr. Meredith, 
 bring up breakfast, if you please." 
 
 On the door-step Jack Meredith looked at his watch. He 
 had an appointment with Millicent Chyne at half-past eleven 
 — an hour when Lady Cantourne might reasonably be ex- 
 pected to be absent at the weekly meeting of a society which, 
 under the guise and momenclature of friendship, busied itself 
 in making servant-girls discontented with their situations.
 
 18 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 It was only eleven o'clock. Jack turned to the left, out 
 of the 4uiet but fashionable street, and a few steps took him 
 to Piccadilly. He went into the first jeweller's shop he saw, 
 and bought a plain diamond ring. Then he walked on to 
 keep his appointment with his affianced wife. 
 
 Miss Millicent Chyne was waiting for him with that mixt- 
 ure of maidenly feelings of which the discreet novelist only 
 details a selection. It is not customary to dwell upon 
 thoughts of vague regret at the approaching withdrawal of a 
 universal admiration — at the future necessity for discreet and 
 humdrum behavior quite devoid of the excitement that lurks 
 in a double meaning. Let it, therefore, be ours to note the 
 outward signs of a very natural emotion. Miss Chyne noted 
 them herself with care, and not without a few deft touches 
 to hair and dress. When Jack Meredith entered the room 
 she was standing near the window, holding back the cur- 
 tain with one hand and watching, half shyly, for his advent. 
 
 What struck her at once was his gravity ; and he must 
 have seen the droop in her eyes, for he immediately as- 
 sumed the pleasant, half-reckless smile which the world of 
 London society had learned to associate with his name. 
 
 He played the lover rather well, with that finish and ab- 
 sence of self-consciousness which only comes from sinceri- 
 ty ; and when Miss Chyne found opportunity to look at 
 him a second time she was fully convinced that she loved 
 him. She was, perhaps, carried off her feet a little — meta- 
 phorically speaking, of course — by his evident sincerity. 
 At that moment she would have done anything that he had 
 asked her. The pleasure of society, the social amenities of 
 aristocratic life, seemed to have vanished suddenly into 
 thin air, and only love was left. She had always known 
 that Jack Meredith was superior in a thousand ways to all 
 her admirers. More gentlemanly, more truthful, honester, 
 nobler, more worthy of love. Beyond that he was cleverer, 
 despite a certain laziness of disposition — more brilliant and 
 more amusing. He had always been to a great extent the
 
 A FAREWELL 19 
 
 chosen one ; and yet it was with, a certain surprise and 
 sense of unreality that she found what she had drifted into. 
 She saw the diamond ring, and looked upon it with the 
 beautiful emotions aroused by those small stones in the 
 female breast ; but she did not seem to recognize her own 
 finger within the golden hoop. 
 
 It was at this moment — while she dwelt in this new un- 
 real world — that he elected to tell her of his quarrel with 
 his father. And when one walks through a maze of un- 
 realities nothing seems to come amiss or to cause surprise. 
 He detailed the very words they had used, and to Millicent 
 Chyne it did not sound like a real quarrel such as might 
 affect two lives to their very end. It was not important. 
 It did not come into her life ; for at that moment she did 
 not know what her life was. 
 
 " And so," said Jack Meredith, finishing his story, " we 
 have begun badly — as badly as the most romantic might 
 desire." 
 
 " Yes, theoretically it is consoling. But I am sorry, 
 Jack, very sorry. I hate quarrelling with anybody." 
 
 " So do I. I haven't time, as a rule. But the old gen- 
 tleman is so easy to quarrel with, he takes all the trouble." 
 
 " Jack," she said, with pretty determination. " You 
 must go and say you are sorry. Go now ! I wish I could 
 go with you." 
 
 But Meredith did not move. He was smiling at her in 
 evident admiration. She looked very pretty with that de- 
 termined little pout of the lips, and perhaps she knew it. 
 Moreover, he did not seem to attach so much importance 
 to the thought as to the result — to the mind as to the lips. 
 
 " Ah !" he said, " you do not know the old gentleman. 
 That is not our way of doing things. We are not expansive." 
 
 His face was grave again, and she noticed it with a sud- 
 den throb of misgiving. She did not want to begin taking 
 life seriously so soon. It was like going back to school in 
 the middle of the holidays,
 
 20 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " But it will be all right in a day or two, will it not? It 
 is not serious," she said. 
 
 " I arn afraid it is serious, Millicent." 
 
 He took her hand with a gravity which made matters 
 worse. 
 
 " What a pity !" she exclaimed ; and somehow both the 
 words and the speaker rang shallow. She did not seem to 
 grasp the situation, which was perhaps beyond her reach. 
 But she did the next best thing. She looked puzzled, 
 pretty, and helpless. 
 
 " What is to be done, Jack ?" she said, laying her two 
 hands on his breast and looking up pleadingly. 
 
 There was something in the man's clear-cut face — some- 
 thing beyond aristocratic repose — as he looked down into 
 her eyes — something which Sir John Meredith might per- 
 haps have liked to see there. To all men comes, soon or 
 late, the moment wherein their lives are suddenly thrust 
 into their own hands to shape or spoil, to make or mar. 
 It seemed that where a clever man had failed, this light- 
 hearted girl was about to succeed. Two small clinging 
 hands on Jack Meredith's breast had apparently wrought 
 more than all Sir John's care and foresight. At last the 
 light of energy gleamed in Jack Meredith's lazy eyes. At 
 last he faced the " initiative," and seemed in nowise abashed. 
 
 "There are two things," he answered: "a small choice." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " The first, and the simplest," he went on in the tone of 
 voice which she had never quite fathomed — half cynical, 
 half amused — " is to pretend that last night — never was." 
 
 He waited for her verdict. 
 
 " We will not do that," she replied, softly ; " we wilL 
 take the other alternative, whatever it is." 
 
 She glanced up half shyly beneath her lashes, and he felt 
 that no difficulty could affright him. 
 
 " The other is generally supposed to be very difficult," he 
 said. " It means — waiting."
 
 A FAREWELL 21 
 
 " Oh," she answered, cheerfully, " there is no hurry. 1 
 do not want to be married yet." 
 
 " Waiting perhaps for years," he added — and he saw her 
 face drop. 
 
 « Why ?" 
 
 "Because I am dependent on my father for everything. 
 We could not marry without his consent." 
 
 A peculiar, hard look crept into her eyes, and in some 
 subtle way it made her look older. After a little pause she 
 said: 
 
 "But we can surely get that — between us?" 
 
 " I propose doing without it." 
 
 She looked up — past him — out of the window. All the 
 youthfulness seemed to have left her face, but he did not 
 appear to see that. 
 
 " How can you do so 1" 
 
 " Well, I can work. I suppose I must be good for some- 
 thing — a bountiful Providence must surely have seen to 
 that. The difficulty is to find out what it intends me for. 
 We are not called in the night nowadays to a special mis- 
 sion — we have to find it out for ourselves." 
 
 "Do you know what I should like you to be?" she said, 
 with a bright smile and one of those sudden descents into 
 shallowness which he appeared to like. 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 "A politician." 
 
 "Then I shall be a politician," he answered, with lover- 
 like promptness. 
 
 " That would be very nice," she said ; and the castles she 
 at once began to build were not entirely aerial in their 
 structure. 
 
 This was not a new idea. They had talked of politics 
 before as a possible career for himself. They had moved in 
 a circle where politics and politicians held a first place — a 
 circle removed above the glamour of art, and wherein Bohe- 
 mianisra was not reckoned an attraction. She knew that
 
 22 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 behind his listlessness of manner he possessed a certain 
 steady energy, perfect self-command, and that combination 
 of self-confidence and indifference which usually attains suc- 
 cess in the world. She was ambitious not only for herself, 
 but for him, and she was shrewd enough to know that the 
 only safe outlet for a woman's ambition is the channel of a 
 husband's career. 
 
 " But," he said, " it will mean waiting." 
 
 He paused, and then the worldly wisdom which he had 
 learned from his father — that worldly wisdom which is 
 sometimes called cynicism — prompted him to lay the mat- 
 ter before her in its worst light. 
 
 " It will mean waiting for a couple of years at least. And 
 for you it will mean the dulness of a long engagement, and 
 the anomalous position of an engaged girl without her right- 
 ful protector. It will mean that your position in society 
 will be quite different — that half the world will pity you, 
 while the other half thinks you — well, a fool for your 
 pains." 
 
 " I don't care," she answered. 
 
 " Of course," he went on, " I must go away. That is the 
 only way to get on in politics in these days. I must go 
 away and get a specialty. I must know more about some 
 country than any other man ; and when I come back I must 
 keep that country ever before the eye of the intelligent 
 British workman who reads the half-penny evening paper. 
 That is fame — those are politics." 
 
 She laughed. There seemed to be no fear of her taking 
 life too seriously yet. And, truth to tell, he did not appear 
 to wish her to do so. 
 
 " But you must not go very far," she said, sweetly. 
 
 " Africa." 
 
 " Africa? That does not sound interesting." 
 
 " It is interesting; moreover, it is the coming country. I 
 may be able to make money out there, and money is a ne- 
 cessity at present."
 
 A TRAGEDY 23 
 
 " I do not like it, Jack," she said, in a foreboding voice. 
 " When do you go ?" 
 
 " At once — in fact, I came to say good-bye. It is better 
 to do these things very promptly — to disappear before the 
 onlookers have quite understood what is happening. When 
 they begin to understand, they begin to interfere. They 
 cannot help it. I will write to Lady Cantourne if you like." 
 
 " No, I will tell her." 
 
 So he bade her good-bye, and those things that lovers say 
 were duly said ; but they are not for us to chronicle. Such 
 words are better left to be remembered or forgotten as time 
 and circumstance and result may decree. For one may 
 never tell what words will do when they are laid within the 
 years like the little morsel of leaven that leaveneth the 
 whole. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 A TRAGEDY 
 
 " Who knows ? the man is proven by the hour." 
 
 In his stately bedroom on the second floor of the quietest 
 house in Russell Square Mr. Thomas Oscard — the eccentric 
 Oscard — lay, perhaps, a-dying. 
 
 Thomas Oscard had written the finest history of an ex- 
 tinct people that had ever been penned ; and it has been de- 
 creed that he who writes a fine history and paints a fine 
 picture can hardly be too eccentric. Our business, however, 
 does not lie in the life of this historian — a life which cer- 
 tain grave wiseacres from the West (End) had shaken their 
 heads over a few hours before we find him lying prone on a 
 four-poster, counting for the thousandth time the number 
 of tassels fringing the roof of it. In bold contradiction 
 of the medical opinion, the nurse was, however, hopeful.
 
 24 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Whether this comforting condition of mind arose from long 
 experience of the ways of doctors, or from an acquired 
 philosophy, it is not our place to inquire. But that her 
 opinion was sincere is not to be doubted. She had, as a 
 matter of fact, gone to the pantomime, leaving the patient 
 under the immediate eye of his son, Guy Oscard. 
 
 The temporary nurse was sitting in a cretonne - covered 
 arm-chair, with a book of travel on his knee, and thoughts 
 of Millicent Chyne in his mind. The astute have no doubt 
 discovered ere this that the mind of Mr. Guy Oscard was a 
 piece of mental mechanism more noticeable for solidity of 
 structure than brilliancy or rapidity of execution. Thoughts 
 and ideas and principles had a strange way of getting mixed 
 up with the machinery, and sticking there. Guy Oscard 
 had, for instance, concluded some years before that the 
 Winchester rifle was, as he termed it, " no go ;" and, if the 
 Pope of Rome and the patentee of the fire-arm in question 
 had crossed Europe upon their bended knees to persuade 
 him to use a Winchester rifle, he would have received them 
 with a pleasant smile and an offer of refreshment. He 
 would have listened to their arguments with that patience 
 of manner which characterizes men of large stature, and for 
 the rest of his days he would have continued to follow big 
 game with an " Express " double - barrelled rifle as hereto- 
 fore. Men who decide such smaller matters as these for 
 themselves, after mature and somewhat slow consideration, 
 have a way of also deciding the larger issues of life without 
 pausing to consider either expediency or the experience of 
 their neighbors. 
 
 During the last forty-eight hours Guy Oscard had made 
 the decision that life without Millicent Chyne would not be 
 worth having, and in the hush of the great house he was 
 pondering over this new feature in his existence. Like all 
 deliberate men, he was placidly sanguine. Something in 
 the life of a savage sport that he had led had no doubt 
 taught him to rely upon his own nerve and capacity more
 
 A TRAGEDY 25 
 
 than most men do. It is the in-door atmosphere that con- 
 tains the germ of pessimism. 
 
 His thoughts cannot have been disturbing, for presently 
 his eyes closed and he appeared to be slumbering. If it 
 was sleep, it was the light unconsciousness of the traveller; 
 for a sound so small that waking ears could scarce have 
 heard it caused him to lift his lashes cautiously. It was 
 the sound of bare feet on carpet. 
 
 Through his lashes Guy Oscard saw his father standing 
 on the hearth-rug within two yards of him. There was 
 something strange, something unnatural and disturbing, 
 about the movements of the man that made Guy keep 
 quite still — watching him. 
 
 Upon the mantel - piece the medicine bottles were ar- 
 ranged in a row, and the "eccentric Oscard" was studying 
 the labels with a feverish haste. One bottle — a blue one — 
 bore two labels; the smaller one, of brilliant orange color, 
 with the word " Poison" in startling simplicity. He took 
 this up and slowly drew the cork. It was a liniment for 
 neuralgic pains in an overwrought head — belladonna. He 
 poured some into a medicine-glass, carefully measuring two 
 table-spoonfuls. 
 
 Then Guy Oscard sprang up and wrenched the glass 
 away from him, throwing the contents into the fire, which 
 flared up. Quick as thought, the bottle was at the sick 
 man's lips. He was a heavily built man with powerful limbs. 
 Guy seized his arm, closed with him, and for a moment 
 there was a deadly struggle, while the pungent odor of the 
 poison filled the atmosphere. At last Guy fell back on art; 
 he tripped his father cleverly, and they both rolled on the 
 floor. 
 
 The sick man still gripped the bottle, but he could not 
 get it to his lips. He poured some of the stuff over his 
 son's face, but fortunately missed his eyes. They struggled 
 on the floor in the dim light, panting and gasping, but 
 speaking no word. The strength of the elder man was uu-
 
 26 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 natural — it frightened the younger and stronger com- 
 batant. 
 
 At last Guy Oscard got his knee on his father's neck, 
 and bent his wrist back until he was forced to let go his 
 hold on the bottle. 
 
 " Get back to bed 1" said the son, breathlessly. " Get back 
 to bed !" 
 
 Thomas Oscard suddenly changed his tactics. He whined 
 and cringed to his own offspring, and begged him to give 
 him the bottle. He dragged across the floor on his knees 
 — three thousand pounds a year on its knees to Guy Oscard, 
 who wanted that money because he knew that he would 
 never get Millicent Chyne without it. 
 
 " Get back to bed !" repeated Guy, sternly, and at last the 
 man crept sullenly between the rumpled sheets. 
 
 Guy put things straight in a simple, manlike way. The 
 doctor's instructions were quite clear. If any sign of ex- 
 citement or mental unrest manifested itself, the sleeping- 
 draught contained in a small bottle on the mantel-piece was 
 to be administered at once, or the consequences would be 
 fatal. But Thomas Oscard refused to take it. He seemed 
 determined to kill himself. The son stood over him and 
 tried threats, persuasion, prayers ; and all the while there 
 was in his heart the knowledge that, unless his father could 
 be made to sleep, the reputed three thousand a year would 
 be his before the morning. 
 
 It was worse than the actual physical struggle on the 
 floor. The temptation was almost too strong. 
 
 After a while the sick man became quieter, but he still 
 refused to take the opiate. He closed his eyes and made 
 no answer to Guy's repeated supplication. Finally he ceased 
 shaking his head in negation, and at last breathed regularly 
 like a child asleep. 
 
 Afterwards Guy Oscard reproached himself for suspect- 
 ing nothing. But he knew nothing of brain diseases — 
 those strange maladies that kill the human in the human
 
 A TRAGEDY 
 
 27 
 
 beiriw. He knew, however, why his father had tried to kill 
 himself. It was not the first time. It was panic. He 
 was afraid of going mad, of dying mad like his father be- 
 fore him. People called him eccentric. Some said that he 
 was mad. But it was not so. It was only fear of madness. 
 He was still asleep when the nurse came back from the pan- 
 tomime in a cab, and Guy crept softly down-stairs to let 
 
 her in. 
 
 They stood in the hall for some time while Guy told her 
 in whispers about the belladonna liniment. Then they went 
 up-stairs together and found Thomas Oscard— the great his- 
 torian — dead on the floor. The liniment bottle, which Guy 
 had left on the mantel-piece, was in his hand — empty. He 
 had feigned sleep in order to carry out his purpose. He 
 had preferred death, of which the meaning was unknown 
 to him, to the possibility of that living death in which his 
 father had lingered for many years. And who shall say 
 that his thoughts were entirely selfish? There may have 
 been a father's love somewhere in this action. Thomas 
 Oscard, the eccentric savant, had always been a strong man, 
 independent of the world's opinion. He had done this thing 
 deliberately, of mature thought, going straight to his Crea- 
 tor with his poor human brain full of argument and reason 
 to prove himself right before the Judge. 
 
 They picked him up and laid him reverently on the bed, 
 and then Guy went for the doctor. 
 
 " I could," said the attendant of Death, when he had 
 heard the whole story — "I could give you a certificate. I 
 could reconcile it, I mean, with my professional conscience 
 and my — other conscience. He could not have lived thirty 
 hours — there was an abscess on his brain. But I should 
 advise you to face the inquest. It might be" — he paused, 
 looking keenly into the young fellow's face — " it might be 
 that at some future date, when you are quite an old man, 
 you may feel inclined to tell this story." 
 
 Again the doctor paused, glancing with a vague smile
 
 28 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 towards the woman who stood beside them. "Or even 
 nurse — " he added, not troubling to finish his sentence. 
 " We all have our moments of expansiveness. And it is a 
 story that might easily be — discredited." 
 
 So the "eccentric Oscard " finished his earthly career in 
 the intellectual atmosphere of a coroner's jury. And the 
 world rather liked it than otherwise. The world, one finds, 
 does like novelty, even in death. Some day an American 
 will invent a new funeral, and, if he can only get the patent, 
 will make a fortune. 
 
 The world was, morever, pleased to pity Guy Oscard with 
 that pure and simple sympathy which is ever accorded to 
 the wealthy in affliction. Every one knew that Thomas 
 Oscard had enjoyed affluence during his lifetime, and there 
 was no reason to suppose that Guy would not step into very 
 comfortably lined shoes. It was unfortunate that he should 
 lose his father in such a tragic way, and the keen eye of the 
 world saw the weak point in his story at once. But the 
 coroner's jury was respectful, and the rest of society never 
 so much as hinted at the possibility that Guy had not tried 
 his best to keep his father alive. 
 
 Among the letters of sympathy the young fellow received 
 a note from Lady Cantourne, whose acquaintance he had 
 successfully renewed, and in due course he called at her 
 house in Vere Gardens to express somewhat lamely his 
 gratitude. 
 
 Her ladyship was at home, and in due course Guy Os- 
 card was ushered into her presence. He looked round the 
 room with a half-suppressed gleam of searching which was 
 not overlooked by Millicent Chyne's aunt. 
 
 " It is very good of you to call," she said, " so soon after 
 your poor father's death. You must have had a great deal 
 of trouble and worry. Millicent and I have often talked of 
 you and sympathized with you. She is out at the moment, 
 but I expect her back almost at once. Will you sit down ?" 
 
 *' Tbaqks," he said ; and, after be had drawn forward a
 
 A TRAGEDY 29 
 
 chair, he repeated the word vaguely and comprehensively — 
 "thanks" — as if to cover as many demands for gratitude 
 as she could make. 
 
 " I knew your father very well," continued the lady, 
 " when we were young. Great things were expected of 
 him. Perhaps he expected them himself. That may have 
 accounted for a tone of pessimism that always seemed to 
 pervade his life. Now, you are quite different. You are 
 not a pessimist — eh ?" 
 
 Guy gravely examined the back of his gloved hand. 
 " Well, I am afraid I have not given much thought to the 
 question." 
 
 Lady Cantourne gave him the benefit of a very wise 
 smile. She was unrivalled in the art of turning a young 
 man's mind inside out and shaking it. 
 
 " No, you need not apologize. I am glad you have given 
 no thought to it. Thought is the beginning of pessimism, 
 especially with young men ; for if they think at all, they 
 naturally think of themselves." 
 
 " Well, I suppose I think as much of myself as other 
 people." 
 
 "Possibly, but I doubt it. Would you ring the bell? 
 We will have some tea." 
 
 He obeyed, and she watched him with approval. For 
 some reason — possibly because he had not sought it — Lady 
 Cantourne had bestowed her entire approval on this young 
 man. She had been duly informed, a few weeks before 
 this visit, that Miss Millicent Chyne had engaged herself to 
 be married to Jack Meredith whenever that youth should 
 find himself in a position to claim the fulfilment of her 
 promise. She said nothing against her choice or her de- 
 cision, merely observing that she was sorry that Jack had 
 quarrelled with his father. By way of counsel she advised 
 strongly that the engagement be kept as much in the back- 
 ground as possible. She did not, she said, want Millicent 
 to be a sort of red rag to Sir John, and there was no neces-
 
 30 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 sity to publish abroad the lamentable fact that a. quarrel 
 had resulted from a very natural and convenient attach- 
 ment. Sir John was a faddist, and, like the rest of his 
 kind, eminently pig-headed. It was more than likely that 
 in a few months he would recall his son, and, in the mean- 
 time, it never did a girl any good to be quarrelled over. 
 
 Lady Cantourne was too clever a woman to object to the 
 engagement. On the contrary, she allowed it to be under- 
 stood that such a match was in many ways entirely satis- 
 factory. At the same time, however, she encouraged Guy 
 Oscard to come to the house, knowing quite well that he 
 was entirely unaware of the existence of Jack Meredith. 
 
 " I am," she was in the habit of saying, " a great advo- 
 cate for allowing young people to manage their affairs them- 
 selves. One young man, if he be the right one, has more 
 influence with a girl than a thousand old women ; and it is 
 just possible that he knows better than they do what is for 
 her happiness. It is the interference that makes mischief." 
 
 So she did not interfere. She merely invited Guy Os- 
 chard to stay to tea. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " Do not give dalliance 
 Too much the rein; the strongest oaths are straw 
 To the fire i' the blood." 
 
 " And what do you intend to do with yourself ?" asked 
 Lady Cantourne when she had poured out tea. " You 
 surely do not intend to mope in that dismal house in 
 Russell Square?" 
 
 " No, I shall let that if I can." 
 
 "Oh, you will have no difficulty in doing that. People
 
 WITH EDGED TOOLS 31 
 
 live in Russell Square again now, and try to make one be- 
 lieve that it is a fashionable quarter. Your father stayed 
 on there because the carpets fitted the rooms, and on ac- 
 count of other ancestral conveniences. He did not live 
 there — he knew nothing of his immediate environments. 
 He lived in Phoenicia." 
 
 " Then," continued Guy Oscard, " I shall go abroad." 
 
 " Ah ! Will you have a second cup ? Why will you go 
 abroad ?" 
 
 Guy Oscard paused for a moment. " I know an old 
 hippopotamus in a certain African river who has twice 
 upset me. I want to go back and shoot him." 
 
 " Don't go at once ; that would be running away from it 
 — not from the hippopotamus — from the inquest. It does 
 not matter being upset in an African river ; but you must 
 not be upset in London by — an inquest." 
 
 " I did not propose going at once," replied Guy Oscard, 
 with a peculiar smile which Lady Cantourne thought she 
 understood. " It will take me some time to set my affairs 
 in order — the will, and all that." 
 
 Lady Cantourne waited with perfectly suppressed curi- 
 osity, and while she was waiting Millicent Chyne came into 
 the room. The girl was dressed with her habitual perfect 
 taste and success, and she came forward with a smile of 
 genuine pleasure, holding out a small hand neatly gloved in 
 Suede. Her ladyship was looking, not at Millicent, but at 
 Guy Oscard. 
 
 Millicent was glad that he had called, and said so. She 
 did not add that during the three months that had elapsed 
 since Jack Meredith's sudden departure she had gradually 
 recognized the approaching ebb of a very full tide of popu- 
 larity. It was rather dull at times, when Jack's letters 
 arrived at intervals of two and sometimes of three weeks — • 
 when her girl friends allowed her to see somewhat plainly 
 that she was no longer to be counted as one of themselves, 
 An engagement sits as it were on a young lady like a.
 
 32 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 weak heart on a school-boy, setting her apart in work and 
 play, debarring her from participation in that game of life 
 which is ever going forward where young folks do con- 
 gregate. 
 
 Moreover, she liked Guy Oscard. He aroused her curi- 
 osity. There was something in him — something which she 
 vaguely suspected to be connected with herself — which she 
 wanted to drag out and examine. She possessed more than 
 the usual allowance of curiosity — which is saying a good 
 deal ; for one may take it that the beginning of all things 
 in the feminine mind is curiosity. They want to know 
 what is inside Love before they love. Guy Oscard was a 
 new specimen of the genus homo; and while remaining 
 perfectly faithful to Jack, Miss Millicent Chyne saw no rea- 
 son why she should not pass the time by studying him, 
 merely, of course, in a safe and innocent manner. She was 
 one of those intelligent young ladies who think deeply — 
 about young men. And such thinking usually takes the 
 form of speculation as to how the various specimens selected 
 will act under specified circumstances. The circumstances 
 need hardly be mentioned. Young men are only interesting 
 to young women in circumstances strictly personal to and 
 bearing upon themselves. In a word, maidens of a specula- 
 tive mind are always desirous of finding out how different 
 men will act when they are in love ; and we all know and 
 cannot fail to applaud the assiduity with which they pursue 
 their studies. 
 
 " Ah !" said Miss Chyne, " it is very good of you to take 
 pity upon two lone females. I was afraid that you had 
 gone off to the wilds of America or somewhere in search of 
 big game. Do you know, Mr. Oscard, you are quite a 
 celebrity ? I heard you called the ' big-game man ' the 
 other day, also the ' travelling fellow.' " 
 
 The specimen smiled happily under this delicate handling. 
 
 " It is not," he said, modestly, " a very lofty fame. Any- 
 body could let off a rifle."
 
 WITH EDGED TOOLS 38 
 
 " I ara afraid I could not," replied Millicent, with a pretty 
 little shudder, "if anything growled." 
 
 " Mr. Oscard has just been telling me," interposed Lady 
 Cantourne, conversationally, "that he is thinking of going 
 off to the wilds again." 
 
 " Then it is very disappointing of him," said Millicent, 
 with a little droop of the eyelids which went home. " It 
 seems to be only the uninteresting people who stay at home 
 and live humdrum lives of enormous duration." 
 
 " He seems to think that his friends are going to cast him 
 off because his poor father died without the assistance of a 
 medical man," continued the old lady, meaningly. 
 
 " No — I never said that, Lady Cantourne." 
 
 " But you implied it." 
 
 Guy Oscard shook his head. " I hate being a notoriety," 
 he said. " I like to pass through with the crowd. If I go 
 away for a little while I shall return a nonentity." 
 
 At this moment another visitor was announced, and 
 presently made his appearance. He was an old gentleman 
 of no personality whatever, who was nevertheless welcomed 
 effusively, because two people in the room had a distinct use 
 for him. Lady Cantourne was exceedingly gracious. She 
 remembered instantly that horticulture was among his some- 
 what antiquated accomplishments, and she was immediately 
 consumed with a desire to show him the conservatory which 
 she had had built outside the drawing-room window. She 
 took a genuine interest in this abode of flowers, and watered 
 the plants herself with much enthusiasm — when she remem- 
 bered. 
 
 Added to a number of positive virtues the old gentleman 
 possessed that of abstaining from tea, which enabled the 
 two horticulturists to repair to the conservatory at once, leav- 
 ing the young people alone at the other end of the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 Millicent smoothed her gloves with downcast eyes and 
 that demure air by which the talented fair imply the con-
 
 34 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 sciousness of being alone and out of others' ear-shot with an 
 interesting member of the stronger sex. 
 
 Guy sat and watched the Suede gloves with a certain sense 
 of placid enjoyment. Then suddenly he spoke, continuing 
 his remarks where they had been broken off by the advent 
 of the useful old gentleman. 
 
 " You see," he said, " it is only natural that a great 
 many people should give me the cold shoulder. My story 
 was a little lame. There is no reason why they should be- 
 lieve in me." 
 
 " I believe in you," she answered. 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 He looked at her in a strange way, as if he liked her 
 terse creed, and would fain have heard it a second time. 
 Then suddenly he leaned back with his head against a 
 corner of the piano. The fronds of a maidenhair fern 
 hanging in delicate profusion almost hid his face. He was 
 essentially muscular in his thoughts, and did not make the 
 most of his dramatic effects. The next remark was make 
 by a pair of long legs ending off with patent-leather boots 
 which were not quite new. The rest of him was invisible. 
 
 " It was a very unpleasant business," he said, in a jerky, 
 self-conscious voice. " I didn't know that I was that sort 
 of fellow. The temptation was very great. I nearly gave in 
 and let him do it. He was a stronger man than I. You know 
 — we did not get on well together. He always hoped that 
 I would turn out a literary sort of fellow, and I suppose he 
 was disappointed. I tried at one time, but I found it was no 
 good. From indifference it turned almost to hatred. He 
 disliked me intensely, and I am afraid I did not care for 
 him very much." 
 
 She nodded her head, and he went on. Perhaps he could 
 see her through the maidenhair fern. She was getting 
 more and more interested in this man. He obviously dis- 
 liked talking of himself — a pleasant change which aroused 
 her curiosity. He was so unlike other men, and his life
 
 WITH EDGED TOOLS 35 
 
 seemed to be different from the lives of the men whom she 
 had known — stronger, more intense, and of greater variety 
 of incident. 
 
 "Of course," he went on, "his death was really of enor- 
 mous advantage to me. They say that I shall have two or 
 three thousand a year, instead of five hundred, paid quarterly 
 at Cox's. He could not prevent it coming to me. It was ray 
 mother's money. He would have done so if he could, for 
 we never disguised our antipathy for each other. Yet we 
 lived together, and — and I had the nursing of him." 
 
 Millicent was listening gravely without interrupting — like 
 a man. She had the gift of adapting herself to her environ- 
 ments in a marked degree. 
 
 " And," he added, curtly, " no one knows how much I 
 wanted that three thousand a year." 
 
 The girl moved uneasily and glanced towards the conser- 
 vatory. 
 
 " He was not an old man," Guy Oscard went on. " He 
 was only forty-nine. He might have lived another thirty 
 years." 
 
 She nodded, understanding the significance of his tone. 
 
 " There," he said, with an awkward laugh, " do you still 
 believe in me?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, still looking into the conserva- 
 tory. 
 
 There was a little pause. They were both sitting for- 
 ward in their chairs looking towards the conservatory. 
 
 " It was not the money that tempted me," said Guy, very 
 deliberately; "it was you." 
 
 She rose from her chair as if to join her aunt and the 
 horticultural old gentleman. 
 
 "You must not say that," she said, in little more than a 
 whisper, and without looking round she went towards Lady 
 Cantourne. Her eyes were gleaming with a singular sup- 
 pressed excitement, such as one sees in the eyes of a man 
 fresh from a mad run across country.
 
 36 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Guy Oscard rose also and followed more deliberately. 
 There was nothing for him to do but to take his leave. 
 
 " But," said Lady Cantourne, graciously, " if you are de- 
 termined to go away, you must at least come and say good- 
 bye before you leave." 
 
 "Thanks; I should like to do so, if I may." 
 
 " We shall be deeply disappointed if you forget," said 
 Millicent, holding out her hand, with a smile full of light- 
 heartedness and innocent girlish friendship. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 UNDER THE LINE 
 
 -'Enough of simpering and grimace, 
 Enough of vacuity trimmed with lace." 
 
 " Curse this country ! Curse it — curse it !" The man 
 spoke aloud, but there was no one near to hear. He shook 
 his skinny yellow fist out over the broad river that crept 
 greasily down to the equatorial sea. 
 
 All around him the vegetable kingdom had asserted its 
 sovereignty. At his back loomed a dense forest, impene- 
 trable to the foot of man, defying his puny hand armed 
 with axe or saw. The trees were not high, few of them 
 being above twenty feet, but from their branches creepers 
 and parasites hung in tangled profusion, interlaced, joining 
 tree to tree for acres, nay for miles. 
 
 As far as the eye cold reach either bank of the slow river 
 was thus covered with rank vegetation — mile after mile 
 without variety, without hope. The glassy surface of the 
 water was broken here and there by certain black forms 
 floating like logs half hidden beneath the wave. These 
 were crocodiles. The river was the Ogowe, and the man
 
 UNDER THE LINE 37 
 
 who cursed it was Victor Durnovo, employe of the Loango 
 Trading Association, whose business it was at that season 
 to travel into the interior of Africa to buy, barter, or steal 
 ivory for hi3 masters. 
 
 He was a small-faced man, with a squarely aquiline nose 
 and a black mustache which hung like a valance over his 
 mouth. From the growth of that curtain -like mustache 
 Victor Durnovo's worldly prosperity might have been said 
 to date. No one seeing his mouth had before that time 
 been prevailed upon to trust him. Nature has a way of 
 hanging out signs and then covering them up so that the 
 casual fail to see. He was a man of medium height, with 
 abnormally long arms and a somewhat truculent way of 
 walking, as if his foot was ever ready to kick anything or 
 any person who might come in his way. 
 
 His movements were nervous and restless, although he 
 was tired out and half-starved. The irritability of Africa 
 was upon him — had hold over him — gripped him remorse- 
 lessly. No one knows what it is, but it is there, and some- 
 times it is responsible for murder. It makes honorable 
 European gentleman commit crimes of which they blush to 
 think in after-days. The Powers may draw up treaties and 
 sign the same, but there will never be a peaceful division 
 of the great wasted land so near to Southern Europe. 
 There may be peace in Berlin, or Brussels, or London, but 
 because the atmosphere of Africa is not the same as that of 
 the great cities there will be no peace beneath the equator. 
 From the West Coast of Africa to the East men will fight 
 and quarrel and bicker so long as human nerves are human 
 nerves. The irritability lurks in the shades of boundless 
 forests, where men may starve for want of animal suste- 
 nance; it hovers over the broad bosoms of a hundred slow 
 rivers, haunted by the mysterious crocodile, the weird hippo- 
 potamus. It is everywhere, and by reason of it men quar- 
 rel over trifles, and descend to brutal passion over a futile 
 discussion,
 
 38 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Victor Durnovo bad sent his boatmen into the forest to 
 find a few dates, a few handfuls of firewood, and while 
 they were absent he gave vent to that wild unreasoning 
 passion which is inhaled into the white man's lungs with 
 the air of equatorial Africa. For there are moral microbes 
 in the atmosphere of different countries, and we must not 
 judge one land by the laws of another. There is the fatal- 
 ism of India, the restlessness of New York, the fear of the 
 Arctic, the irritability of Africa. 
 
 " Curse this country !" he shouted ; " curse it — curse it ! 
 River and tree — man and beast !" 
 
 He rose and slouched down to his boat, which lay moored 
 to a snag alongside the bank, trodden hard to the consist- 
 ency of asphalt by a hundred bare feet. He stepped over 
 the gunwale, and made his way aft with a practised balancing 
 step. The after-part of the canoe was decked in and closed 
 with lock and key. The key bung at his watch - chain — a 
 large chain with square links and a suggestive doubtfulness 
 of color. It might have been gold, but the man who wore 
 it somehow imparted to it a suggestion of baser metal. 
 
 He opened the locker and took from it a small chest. 
 From this he selected a bottle, and, rummaging in the re- 
 cesses of the locker, he found an unwashed tumbler. Into 
 half a glass of water he dropped a minute quantity from 
 the bottle and drank off the mixture. The passion had left 
 him now, and quite suddenly he looked yellow and very 
 weak. He was treating himself scientifically for the irrita- 
 bility to which he had given way. Then he returned to 
 the bank and laid down at full length. The skin of his 
 face must have been giving him great pain, for it was 
 scarlet in places and exuding from sun-blisters. He had 
 long ago given up wiping the perspiration from his brow, 
 and evidently did not dare to wash his face. 
 
 Presently a peacefulness seemed to come over him, for 
 his eyes lost their glitter and his heavy lids drooped. His 
 arms were crossed behind his head — before him lay the river,
 
 UNDER THE LINE 39 
 
 Suddenly lie sat upright, all eagerness and attention. 
 Not a leaf stirred. It was about five o'clock in the evening, 
 the stillest hour of the twenty-four. In such a silence the 
 least sound would travel almost any distance, and there was 
 a sound travelling over the water to him. It was nothing 
 but a thud repeated with singular regularity ; but to his 
 practised ears it conveyed much. He knew that a boat was 
 approaching, as yet bidden by some distant curve in the 
 river. The thud was caused by the contact of six paddles 
 with the gunwale of the canoe as the paddlers withdrew 
 them from the water. 
 
 Victor Durnovo rose again and brought from the boat a 
 second rifle, which he laid beside the double-barrelled Reilly 
 which was never more than a yard away from him, waking 
 or sleeping. Then he waited. He knew that no boat could 
 reach the bank without his full permission, for every rower 
 could be killed before they got within a hundred yards of 
 his rifle. He was probably the best rifle-shot but one in 
 that country — and the other, the very best, happened to be 
 in the approaching canoe. 
 
 After the space of ten minutes the boat came in sight — ■ 
 a long black form on the still waters. It was too far away 
 for him to distinguish anything beyond the fact that it was 
 a native boat. 
 
 " Eight hundred yards," muttered Durnovo over the sight 
 of his rifle. 
 
 He looked upon this river as his own, and he knew the 
 native of equatorial Africa. Therefore he dropped a bullet 
 into the water, under the bow of the canoe, at eight hun- 
 dred yards. 
 
 A moment later there was a sound which can only be 
 written "P-ttt" between his legs, and he had to wipe a 
 shower of dust from his eyes. A puff of blue smoke rose 
 slowly over the boat and a sharp report broke the silence a 
 second time. 
 
 Th&n Victor Durnovo leaped to his feet and waved his hat
 
 40 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 in the air. From the canoe there was an answering greet- 
 ing, and the man on the bank went to the water's edge, 
 still carrying the rifle from which he was never parted. 
 
 Durnovo was the first to speak when the boat came 
 within hail. 
 
 " Very sorry," he shouted. "Thought you were a native 
 boat. Must establish a funk — get in the first shot, you 
 know." 
 
 " All right," replied one of the Europeans in the ap- 
 proaching craft, with a courteous wave of the hand ; "no 
 harm done." 
 
 There were two white men and six blacks in the long 
 and clumsy boat. One of the Europeans lay in the bow 
 while the other was stretched at his ease in the stern, re- 
 clining on the canvas of a neatlv-folded tent. The last- 
 named was evidently the leader of the little expedition, 
 while the manner and attitude of the man in the bow 
 suggested the servitude of a disciplined soldier slightly re- 
 laxed by abnormal circumstances. 
 
 "Who fired that shot?" inquired Durnovo, when there 
 was no longer any necessity to shout. 
 
 "Joseph," replied the man in the stern of the boat, in- 
 dicating his companion. " Was it a near thing?" 
 
 " About as near as I care about — it threw up the dust 
 between my legs." 
 
 The man called Joseph grinned. Nature had given him 
 fiberally of the wherewithal for indulgence in that relaxa- 
 tion, and Durnovo smiled rather constrainedly. Joseph was 
 grabbing at the long reedy grass, bringing the canoe to a 
 stand-still, and it was some moments before his extensive 
 mouth submitted to control. 
 
 " I presume you are Mr. Durnovo ?" said the man in the 
 stern of the boat, rising leisurely from his recumbent po- 
 sition and speaking with a courteous savoir-faire which 
 seemed slightly out of place in the wilds of Central Africa. 
 He was a tall man with a small aristocratic head and a re-
 
 UNDER THE LINE 41 
 
 fined face, which somehow suggested an aristocrat of old 
 France. 
 
 " Yes," answered Durnovo. 
 
 The tall man stepped ashore and held out his hand. 
 
 " I am glad we have met you," he said. " I have a letter 
 of introduction to you from Maurice Gordon, of Loango." 
 
 Victor Durnovo's dark face changed slightly ; his eyes — ■ 
 bilious, fever-shot, unhealthy — took a new light. 
 
 " Ah !" he answered ; " are you a friend of Maurice 
 Gordon's?" 
 
 There was another question in this, an unasked one ; and 
 Victor Durnovo was watching for the answer. But the 
 face he watched was like a delicately carved piece of brown 
 marble, with a courteous, impenetrable smile. 
 
 " I met him again the other day at Loango. He is an 
 old Etonian like myself." 
 
 This conveyed nothing to Durnovo, who belonged to a 
 different world, whose education was, like other things 
 about him, an unknown quantity. 
 
 " My name," continued the tall man, "is Meredith — John 
 Meredith — sometimes called Jack." 
 
 They were walking up the bank towards the dusky and 
 uninviting tent. 
 
 "And the other fellow ?" inquired Durnovo, with a back- 
 ward jerk of the head. 
 
 " Oh — he is my servant." 
 
 Durnovo raised his eyebrows in somewhat contemptuous 
 amusement, and proceeded to open the letter which Mere- 
 dith had handed him. 
 
 " Not many fellows," he said, " on this coast can afford 
 to keep a European servant." 
 
 Jack Meredith bowed and ignored the irony. 
 
 "But," he said, courteously, "I suppose you find these 
 colored chaps just as good when they have once got into 
 your ways?" 
 
 " Oh yes," muttered Durnovo. He was reading the let-
 
 42 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 ter. " Maurice Gordon," he continued, " says you are trav- 
 elling for pleasure — just looking about you. What do you 
 think of it?" 
 
 He indicated the dismal prospect with a harsh laugh. 
 
 " A bit suggestive of hell," he went on, " eh ? How does 
 it strike you ?" 
 
 " Finer timber, I should think," suggested Jack Meredith, 
 and Durnovo laughed more pleasantly. 
 
 " The truth is," he explained, " that it strikes one as a bit 
 absurd that any man should travel up here for pleasure. If 
 you take my advice you will come down-stream again with 
 me to-morrow." 
 
 He evidently distrusted him ; and the sidelong, furtive 
 glance suggested vaguely that Victor Durnovo had some- 
 thing farther up this river which he wished to keep con- 
 cealed. 
 
 " I understand," answered Meredith, with a half-suppressed 
 yawn, " that the country gets finer farther up — more moun- 
 tainous — less suggestive of — hell." 
 
 The proprietors of very dark eyes would do well to re- 
 member that it is dangerous to glance furtively to one side 
 or the other. The attention of dark eyes is more easily 
 felt than the glances of gray or blue orbs. 
 
 Jack Meredith's suspicions were aroused by the suspi- 
 cious manner of his interlocutor. 
 
 "There is no white man knows this river as I do, and I 
 do not recommend it. Look at me — on the verge of 
 jaundice; look at this wound on my arm — it began with 
 a scratch and has never healed. All that comes from a 
 month up this cursed river. Take my advice, try some- 
 where else." 
 
 " I certainly shall," replied Meredith. " We will discuss 
 it after dinner. My chap is a first-rate cook. Have you 
 got anything to add to the menu ?" 
 
 " Not a thing. I've been living on plantains and dried 
 elephant-meat for the last fortnight."
 
 THE SECRET OF THE SIMIACINE 43 
 
 " Doesn't sound nourishing. Well, we are pretty well 
 provided, so perhaps you will give me the pleasure of your 
 company to dinner ? Come as you are : no ceremony. I 
 think I will wash, though. It is as well to keep up these 
 old customs." 
 
 With a pleasant smile he went towards the tent which 
 had just been erected. Joseph was very busy, and his ad- 
 monishing voice was heard at times. 
 
 " Here, Johnny, hammer in that peg. Now, old Cups- 
 and-Saucers, stop that grinning and fetch me some water. 
 None of your frogs and creepy-crawly things this time, my 
 blond beauty, but clean water: — comprenny ?" 
 
 With these and similar lightsome turns of speech was 
 Joseph in the habit of keeping his men up to the mark. 
 The method was eminently successful. His colored com- 
 peers crowded round him " all of a grin," as he himself 
 described it, and eager to do his slightest behest. From 
 the throne to the back-kitchen the secret of success is the 
 art of managing men — and women. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 THE SECRET OF THE SIMIACINE 
 
 " Surtout, messieurs, pas de z&le." 
 
 Such was the meeting of Victor Durnovo and Jack 
 Meredith. Two men with absolutely nothing in common 
 — no taste, no past, no kinship — nothing but the future. 
 Such men as Fate loves to bring together for her own 
 strange purposes. What these purposes are none of us can 
 tell. Some hold that Fate is wise. She is not so yet, but 
 she cannot fail to acquire wisdom some day, because she 
 experiments so industriously* She is ever bringing about
 
 44 
 
 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 new combinations, and one can only trust that she, the ex- 
 perimenter, is as keenly disappointed in the result as are 
 we, the experimented upon. 
 
 To Jack Meredith Victor Durnovo conveyed the impres- 
 sion of little surprise and a slight local interest. He was a 
 man who was not quite a gentleman ; but for himself Jack 
 did not give great heed to this. He had associated with 
 many such ; for, as has been previously intimated, he had 
 moved in London society where there are many men who 
 are not quite gentlemen. The difference of a good coat 
 and that veiled insolence which passes in some circles for 
 the ease of good-breeding had no weight with the keen son 
 of Sir John Meredith, and Victor Durnovo fared no worse 
 in his companion's estimation because he wore a rough coat 
 and gave small attention to his manners. He attracted 
 and held Jack's attention by a certain open-air manliness 
 which was in keeping with the situation and with his life. 
 Sportsmen, explorers, and wanderers were not new to Jack ; 
 for nowadays one may never know what manuer of man is 
 inside a faultless dress-suit. It is an age of disappearing, 
 via Charing Cross station in a first-class carriage, to a life 
 of backwooding, living from hand to mouth, starving in 
 desert, prairie, pampas, or arctic wild, with, all the while, a 
 big balance at Cox's. And most of us come back again, 
 and put on the dress-suit and the white tie with a certain 
 sense of restfulness and comfort. 
 
 Jack Meredith had known many such. He had, in a 
 small way, done the same himself. But he had never met 
 one of the men who do not go home — who possess no 
 dress-coat and no use for it — whose business it is to go 
 about with a rifle in one hand and their life in the other — 
 who risk their lives because it is their trade and not their 
 pleasure. 
 
 Durnovo could not understand the new-comer at all. He 
 saw at once that this was one of those British aristocrats 
 who do strange things in a very strange way. In a degree
 
 THE SECRET OF THE SIMIACINE 45 
 
 Meredith reminded him of Maurice Gordon, the man whoso 
 letter of introduction was at that moment serving to light 
 the camp fire. But it was Maurice Gordon without that 
 semi-sensual weakness of purpose which made him the boon 
 companion of Tom, Dick, or Harry, provided that one of 
 those was only with him long enough. There was a vast 
 depth of reserve — of indefinable possibilities — which puz- 
 zled Durnovo, and in some subtle way inspired fear. 
 
 In that part of Africa which lies within touch of the 
 equator life is essentially a struggle. There is hunger 
 about, and where hunger is the emotions will be found also. 
 Now, Jack Meredith was a past-master in the concealment 
 of these, and, as such, came to Victor Durnovo in the guise 
 of a new creation. He had lived the latter and the larger 
 part of his life among men who said, in action if not in 
 words, I am hungry, or I am thirsty ; I want this, or I want 
 that; and if yon are not strong enough to keep it, I will 
 take it from you. 
 
 This man was different ; and Victor Durnovo did not 
 know — could not find out — xuhat he wanted. 
 
 He had at first been inclined to lausrh at him. What 
 struck him most forcibly was Joseph, the servant. The 
 idea of a man swaggering up an African river with a Euro- 
 pean man-servant was so preposterous that it could only be 
 met with ridicule ; but the thing seemed so natural to Jack 
 Meredith, he accepted the servitude of Joseph so much as a 
 matter of course, that after a time Durnovo accepted him 
 also as part and parcel of Meredith. 
 
 Moreover, he immediately began to realize the benefit of 
 being waited upon by an intelligent European, for Joseph 
 took off his coat, turned up his sleeves, and proceeded to 
 cook such a dinner as Durnovo had not tasted for many 
 months. There was wine also, and afterwards a cigar of 
 such quality as appealed strongly to Durnovo's West-Indian 
 palate. 
 
 The night settled down over the land while they sat there,
 
 46 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 and before them the great yellow equatorial moon rose 
 slowly over the trees. With the darkness came a greater 
 silence, for the myriad insect life was still. This great 
 silence of Central Africa is wonderfully characteristic. The 
 country is made for silence, the natives are created to steal, 
 spirit-ridden, devil-haunted, through vast tracts of lifeless 
 forest where Nature is oppressive in her grandeur. Here 
 man is put into his right place — a puny, insignificant, help- 
 less being in a world that is too large for him. 
 
 " So," said Durnovo, returning to the subject which had 
 never really left his thoughts, "you have come out here for 
 pleasure ?" 
 
 " Not exactly. I came chiefly to make money, partly to 
 dispel some of the illusions of my youth, and I am getting 
 on very well. Picture-book illusions they were. The man 
 who drew the pictures had never seen Africa." 
 
 "This is no country for illusions. Things go naked here 
 -—damned naked." 
 
 " And only language is adorned ?" 
 
 Durnovo laughed. He had to be alert to keep up with 
 Jack Meredith — to understand his speech ; and he rather 
 liked the necessity, which was a change after the tropic in- 
 dolence in which he had moved. 
 
 " Swearing, you mean," he replied. " Hope you don't 
 mind it ?" 
 
 " Not a bit ! Do it myself." 
 
 At this moment Joseph, the servant, brought coffee served 
 up in tin cups. 
 
 " First-class dinner," said Durnovo. " The best dinner I 
 have had for years. Clever chap, your man !" 
 
 The last remark was made as much for the servant's 
 edification as for the master's, and it was accompanied by 
 an inviting smile directed towards Joseph. Of this the 
 man took no notice whatever. He came from a world 
 where masters and masters' guests knew their place and 
 kept it, even after a good dinner.
 
 THE SECRET OF THE SIMIACINE 47 
 
 The evening had turned out so very differently from what 
 he had expected that Durnovo was a little carried off his 
 equilibrium. Things were so sociable and pleasant in com- 
 parison with the habitual loneliness of his life. The fire 
 crackled so cheerily, the moon shone down on the river so 
 grandly, the subdued chatter of the boatmen imparted such 
 a feeling of safety and comfort to the scene, that he gave 
 way to that impulse of expansiveness which ever lurks in 
 West-Indian blood. 
 
 " I say," he said, " when you told me that you wanted to 
 make money, were you in earnest ?" 
 
 " In the deadliest earnest," replied Jack Meredith, in the 
 half-mocking tone which he never wholly learned to lay 
 aside. 
 
 " Then I think I can put you in the way of it. Ob, I 
 know it seems a bit premature — not known you long enough, 
 and all that. But in this country we don't hold much by 
 the formalities. I like you. I liked the look of you when 
 you got out of that boat — so damned cool and self-possessed. 
 You're the right sort, Mr. Meredith." 
 
 "Possibly — for some things. For sitting about and 
 smoking first-class cigars and thinking second-class thoughts 
 I am exactly the right sort. But for making money, for 
 hard work and steady work, I am afraid, Mr. Durnovo, that 
 I am distinctly the wrong sort." 
 
 "Now you're chaffing again. Do you always chaff?" 
 
 " MoBtly ; it lubricates things, doesn't it ?" 
 
 There was a little pause. Durnovo looked round as if 
 to make sure that Joseph and the boatmen were out of 
 ear-shot. 
 
 " Can you keep a secret ?" he asked, suddenly. 
 
 Jack Meredith turned and looked at the questioner with 
 a smile. His hat had slipped to the back of his head, the 
 light of the great yellow moon fell full upon his clean-cut 
 sphinx-like face. The eyes alone seemed Jiving. 
 
 " Yes ! I can do that."
 
 48 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 He was only amused, and the words were spoken half- 
 mockingly ; but his face said more than his lips. It said 
 that even in chaff this was no vain boast that he was utter- 
 ing. Even before he had set foot on African soil he had 
 been asked to keep so many secrets of a commercial nature. 
 So many had begun by imparting half a secret, to pass on 
 in due course to the statement that only money was re- 
 quired — say, a thousand pounds. And, in the meantime, 
 twenty-five would be very useful, and, if not that — well, ten 
 shillings. Jack Meredith had met all that before. 
 
 But there was something different about Durnovo. He 
 was not suitably got up. Your bar-room prospective mill- 
 ionaire is usually a jolly fellow, quite prepared to quench 
 any man's thirst for liquor or information so long as credit 
 and credulity will last. There was nothing jolly or san- 
 guine about Durnovo. Beneath his broad-brimmed hat 
 his dark eyes flashed in a fierce excitement. His hand was 
 unsteady. He had allowed the excellent cigar to go out. 
 The man was full of quinine and fever, in deadly earnest. 
 
 " I can see you're a gentleman," he said ; " I'll trust you. 
 I want a man to join me in making a fortune. I have got 
 my hand on it at last. But I'm afraid of this country. 
 I'm getting shaky : look at that hand. I've been looking 
 for it too long. I take you into my confidence, the first- 
 comer, you'll think. But there are not many men like you 
 in this country, and I'm beastly afraid of dying. I'm in a 
 damned funk. I want to get out of this for a bit, but I 
 dare not leave until I set things going." 
 
 " Take your time," said Meredith, quietly and soothingly ; 
 " light that cigar again and lie down. There is no hurry." 
 
 Durnovo obeyed him meekly. 
 
 " Tell me," he said, " have yon ever heard of Simiacine ?" 
 
 " I cannot say that I have," replied Jack. " What is it 
 for, brown boots or spasms." 
 
 " It is a drug, the most expensive drug in the market. 
 And they must have it, they cannot do without it, and they
 
 THE SECRET OF THE SIMIACINE 49 
 
 cannot find a substitute. It is the leaf of a shrub, and 
 your hatful is worth a thousand pounds." 
 
 "Where is it to be found?" asked Jack Meredith. "I 
 should like some — in a sack." 
 
 " Ah, you may laugh now, but you won't when you hear 
 all about it. The scientific chaps called it Siraiacine, be- 
 cause of an old African legend which, like all those things, 
 has a grain of truth in it. The legend is, that the monkeys 
 first found out the properties of the leaf, and it is because 
 they live on it that they are so strong. Do you know that 
 a gorilla's arm is not half so thick as yours, and yet he 
 would take you and snap your backbone across his knee; 
 he would bend a gun-barrel as you would bend a cane, 
 merely by the turn of his wrist ? That is Simiacine. He 
 can hang on to a tree with one leg and tackle a leopard with 
 his bare hands — that's Simiacine. At home, in England 
 and in Germany, they are only just beginning to find out 
 its properties ; it seems that it can bring a man back to life 
 when he is more than half dead. There is no knowing what 
 children that are brought up on it may turn out to be; it may 
 double the power of the human brain — some think it will." 
 
 Jack Meredith was leaning forward, watching with h 
 certain sense of fascination the wild, disease-stricken face, 
 listening to the man's breathless periods. It seemed that 
 the fear of death, which had gotten hold of him, gave Vic- 
 tor Durnovo no time to pause for breath. 
 
 " Yes," said the Englishman — " yes, go on." 
 
 " There is practically no limit to the demand that there 
 is for it. At present the only way of obtaining it is 
 through the natives, and you know their manner of trading. 
 They send a little packet down from the interior, and it 
 very often takes two months and more to reach the buyer's 
 hands. The money is sent back the same way, and each 
 man who fingers it keeps a little. The natives find the leaf 
 in the forests by the aid of trained monkeys, and only in 
 very small quantities. Do you follow me?"
 
 50 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " Yes, I follow you." 
 
 Victor Durnovo leaned forward until his face was within 
 three inches of Meredith's, and the dark, wild eyes flashed 
 and glared into the Englishman's steady glance. 
 
 " What," he hissed — " what if I know where Simiacine 
 grows like a weed? What if I could supply the world with 
 Simiacine at my own price? Eh — h — h! What of that, 
 Mr. Meredith ?" 
 
 He threw himself suddenly back and wiped his dripping 
 face. There was a silence, the great African silence that 
 drives educated men mad and fills the imagination of the 
 poor heathen with wild tales of devils and spirits. 
 
 Then Jack Meredith spoke, without moving. 
 
 "I'm your man," he said, " with a few more details." 
 
 Victor Durnovo was lying back at full length on the 
 hard, dry mud, his arms beneath his head. Without alter- 
 ing his position, be gave the details, speaking slowly and 
 much more quietly. It seemed as if he spoke the result 
 of long-pent-up thought. 
 
 " We shall want," he said, " two thousand pounds to 
 start it. For we must have an armed force of our own. 
 W 7 e have to penetrate through a cannibal country of the 
 fiercest devils in Africa. It is a plateau, a little plateau of 
 two square miles, and the niggers think that it is haunted 
 by an evil spirit. When we get there we shall have to hold 
 it by force of arras, and when we send the stuff down to the 
 coast we must have an escort of picked men. The bushes 
 grow up there as thick as gooseberry-bushes in a garden at 
 home. W T ith a little cultivation they will yield twice as much 
 as they do now. We shall want another partner. I know 
 a man, a soldierly fellow, full of fight, who knows the na- 
 tives and the country. I will undertake to lead you there, 
 but you will have to take great care of me. You will have 
 to have me carried most of the way. I am weak, devilish 
 weak, and I am afraid of dying ; but I know the way there, 
 and no other man can say as much I It is in my head here ;
 
 A RECRUIT 51 
 
 it is not written down. It is only in ray head, and no one 
 can get it out of there." 
 
 " No," said Meredith, in his quiet, refined voice — " no, no 
 one can get it out. Come, let us turn in. To-morrow I will 
 go down the river with you. I will turn back, and we can 
 talk it over as we go down-stream." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A RECRUIT 
 
 "Said the Engine from the East, 
 'They who work best talk the least. 
 
 j >» 
 
 It is not, of course, for a poor limited masculine mind 
 to utter heresies regarding the great question of woman's 
 rights. But as things stand at present, as in fact the fore- 
 named rights are to-day situated, women have not found 
 comprehension of the dual life. The dual life is led solely 
 by men, and until women have found out its full compass 
 and meaning, they can never lead in the world. There is 
 the public life and the private ; and the men who are most 
 successful in the former are the most exclusive in the latter. 
 Women have only learned to lead one life; they must be 
 all public or all private ; there is no medium. Those who 
 give up the private life for which Providence destined them 
 to assume the public existence to which their own conceit 
 urges them have their own reward. They taste all the bit- 
 terness of fame, and never know its sweets, because the bit- 
 terness is public and the sweets are private. 
 
 Women cannot understand that part of a man's life which 
 brings him into daily contact with men whom he does not 
 bring home to dinner. One woman does not know another 
 without bringing her in to meals and showing her her new
 
 52 WlTfi EDGED TOOLS 
 
 hat. It is merely a matter of custom. Men are in the habit 
 of associating in daily, almost hourly, intercourse with oth- 
 ers who are never really their friends, and are always held 
 at a distance. It is useless attempting to explain it, for we 
 are merely reprimanded for unfriendliness, stiffness, and stu- 
 pid pride. Soit! Let it go. Some of us, perhaps, know 
 our own business best. And there are, thank Heaven ! 
 amidst a multitude of female doctors, female professors, 
 female wranglers, a few female women left. 
 
 Jack Meredith knew quite well what he was about when 
 he listened with a favorable ear to Durnovo's scheme. He 
 knew that this man was not a gentleman, but his own posi- 
 tion was so assured that he could afford to associate with 
 any one. Here, again, men are safer. A woman is too 
 delicate a social flower to be independent of environments. 
 She takes the tone of her surroundings. It is, one notices, 
 only the ladies who protest that the barmaid married in 
 haste and, repented of at leisure, can raise herself to her 
 husband's level. The husband's friends keep silence, and 
 perhaps, like the mariner's bird, they meditate all the 
 more. 
 
 What Meredith proposed to do was to enter into a part- 
 nership with Victor Durnovo, and, when the purpose of it 
 was accomplished, to let each man go his way. Such part- 
 nerships are entered into every day. Men have carried 
 through a brilliant campaign — a world-affecting scheme — 
 side by side, working with one mind and one heart ; and 
 when the result has been attained they drop out of each oth- 
 er's lives forever. They are created so — for a very good pur- 
 pose, no doubt. But sometimes Providence steps in and 
 turns the little point of contact into the leaven that leaven- 
 eth the whole lump. Providence, it seems — or let us call 
 it Fate — was hovering over that lone African river, where 
 two men, sitting in the stern of a native canoe, took it 
 upon themselves to prearrange their lives. 
 
 A montb later Yiet-or Durnovo was in London. He left
 
 A KECRUIT 53 
 
 behind him in Africa Jack Meredith, whose capacities for 
 organization were developing very quickly. 
 
 There was plenty of work for each to do. In Africa 
 Meredith had undertaken to get together men and boats, 
 while Durnovo went home to Europe for a threefold pur- 
 pose. Firstly, a visit to Europe was absolutely necessary 
 for his health, shattered as it was by too long a sojourn in 
 the fever-ridden river-beds of the West Coast. Secondly, 
 there were rifles, ammunition, and stores to be purchased, 
 and packed in suitable cases. And, lastly, he was to find 
 and enlist the third man, "the soldierly fellow, full of fight," 
 who knew the natives and the country. 
 
 This, indeed, was his first care on reaching London, and 
 before his eyes and brain were accustomed to the roar of the 
 street life he took a cab to Russell Square, giving the num- 
 ber affixed to the door of a gloomy house in the least-fre- 
 quented corner of the stately quadrangle. 
 
 " Is Mr. Guy Oscard at home ?" he inquired of the grave 
 man-servant. 
 
 " He is, sir," replied the butler, stepping aside. 
 
 Victor Durnovo thought that a momentary hesitation on 
 the part of the butler was caused by a very natural and 
 proper feeling of admiration for the new clothes and hat 
 which he had purchased out of the money advanced by Jack 
 Meredith for the outfit of the expedition. In reality the 
 man was waiting for the visitor to throw away his cigar be- 
 fore crossing the threshold. But he waited in vain, and 
 Durnovo waited, cigar in mouth, in the dining-room until 
 Guy Oscard came to him. 
 
 At first Oscard did not recognize him, and conveyed this 
 fact by a distant bow and an expectant silence. 
 
 " You do not seem to recognize me," said Durnovo, with 
 a laugh which lasted until the servant had closed the door. 
 " Victor Durnovo !" 
 
 " Oh — yes — how are you ?" 
 
 Oscard came forward and shook hands. His manner was
 
 54 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 not exactly effusive. The truth was that their acquaintance- 
 ship in Africa had been of the slightest, dating from some 
 trivial services which Durnovo had been able and very eager 
 to render to the sportsman. 
 
 " I'm all right, thanks," replied Durnovo. " I only landed 
 at Liverpool yesterday. I'm home on business. I'm buy- 
 ing rifles and stores." 
 
 Guy Oscard's honest face lighted up at once — the curse 
 of Ishmael was on him in its full force. He was destined 
 to be a wanderer on God's earth, and all things appertain- 
 ing to the wild life of the forests were music in his ears. 
 
 Durnovo was no mean diplomatist. He had learned to 
 know man, within a white or colored skin. The effect of 
 his words was patent to him. 
 
 " You remember the Simiacine ?" he said, abruptly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I've found it." 
 
 " The devil you have ! Sit down." 
 
 Durnovo took the chair indicated. 
 
 " Yes, sir," he said, " I've got it. I've laid my hand on 
 it at last. I've always been on its track. That has been 
 my little game all the time. I did not tell you when we 
 met out there, because I was afraid I should never find it, 
 and because I wanted to keep quiet about it." 
 
 Guy Oscard was looking out of the window across to the 
 dull houses and chimneys that formed his horizon, and in 
 his eyes there was the longing for a vaster horizon, a larger 
 life. 
 
 " I have got a partner," continued Durnovo, " a good man 
 — Jack Meredith, son of Sir John Meredith. You have, 
 perhaps, met him." 
 
 "No," answered Oscard; "but I have heard his name, 
 and I have met Sir John — the father — once or twice." 
 
 "He is out there," went on Durnovo, " getting things to- 
 gether quietly. I have come home to buy rifles, ammuni* 
 tion, and stores,"
 
 A RECRUIT 55 
 
 He paused, watching the eager, simple face. 
 
 " We want to know," he said, quietly, "if you will organ- 
 ize and lead the fighting men." 
 
 Guy Oscard drew a deep breath. There are some Eng- 
 lishmen left, thank Heaven ! who love fighting for its own 
 sake, and not only for the gain of it. Such men as this 
 lived in the old days of chivalry, at which modern puny 
 carpet-knights make bold to laugh, while inwardly thanking 
 their stars that they live in the peaceful age of the police- 
 man. Such men as this ran their thick simple heads against 
 many a windmill, couched lance over many a fat'-fetched in- 
 sult, and swung a sword in honor of many a worthless maid ; 
 but they made England, my masters. Let us remember that 
 they made England. 
 
 " Then there is to be fighting ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Durnovo, "there will be fighting. We 
 must fight our way there, and we must hold it when we 
 get there. But so far as the world is concerned, we are 
 only a private expedition exploring the source of the 
 Ogowe." 
 
 " The Ogowe ?" and again Guy Oscard's eyes lighted up. 
 
 "Yes, I do not mind telling you that much. To begin 
 with, I trust you ; secondly, no one could get there without 
 me to lead the way." 
 
 Guy Oscard looked at him with some admiration, and 
 that sympathy which exists between the sons of Ishmael. 
 Durnovo looked quite fit for the task he set himself. He 
 had regained his strength on the voyage, and with return- 
 ing muscular force his moral tone was higher, his influence 
 over men greater. Amid the pallid sons of the pavement, 
 among whom Guy Oscard had moved of late, this African 
 traveller was a man apart — a being much more after his 
 own heart. The brown of the man's face and hands ap- 
 pealed to him — the dark flashing eyes, the energetic car- 
 riage of the head and shoulders. Among men of a fairer 
 skin the taint that was in Victor Durnovo's blood became
 
 56 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 more apparent — the shadow on his finger-nails, the deep 
 olive of his neck against the snowy collar, and the blue tint 
 in the whites of his eyes. 
 
 But none of these things militated against him in Os- 
 card's eyes. They only made him fitter for the work he 
 had undertaken. 
 
 " How long will it take ?" asked Guy. 
 
 Durnovo tugged at his strange, curtain-like mustache. 
 His mouth was hidden; it was quite impossible to divine 
 his thoughts. 
 
 " Three months to get there," he answered at length. 
 "One month to pick the leaf, and then you can bring the 
 first crop down to the coast and home, while Meredith and 
 I stay on at the plateau." 
 
 "I could be home again in eight months?" 
 
 " Certainly ! We thought that you might work the sale 
 of the stuff in London, and in a couple of years or so, when 
 the thing is in swing, Meredith will come home. We can 
 safely leave the cultivation in native hands when once we 
 have established ourselves up there, and made ourselves re 
 spected among the tribes." 
 
 A significance in his tone made Guy Oscard look up in- 
 quiringly. 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 "You know my way with the natives," answered Dur- 
 novo, with a cruel smile. " It is the only way. There are 
 no laws in Central Africa except the laws of necessity." 
 
 Oscard was nothing if not outspoken. 
 
 "I do not like your way with the natives," he said, with 
 a pleasant smile. 
 
 " That is because you do not know them. But in this 
 affair you are to be the leader of the fighting column. 
 You will, of course, have carte blanche." 
 
 Oscard nodded. 
 
 " I suppose," he said, after a pause, " that there is the 
 question of money ?"
 
 A RECRUIT 57 
 
 " Yes ; Meredith and I have talked that over. The plan 
 we fixed upon was that you and he each put a thousand 
 pounds into it; I put five hundred. For the first two 
 years we share the profits equally. After that we must 
 come to some fresh arrangemeut, should you or Meredith 
 wish to give up an active part in the affair. I presume 
 you would not ohject to coming up at the end of the year, 
 with a handy squad of men to bring down the crop under 
 escort ?" 
 
 "No," replied Oscard, after a moment's reflection. "I 
 should probably be able to do that." 
 
 " I reckon," continued the other, " that the journey down 
 could be accomplished in two months, and each time you 
 do the trip you will reduce your time." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Of course," Durnovo went on, with the details which 
 he knew were music in Oscard's ears — " of course we shall 
 be a clumsy party going up. We shall have heavy loads 
 of provisions, ammunition, and seeds for cultivating the 
 land up there." 
 
 "Yes," replied Guy Oscard, absently. In his ears there 
 rang already the steady plash of the paddle, the weird mel- 
 ancholy song of the boatmen, the music of the wind amid 
 the forest trees. 
 
 Durnovo rose briskly. 
 
 " Then," he said, " you will join us ? I may telegraph 
 out to Meredith that you will join us?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Oscard, simply. " You may do that." 
 
 "There is no time to be lost," Durnovo went on. 
 " Every moment wasted adds to the risk of our being su- 
 perseded. I sail for Loango in a fortnight; will you come 
 with me?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Shall I take a passage for you?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Durnovo held out his hand.
 
 58 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " Good-bye," he said. " Shall I always find you here 
 when I want you ?" 
 
 " Yes — stay, though ! I shall be going away for a few 
 days. Come to-morrow to luncheon, and we will settle 
 the preliminaries." 
 
 " Right— one o'clock ?" 
 
 " One o'clock." 
 
 When Durnovo had gone Guy sat down and wrote to 
 Lady Cantourne accepting her invitation to spend a few 
 days at Cantourne Place, on the Solent. He explained that 
 his visit would be in the nature of a farewell, as he was 
 about to leave for Africa for a little big-game hunting. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 TO PASS THE TIME 
 " Quand on n'a pas ce que l'on airne, il faut aimer ce que Ton a." 
 
 "Your energy, my dear lady, is not the least of many 
 attributes." 
 
 Lady Cantourne looked up from her writing-desk with 
 her brightest smile. Sir John Meredith was standing by 
 the open window, leaning against the jamb thereof with a 
 grace that had lost its youthful repose. He was looking 
 out, across a sloping lawn, over the Solent, and for that 
 purpose he had caused himself to be clad in a suit of blue 
 serge. He looked the veteran yachtsman to perfection — he 
 could look anything in its season ; but he did his yachting 
 from the shore — by preference from the drawing-room 
 window. 
 
 "One must keep up with the times, John," replied the 
 lady, daintily dipping her quill. 
 
 "And ' the times' fills its house from roof to cellar with
 
 TO PASS THE TIME 59 
 
 people who behave as if they were in a hotel. Some of 
 them — say number five on the first floor, number eleven on 
 the second, or some of the atticated relatives — announce at 
 breakfast that they will not be home to lunch. Another 
 says he cannot possibly be home to dinner at half -past 
 seven, and so on. 'The times' expects a great deal for its 
 money, and does not even allow one to keep the small 
 change of civility." 
 
 Lady Cantonrne was blotting vigorously. 
 
 " I admit," she answered, " that the reaction is rather 
 strong; reactions are always stronger than they intend to 
 be. In our early days the formalities were made too much 
 of ; now they are™" 
 
 " Made into a social hash," he suggested, when she paused 
 for a word, " where the prevailing flavor is the commoC 
 onion of commerce! Now, I'll wager any sum that that is 
 an invitation to some one you do not care a screw about." 
 
 " It is. But, Sir John, the hash must be kept moving ; 
 cold hash is not palatable. I will tell you at once; I am in- 
 viting young Semoor to fill the vacancy caused by Mr. Os- 
 card's departure." 
 
 " Ah ! Mr. Oscard proposes depriving us of his — so- 
 ciety." 
 
 " He leaves to - morrow. He only came to say good- 
 bye." 
 
 " He moves on — to some other hostlery 2" 
 
 " No ! He is going to-—" 
 
 She paused, so that Sir John was forced to turn in cour- 
 teous inquiry and look her in the face. 
 
 " Africa !" she added, sharply, never taking her bright 
 eyes from his face. 
 
 She saw the twitching of the aged lips before his hand 
 got there to hide them. She saw his eyes fall before her 
 steady gaze, and she pitied him while she admired his un- 
 compromising pride. 
 
 u Indeed 1" he said. " I have reason to believe," he added,
 
 60 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 turning to the window again, " that there is a great future 
 before that country ; all the intellect of Great Britain seems 
 to be converging in its direction." 
 
 Since his departure Jack's name had never been men- 
 tioned, even between these two whose friendship dated back 
 a generation. Once or twice Sir John had made a subtle 
 passing reference to him, such as perhaps no other woman 
 but Lady Cantourne could have understood; but Africa 
 was, so to speak, blotted out of Sir John Meredith's map of 
 the world. It was there that he kept his skeleton — the son 
 who had been his greatest pride and his deepest humilia- 
 tion — his highest hope in life — almost the only failure of 
 his career. 
 
 He stood there by the window, looking out with that 
 well-bred interest in details of sport and pastime which was 
 part of his creed. He braved it out even before the woman 
 who had been a better friend to him than his dead wife. 
 Not even to her would be confess that any event of exist- 
 ence could reach him through the impenetrable mask he 
 wore before the world. Not even she must know that 
 aught in his life could breathe of failure or disappointment. 
 As it is given to the best of women to want to take their 
 sorrows to another, so the strongest men instinctively deny 
 their desire for sympathy. 
 
 Lady Cantourne, pretending to select another sheet of 
 note-paper, glanced at him with a pathetic little smile. Al- 
 though they had never been anything to each other, these 
 two people had passed through many of the trials to which 
 humanity is heir almost side by side. But neither had ever 
 broken down. Each acted as a sort of mental tonic on the 
 Dther. They had tacitly agreed, years before, to laugh at 
 most things. She saw, more distinctly than any, the singu- 
 lar emptiness of his clothes, as if the man were shrinking, 
 and she knew that the emptiness was of the heart. 
 
 Sir John Meredith had taught his son that Self, and Self 
 alone, reigps in the world. He had taught him that the
 
 TO PASS THK TIME 61 
 
 thing called Love, with a capital L, is nearly all self, and 
 that it finally dies in the arras of Self. He had told hira 
 that a father's love, or a son's, or a mother's, is merely a 
 matter of convenience, and vanishes when Self asserts itself. 
 
 Upon this principle they were both acting now, with a 
 strikintdv suggestive similaritv of method. Neither was 
 willing to admit to the world in general, and to the other 
 in particular, that a cynical theory could possibly be erro- 
 neous. 
 
 " I am sorry that our young friend is going to leave us," 
 said Sir John, taking up and unfolding the morning paper. 
 " He is honest and candid, if he is nothing else." 
 
 This meant that Guy Oscard's admiration for Millicent 
 Chyne had never been concealed for a moment, and Lady 
 Cantourne knew it. 
 
 " He interests me," went on the old aristocrat, studying 
 the newspaper; and his hearer knew the inner significance 
 of the remark. 
 
 At times she was secretly ashamed of her niece, but that 
 esprit de corps which binds women together prompted her 
 always to defend Millicent. The only defence at the mo- 
 ment was silence, and an assumed density which did not 
 deceive Sir John — even she could not do that. 
 
 In the meantime Miss Millicent Chyne was walking on 
 the sea-wall at the end of the garden with Guy Oscard. 
 One of the necessary acquirements of a modern educational 
 outfit is the power of looking perfectly at home in a score 
 of different costumes during the year, and, needless to say, 
 Miss Chyne was perfectly finished in this art. The manner 
 in which she wore her sailor-hat, her blue serge, and her neat 
 brown shoes conveyed to the onlooker, and especially the 
 male of that species (we cannot in conscience call them ob- 
 servers), the impression that she was a yachtswoman born 
 and bred. Her delicate complexion was enhanced by the 
 faintest suspicion of sunburn and a few exceedingly becom- 
 ing freckles. There was a freedom in her movements which
 
 62 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Lad not been observed in London drawing-rooms. This was 
 Diana-like and in perfect keeping with the dainty sailor out- 
 fit ; moreover, nine men out of ten would fail to attribute 
 the difference to sundry cunning strings within the (Lon- 
 don) skirt. 
 
 " It is sad," Millicent was saying, " to think that we shall 
 have no more chances of sailing. The wind has quite 
 dropped, that horrid tide is running, and — this is your last 
 day." 
 
 She ended with a little laugh, knowing full well that there 
 was little sentiment in the big man by her side. 
 
 "Really," she went on, " I think I should be able to man- 
 age a boat in time, don't you think so ? Please encourage 
 me. I am sure I have tried to learn." 
 
 But he remained persistently grave. She did not like 
 that gravity ; she had met it before in the course of her ex- 
 periments. One of the grievances harbored by Miss Milli- 
 cent Chyne against the opposite sex was that they could 
 not settle down into a harmless, honest flirtation. Of course, 
 this could be nothing but a flirtation of the lightest and 
 most evanescent description. She was engaged to Jack 
 Meredith — poor Jack, who was working for her, ever so 
 hard, somewhere near the equator — and if Guy Oscard did 
 not know this he had only himself to blame. There were 
 plenty of people ready to tell him. He had only to ask. 
 
 Millicent Chyne, like Guy, was hampered at the outset of 
 life by theories upon it. Experience, the fashionable novel, 
 and modern cynicism had taught her to expect little from 
 human nature— a dangerous lesson, for it eases responsibility, 
 and responsibility is the ten commandments rolled into a 
 compact whole, suitable for the pocket. 
 
 She expected of no man — not even of Jack — that perfect 
 faithfulness in every word and thought which is read of in 
 books. And it is one of the theories of the day that what 
 one does not expect one is not called upon to give. Jack, 
 she reflected, was too much a man of the world to expect
 
 TO PASS THE TIME 63 
 
 her to sit and mope alone. She was apparently incapable 
 of seeing the difference between that pastime and sitting on 
 the sea-wall behind a large, flowering currant-tree with a 
 man who did not pretend to hide the fact that he was in 
 love with her. Some women are thus. 
 
 " I do not know if you have learned much," he answered ; 
 " but I have." 
 
 "What have you learned?" she asked, in a low voice, half- 
 fascinated by the danger into which she knew that she was 
 running. 
 
 " That I love you," he answered, standing squarely in 
 front of her, and announcing the fact with a deliberate hon- 
 esty which was rather startling. " I was not sure of it be- 
 fore, so I stayed away from you for three weeks ; but now 
 I know for certain." 
 
 " Oh, you mustn't say that !" 
 
 She rose hastily and turned away from him. There was 
 in her heart a sudden feeling of regret. It was the feeling 
 
 DO O 
 
 that the keenest sportsman sometimes has when some ma- 
 jestic monarch of the forest falls before his merciless rifle — 
 a sudden passing desire that it might be undone. 
 
 " Why not ?" he asked. He was desperately in earnest, 
 and that which made him a good sportsman — an unmatched 
 big-game hunter, calm and self-possessed in any strait — gave 
 him a strange deliberation now, which Millicent Chyne could 
 not understand. " Why not ?" 
 
 "I do not know — because you mustn't." 
 
 And in her heart she wanted him to say it again. 
 
 " I am not ashamed of it," he said, " and I do not see 
 why I should not say it to you — or to any one else, so far 
 as that goes." 
 
 " No, never !" she cried, really frightened. " To me it 
 does not matter so much. But to no one else — no, never! 
 Aunt Marian must not know it — nor Sir John." 
 
 " I cannot see that it is any business of Sir John's. Of 
 course, Lady Cantourne would have liked you to marry a
 
 64 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 title ; but if you cared for me she would be ready to listen 
 to reason." 
 
 In which judgment of the good lady he was no doubt 
 right — especially if reason spoke with the voice of three 
 thousand pounds per annum. 
 
 " Do you care for me ?" he asked, coming a little closer. 
 
 There was a whole world of gratified vanity and ungrati- 
 fled curiosity for her in the presence of this strong man at 
 her elbow. It was one of the supreme triumphs of her life, 
 because he was different from the rest. He was for her 
 what his first tiger had been for him. The danger that he 
 might come still nearer had for her a sense of keen pleas- 
 ure. She was thoroughly enjoying herself, and the nearest 
 approach that men can experience to the joy that was hers 
 is the joy of battle. 
 
 " I cannot answer that — not now." 
 
 And the little half-shrinking glance over her shoulder was 
 a low-minded, unmaidenly invitation. But he was in ear- 
 nest, and he was, above all, a gentleman. He stood his 
 ground a yard away from her. 
 
 " Then when," he asked — " when will you answer me ?" 
 
 She stood with her back turned towards him, looking out 
 over the smooth waters of the Solent, where one or two 
 yachts and a heavy black schooner were creeping up on the 
 tide before the morning breeze. She drummed reflectively 
 with her fingers on the low stone wall. Beneath them a 
 few mills whirled and screamed over a shoal of little fish. 
 One of the birds had a singular cry, as if it were laughing 
 to itself. 
 
 " You said just now," Millicent answered at length, " that 
 you were not sure yourself — not at first — and, therefore, you 
 cannot expect me to know all at once." 
 
 "You would know at once," he argued, gravely, "if it 
 were going to be ' No.' If you do not say ' No ' now, I can 
 only think that it may be 'Yes' some day. And" — he came 
 closer — he took the hand that hung at her side — conven-
 
 LOANGO 65 
 
 iently near — "and I don't want you to say 'No' now. Don't 
 say 'No'! I will wait as long as you like for ' Yes.' Milli- 
 cent, I would rather go on waiting and thinking that it is 
 going to be ' Yes,' even if it is ' No ' after all." 
 
 She said nothing, but she left her hand in his. 
 
 " May I go on thinking that it will be ' Yes ' until I come 
 back?" 
 
 " I cannot prevent your thinking, can I ?" she whispered, 
 with a tender look in her eyes. 
 
 " And may I write to you ?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 « Well— I— I— Now and then," he pleaded. " Not 
 often. Just to remind you of my existence." 
 
 She gave a little laugh, which he liked exceedingly and 
 remembered afterwards. 
 
 " If you like," she answered. 
 
 At this moment Lady Cantourne's voice was heard in the 
 distance, calling them. 
 
 " There !" exclaimed Millicent. " We must go at once. 
 And no one — no one, mind — must know of this." 
 
 " No one shall know of it," he answered. 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 LOANGO 
 
 11 Faithful and hopeful, wise in charity, 
 Strong in grave peace, in pity circumspect." 
 
 Those who for their sins have been to Loango will 
 scarcely care to have its beauties recalled to memory. And 
 to such as have not visited the spot one can only earnestly 
 recommend a careful avoidance. 
 
 Suffice it to say, therefore, that there is such a place, and
 
 66 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 the curious may find it marked in larger type than it de- 
 serves on the map of Africa, on the west coast of that 
 country, and within an inch or so of the equator. 
 
 Loango has a bar, and outside of that mysterious and 
 somewhat suggestive nautical hinderance the coasting steam- 
 ers anchor, while the smaller local fry find harbor nearer 
 to the land. The passenger is not recommended to go 
 ashore — indeed, many difficulties are placed in his way, and 
 he usually stays on board while the steamer receives or dis- 
 charges a scanty cargo, rolling ceaselessly in the Atlantic 
 swell. The roar of the surf may be heard, and at times 
 some weird cry or song. There is nothing to tempt even 
 the most adventurous through that surf. A moderately 
 large white building attracts the eye, and usually brings 
 upon itself a contemptuous stare, for it seems to be the 
 town of Loango, marked so bravely on the map. As a 
 matter of fact the town is five miles inland, and the white 
 building is only a factory or trading establishment. 
 
 Loango is the reverse of cheerful. To begin with, it is 
 usually raining there. The roar of the surf — than which 
 there are few sadder sounds on earth — fills the atmosphere 
 with a never-ceasing melancholy. The country is over- 
 wooded ; the tropical vegetation, the huge tangled African 
 trees, stand almost in the surf; and inland the red serrated 
 hills mount guard in gloomy array c For Europeans this 
 country is accursed. From the mysterious forest-land there 
 creeps down a subtle, tainted air that poisons the white 
 man's blood, and either strikes him down in a fever or ter- 
 rifies him by strange unknown symptoms and sudden dis- 
 figuring disease. The Almighty speaks very plainly some- 
 times and in some places — nowhere more plainly than on 
 the West Coast of Africa, which land He evidently wants 
 for the black man. We, of the fairer skin, have Australia 
 now; we are taking America, we are dominant in Asia; 
 but somehow we don't get on in Africa. The Umpire is 
 there, and He insists on fair play.
 
 LOANGO 67 
 
 " This is not cheery," Jack Meredith observed to his ser- 
 vant, as they found themselves deposited on the beach within 
 a stone's-throw of the French factory. 
 
 "No, sir, not cheery, sir," replied Joseph. He was very 
 busy attending to the landing of their personal effects, and 
 had only time to be respectful. It was Joseph's way to do 
 only one thing at a time, on the principle, no doubt, that 
 enough for the moment is the evil thereof. His manner 
 implied that, when those colored gentlemen had got the 
 baggage safely conveyed out of the boats onto the beach, 
 it would be time enough to think about Loango. 
 
 Moreover, Joseph was, in his way, rather a dauntless per- 
 son. He held that there were few difficulties which he and 
 his master, each in his respective capacity, were unable to 
 meet. This African mode of life was certainly not one for 
 which he had bargained when taking service; but he rather 
 enjoyed it than otherwise, and he was consoled by the re- 
 flection that what was good enough for his master was good 
 enough for him. Beneath the impenetrable mask of a dig- 
 nified servitude he knew that this was " all along of that 
 Chyne girl," and rightly conjectured that it would not last 
 forever. He had an immense respect for Sir John, whom 
 he tersely described as a " game one," but his knowledge of 
 the world went towards the supposition that headstrong 
 age would finally bow before headstrong youth. He did 
 not, however, devote much consideration to these matters, 
 being a young man, although an old soldier, and taking a 
 lively interest in the present. 
 
 It had been arranged by letter that Jack Meredith should 
 put up, as his host expressed it, at the small bungalow oc- 
 cupied by Maurice Gordon and his sister. Gordon was the 
 local head of a large trading association somewhat after the 
 style of the old East India Company, and his duties par- 
 took more of the glory of a governor than of the routine 
 of a trader. 
 
 Of Maurice Gordon's past Meredith knew nothing beyond
 
 68 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 the fact that they were school-fellows strangely brought to- 
 gether again on the deck of a coasting steamer. Maurice 
 Gordon was not a reserved person, and it was rather from a 
 lack of opportunity than from an excess of caution that he 
 allowed his new-found friend to go up the Ogowe River 
 knowing so little of himself — Maurice Gordon, of Loango. 
 
 There were plenty of willing guides and porters on the 
 beach ; for in this part of Africa there is no such thing as 
 continued and methodical labor. The entire population 
 consider the lilies of the fields to obvious purpose. 
 
 Joseph presently organized a considerable portion of this 
 population into a procession, headed triumphantly by an old 
 white-woolled negro whose son cleaned Maurice Gordon's 
 boots. This man Joseph selected — not without one or two 
 jokes of a somewhat personal nature — as a fitting guide to 
 the Gordons' house. As they neared the little settlement 
 on the outskirts of the black town where the mission and 
 other European residences are situated, the veteran guide 
 sent on couriers to announce the arrival of the great gentle- 
 man, who had for body-servant the father of laughter. 
 
 On finally reaching the bungalow Meredith was pleasantly 
 surprised. It was pretty and homelike — surrounded by a 
 garden wherein grew a strange profusion of homely English 
 vegetables and tropical flowers. 
 
 Joseph happened to be in front, and, as he neared the 
 veranda, he suddenly stopped at the salute; moreover, he 
 began to wonder in which trunk he had packed his master's 
 dress-clothes. 
 
 An English lady was coming out of the drawing-room 
 window to meet the travellers — a lady whose presence dif- 
 fused that sense of refinement and peace into the atmosphere 
 which has done as much towards the expansion of our piece- 
 meal empire as ever did the strong right arm of Thomas 
 Atkins. It is because — sooner or later — these ladies come 
 with us that we have learned to mingle peace with war — to 
 make friends of whilom enemies.
 
 LOANGO 69 
 
 She nodded in answer to the servant's salutation, and 
 passed on to greet the master. 
 
 " My brother has been called away suddenly," she said. 
 " One of his sub-agents has been getting into trouble with 
 the natives. Of course you are Mr. Meredith?" 
 
 " I am," replied Jack, taking the hand she held out ; it 
 was a small white hand — small without being frail or diaph- 
 anous. "And you are Miss Gordon, I suppose? I am 
 sorry Gordon is away, but no doubt we shall be able to find 
 somewhere to put up." 
 
 "You need not do that," she said, quietly. "This is 
 Africa, you know. You can quite well stay with us, although 
 Maurice is away until to-morrow." 
 
 "Sure?" he asked. 
 
 " Quite !" she answered. 
 
 She was tall and fair, with a certain stateliness of carriage 
 which harmonized wonderfully with a thoughtful and pale 
 face. She was not exactly pretty, but gracious and womanly, 
 with honest blue eyes that looked on men and women alike. 
 She was probably twenty-eight years of age; her manner 
 was that of a woman rather than that of a girl — of one who 
 was in life and not on the outskirts. 
 
 " We rather pride ourselves," she said, leading the way 
 into the drawing-room, " upon having the best house in 
 Loango. You will, I think, be more comfortable here than 
 anywhere." 
 
 She turned and looked at him with a slow, grave smile. 
 She was noticing that, of the men who had been in this draw- 
 ing-room, none had seemed so entirely at his ease as this one. 
 
 " I must ask you to believe that I was thinking of your 
 comfort and not of my own." 
 
 "Yes, I know you were," she answered. "Our circle is 
 rather limited, as you will find, and very few of the neigh- 
 bors have time to think of their houses. Most of them are 
 missionaries, and they are so busy ; they have a large field, 
 you see."
 
 70 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " Very — and a weedy one, I should think." 
 
 He was looking round, noting with well-trained glance 
 the thousand little indescribable touches that make a charm- 
 ing room. He knew his ground. He knew the date and 
 the meaning of every little ornament — the title and the 
 writer of each book — the very material with which the 
 chairs were covered ; and he knew that all was good — all 
 arranged with that art which is the difference between 
 ignorance and knowledge. 
 
 " I see you have all the new books." 
 
 " Yes, we have books and magazines ; but, of course, we 
 live quite out of the world." 
 
 She paused, leaving the conversation with him as in the 
 hands of one who knows his business. 
 
 " I," he said, filling up the pause, " have hitherto lived in 
 the world — right in it. There is a lot of dust and commo- 
 tion ; the dust gets into people's eyes and blinds them ; the 
 commotion wears them out ; and perhaps, after all, Loango 
 is better I" 
 
 He spoke with the easy independence of the man of the 
 world, accustomed to feel his way in strange places — not 
 heeding what opinion he might raise — what criticism he 
 might brave. He was glancing round him all the while, 
 noting things, and wondering for whose benefit this pretty 
 room had been evolved in the heart of a savage country. 
 Perhaps he had assimilated erroneous notions of woman- 
 kind in the world of which he spoke ; perhaps he had never 
 met any of those women whose natural refinement urges 
 them to surround themselves, even in solitude, with pretty 
 things, and prompts them to dress as neatly and becom- 
 ingly as their circumstances allow for the edification of no 
 man. 
 
 " I never abuse Loango," she answered ; " such abuse is 
 apt to recoil. To call a place dull is often a confession of 
 dulness." 
 
 He laughed — still in that somewhat unnatural manner, as
 
 LOANGO 71 
 
 if desirous of filling up time. He bad spent the latter year 
 of his life in doing nothing else. The man's method was so 
 different to what Jocelyn Gordon had met with in Loango, 
 where men were all in deadly earaest, pursuing souls or 
 wealth, that it struck her forcibly, and she remembered it 
 long after Meredith had forgotten its use. 
 
 " I have no idea," she continued, " how the place strikes 
 the passing traveller; he usually passes by on the other 
 side; but I am afraid there is nothing to arouse the small- 
 est interest." 
 
 "But, Miss Gordon, I am not the passing traveller." 
 
 She looked up with a sudden interest. 
 
 " Indeed ! I understood from Maurice that you were 
 travelling down the coast without any particular object." 
 
 " I have an object — estimable, if not quite original." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " I want to make some money. I have never made any yet, 
 so there is a certain novelty in the thought which is pleasant." 
 
 She smiled with the faintest suspicion of incredulity. 
 
 " I know what you are thinking," he said ; " that I am 
 too neat and tidy — too namby-pamby to do anything in 
 this country. That my boots are too narrow in the toe, my 
 hair too short, and my face too clean. I cannot help it. It 
 is the fault of the individual you saw outside — Joseph. He 
 insists on a strict observance of the social duties." 
 
 " We are rougher here," she answered. 
 
 " I left England," he explained, " in rather a hurry. I 
 had no time to buy uncomfortable boots, or anything like 
 that. I know it was wrong. The ordinary young man of 
 society who goes morally to the dogs and physically to the 
 colonies always has an outfit. His friends buy him an out- 
 fit, and certain enterprising haberdashers make a study of 
 such things. I came as I am." 
 
 While he was speaking she had been watching him — 
 studying him more closely than she had hitherto been able 
 to do.
 
 72 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " I once met a Sir John Meredith," she said, suddenly. 
 
 " My father." 
 
 He paused, drawing in his legs, and apparently studying 
 the neat brown boots of which there had been question. 
 
 " Should you meet him again," he went on, " it would 
 not be advisable to mention my name. He might not care 
 to hear it. We have had a slight difference of opinion. 
 With me it is different. I am always glad to hear about 
 him. I have an immense respect for him." 
 
 She listened gravely, with a sympathy that did not at- 
 tempt to express itself in words. On such a short acquaint- 
 ance she had not learned to expect a certain lightness of 
 conversational touch which he always assumed when speak- 
 ing of himself, as if his own thoughts and feelings were 
 matters for ridicule. 
 
 " Of course," he went on, " I was in the wrong. I know 
 that. But it sometimes happens that a man is not in a po- 
 sition to admit that he is in the wrong — when, for instance, 
 another person would suffer by such an admission." 
 
 "Yes," answered Jocelyn — "I understand." 
 
 At this moment a servant came in with lamps, and pro- 
 ceeded to close the windows. She was quite an old woman 
 — an Englishwoman ; and as she placed the lamps upon 
 the table she scrutinized the guest after the manner of a 
 privileged servitor. When she had departed Jack Meredith 
 continued his narrative with a sort of deliberation which 
 was explained later on. 
 
 " And," he said, " that is why I came to Africa — that is 
 why I want to make money. I do not mind confessing to 
 a low greed of gain, because I think I have the best motive 
 that a man can have for wanting to make money." 
 
 He said this meaningly, and watched her face all the 
 while. 
 
 " A motive which any lady ought to approve of." 
 
 She smiled sympathetically. 
 
 " I approve and I admire your spirit."
 
 A COMPACT 
 
 IS 
 
 She rose as she spoke, and moved towards a side -table, 
 •where two lighted candles had been placed. 
 
 " My motive for talking so barefacedly about myself," he 
 said, as they moved towards the door together, " was to let 
 you know exactly who I am and why I am here. It was 
 only due to you on accepting your hospitality. .1 might 
 have been a criminal, or an escaped embezzler. There were 
 two on board the steamer coming out, and several other 
 shady characters." » 
 
 " Yes," said the girl, " I saw your motive." 
 
 They were now in the hall, and the aged servant was 
 waiting to show him his room. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 A COMPACT 
 " Drifting, slow drifting down a wizard stream." 
 
 " No one knows," Victor Durnovo was in the habit of 
 saying, " what is going on in the middle of Africa." 
 
 And on this principle he acted. 
 
 " Ten miles above the camping-ground where we first 
 met," he had told Meredith, "you will find a village where 
 I have my headquarters. There is quite a respectable house 
 there, with — a — a woman to look after your wants. When 
 you have fixed things up at Loango, and have arranged for 
 the dhows to meet my steamer, take up all your men to this 
 village — Msala is the name — and send the boats back. 
 Wait there till we come." 
 
 In due time the telegram came, via St. Paul de Loanda, 
 announcing the fact that Oscard had agreed to join the ex- 
 pedition, and that Durnovo and he might be expected at 
 Msala in one month from that time. It was not without a
 
 74 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 vague feeling of regret that Jack Meredith read this tele- 
 gram. To be at Msala in a month with forty men and a 
 vast load of provisions meant leaving Loango almost at 
 once. And, strange though it may seem, he had become 
 somewhat attached to the dreary East African town. The 
 singular cosmopolitan society was entirely new to him ; the 
 life, taken as a life, almost unique. He knew that he had 
 not outstayed his welcome. Maurice Gordon had taken 
 care to assure him of that in his boisterous, hearty manner, 
 savoring more of Harrow than of Eton, every morning at 
 breakfast. 
 
 " Confound Durnovo !" he cried, when the telegram had 
 been read aloud. " Confound him, with his energy and his 
 business-like habits ! That means that you will have to 
 leave us before long ; and somehow it has got to be quite 
 natural to see you come lounging in ten minutes late for 
 most things, with an apology for Jocelyn, but none for me. 
 We shall miss you, old chap." 
 
 " Yes," added Jocelyn, " we shall." 
 
 She was busy with the cups, and spoke rather indifferently. 
 
 "So you've got Oscard ?" continued Maurice. " I imagine 
 he is a good man — tip-top shot, and all that. I've never 
 met him, but I have heard of him." 
 
 " He is a gentleman, at all events," said Meredith, quietly ; 
 " I know that." 
 
 Jocelyn was looking at him between the hibiscus flowers 
 decorating the table. 
 
 " Is Mr. Durnovo going to be leader of the expedition ?" 
 she inquired, casually, after a few moments' silence ; and 
 Jack, looking up with a queer smile, met her glance for a 
 moment. 
 
 " No," he answered. 
 
 Maurice Gordon's hearty laugh interrupted. 
 
 " Ha, ha !" he cried. " I wonder where the dickens you 
 men are going to 3" 
 
 " Up the Ogowe River," replied Jack.
 
 A COMPACT 75 
 
 " No doubt. But what for ? There is something mys- 
 terious about that river. Durnovo keeps his poor relations 
 there, or something of that kind." 
 
 " We are not going to look for them." 
 
 " I suppose," said Maurice, helping himself to marma- 
 lade, " that he has dropped upon some large deposit of 
 ivory ; that will turn out to be the solution of the mystery. 
 It is the solution of most mysteries in this country. I 
 wish I could solve the mysteries of ways and means, and 
 drop upon a large deposit of ivory, or spice, or precious 
 stones. We should soon be out of this country, should we 
 not, old girl ?" 
 
 " I do not think we have much to complain of," answered 
 Jocelyn. 
 
 " No ; you never do. Moreover, I do not suppose you 
 would do so if you had the excuse." 
 
 " Oh yes, I should, if I thought it would do any good." 
 
 " x\h !" put in Meredith ; " there speaks Philosophy — 
 jam, please." 
 
 "Or resignation — that is strawberry and this is black 
 currant." 
 
 " Thanks, black currant. No — Philosophy. Resignation 
 is the most loathsome of the virtues." 
 
 " I can't say I care for any of them very much," put in 
 Maurice. 
 
 "No; I thought you seemed to shun them," said Jack, 
 like a flash. 
 
 " Sharp ! very sharp ! Jocelyn, do you know what we 
 called him at school? — the French nail; he was so very 
 long and thin and sharp ! I might add polished and strong, 
 but we were not so polite in those days. Poor old Jack ! 
 he gave as good as he got. But I must be off — the com- 
 merce of Eastern Africa awaits me. You'll be round at the 
 office presently, I suppose, Jack ?" 
 
 "Yes; I have an appointment there with a colored per- 
 son who is a liar by nature and a cook by trade."
 
 *76 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Maurice Gordon usually went off like this — at a mo. 
 ment's notice. He was one of those loud - speaking, quick- 
 actioned men, who often get a reputation for energy and 
 capacity without fully deserving it. 
 
 Jack, of a more meditative habit, rarely followed his host 
 with the same obvious haste. He finished his breakfast 
 calmly, and then asked Jocelyn whether she was coming 
 out onto the veranda. It was a habit they had uncon- 
 sciously dropped into. The veranda was a very important 
 feature of the house, thickly overhung as it was with palms, 
 bananas, and other tropical verdure. Africa is the land of 
 creepers, and all around this veranda, over the trellis-work, 
 around the supports, hanging in festoons from the roof, 
 were a thousand different creeping flowers. The legend of 
 the house — for, as in India, almost every bungalow on the 
 West Coast has its tale — was that one of the early mission- 
 aries had built it, and, to beguile the long months of the 
 rainy season, had carefully collected these creepers to beau- 
 tify the place against the arrival of his young wife. She 
 never came. A telegram stopped her. A snake interrupted 
 his labor of love. 
 
 Jack took a seat at once, and began to search for his 
 cigar-case in the pocket of his jacket. In this land of flies 
 and moths, men need not ask permission before they smoke. 
 Jocelyn did not sit down at once. She went to the front 
 of the veranda and watched her brother mount his horse. 
 She was a year older than Maurice Gordon, and exercised 
 a larger influence over his life than either of them sus- 
 pected. 
 
 Presently he rode past the veranda, waving his hand 
 cheerily. He was one of those large, hearty Englishmen 
 who seem to be all appetite and laughter — men who may 
 be said to be manly, and beyond that, nothing. Their 
 manliness is so overpowering that it swallows up many 
 other qualities which are not out of place in men, such as 
 tact and thoughtfulness, and perhaps intellectuality, and the
 
 A COMPACT *11 
 
 power to take some interest in those gentler things that in- 
 terest women. 
 
 When Jocelyn came to the back of the veranda she was 
 thinking about her brother Maurice, and it never suggested 
 itself to her that she should not speak her thoughts to 
 Meredith, whom she had not seen until three weeks ago. 
 She had never spoken of Maurice behind his back to any 
 man before. 
 
 " Does it ever strike you," she said, " that Maurice is the 
 sort of man to be led astray by evil influence ?" 
 
 "Yes; or to be led straight by a good influence, such as 
 yours." 
 
 He did not meet her thoughtful gaze. He was apparent- 
 ly watching the retreating form of the horse through the 
 tangle of flower and leaf and tendril. 
 
 "I am afraid," said the girl, "that my influence is not of 
 much account." 
 
 "Do you really believe that?" asked Meredith, turning 
 upon her with a half-cynical smile. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, simply. 
 
 Before speaking again he took a pull at his cigar. 
 
 "Your influence," he said, "appears to me to be the 
 making of Maurice Gordon. I frequently see serious flaws 
 in the policy of Providence; but I suppose there is wisdom 
 in making the strongest influence that which is unconscious 
 of its power." 
 
 " I am glad you think I have some power over him," 
 said Jocelyn ; " but, at the same time, it makes me uneasy, 
 because it only confirms my conviction that he is very easily 
 led. And suppose my influence — such as it is — was with- 
 drawn ? Suppose that I were to die, or, what appears to be 
 more likely, suppose that he should marry V 
 
 " Then let us hope that he will marry the right person. 
 People sometimes do, you know." 
 
 She smiled with a strange little flicker of the eyelids. 
 They had grown wonderfully accustomed to each other dur-
 
 V8 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 ing the last three weeks. Here, it would appear, was one 
 of those friendships between man and woman that occa- 
 sionally set the world agog with curiosity and scepticism. 
 But there seemed to be no doubt about it. He was over 
 thirty, she verging on that prosaic age. Both had lived 
 and moved in the world; to both life was an open book, 
 and they had probably discovered, as most of us do, that 
 the larger number of the leaves are blank. He had almost 
 told her that he was engaged to be married, and she had 
 quite understood. There could not possibly be any misap- 
 prehension ; there was no room for one of those little mis- 
 takes about which people write novels and foldly hope that 
 some youthful reader may be carried away by a very faint 
 resemblance to that which they hold to be life. Moreover, 
 at thirty, one leaves the first romance of youth behind. 
 
 There was something in her smile that suggested that 
 she did not quite believe in his cynicism. 
 
 " Also," she said, gravely, " some stronger influence might 
 appear — an influence which I could not counteract." 
 
 Jack Meredith turned in his long chair and looked at her 
 searchingly. 
 
 " I have a vague idea," he said, " that you are thinking 
 of Durnovo." 
 
 " I am," she admitted, with some surprise. " I wonder 
 how you knew ? I am afraid of him." 
 
 " I can reassure you on that score," said Meredith. " For 
 the next two years or so Durnovo will be in daily inter- 
 course with me. He will be under my immediate eye. I 
 did not anticipate much pleasure from his society, but now 
 I do." 
 
 " Why ?" she asked, rather mystified. 
 
 " Because I shall have the daily satisfaction of knowing 
 that I am relieving you of an anxiety." 
 
 " It is very kind of you to put it in that way," said 
 Jocelyn. " But I should not like you to sacrifice yourself 
 to what may be a foolish prejudice on my part."
 
 A COMPACT 79 
 
 "It is not a foolish prejudice. Durnovo is not a gentle- 
 man, either by birth or inclination. He is not fit to asso- 
 ciate with you." 
 
 To this Jocelyn answered nothing. Victor Durnovo was 
 one of her brother's closest friends — a friend of his own 
 choosing. 
 
 " Miss Gordon," said Meredith, suddenly, with a gravity 
 that was rare, " will you do me a favor ?" 
 
 " I think I should like to." 
 
 "You admit that you are afraid of Durnovo now ; if at 
 any time you have reason to be more afraid, will you make 
 use of me? Will you write or come to me and ask my 
 help?" 
 
 " Thank you," she said, hesitatingly. 
 
 "You see," he went on in a lighter tone, "/ am not 
 afraid of Durnovo. I have met Durnovo before. You 
 may have observed that my locks no longer resemble the 
 raven's wing. There is a little gray — just here — above the 
 temple. I am getting on in life, and I know how to deal 
 with Durnovos." 
 
 " Thank you," said the girl, with a little sigh of relief. 
 "The feeling that I have some one to turn to will be a 
 great relief. You see how I am placed here. The mis- 
 sionaries are verv kind and well-meaning, but there are 
 some things which they do not quite understand. They 
 may be gentlemen — some of them are ; but they are not 
 men of the world. I have no definite thought or fear, and 
 very good persons, one finds, are occasionally a little dense. 
 Unless things are very definite, they do not understand. y> 
 
 " On the other hand," pursued Jack, in the same reflect- 
 ive tone, as if taking up her thought, " persons who are 
 not good have a perception of the indefinite. I did not 
 think of it in that light before." 
 
 Jocelyn Gordon laughed softly, without attempting to 
 meet his lighter vein. 
 
 " Do you know," she said, after a little silence, " that I
 
 80 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 wa,s actually thinking of warning you against Mr. Durnovo? 
 Now I stand aghast at my own presumption." 
 
 " It was kind of you to give the matter any thought 
 whatever." 
 
 He rose and threw away the end of his cigar. Joseph 
 was already before the door, leading the horse which 
 Maurice Gordon had placed at his visitor's disposal. 
 
 " I will lay the warning to heart," he said, standing in 
 front of Jocelyn, and looking down at her as she lay back 
 in the deep basket-chair. She was simply dressed in white 
 — as was her wont, for it must be remembered that they 
 were beneath the equator — a fair English maiden, whose 
 thoughts were hidden behind a certain gracious, impenetra- 
 ble reserve. " I will lay it to heart, although you have not 
 uttered it. But I have always known with what sort of 
 man I was dealing. We serve each other's purpose, that is 
 all ; and he knows that as well as I do." 
 
 " I am glad Mr. Oscard is going with yon," she answered, 
 guardedly. 
 
 He waited a moment. It seemed as if she had not done 
 speaking — as if there was another thought near the surface. 
 But she did not give voice to it, and he turned away. The 
 sound of the horse's feet on the gravel did not arouse her 
 from a reverie into which she had fallen ; and long after it 
 had died away, leaving only the hum of insect life and the 
 distant ceaseless song of the surf, Jocelyn Gordon sat ap- 
 parently watching the dancing shadows on the floor as the 
 creepers waved in the breeze.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A MEETING 
 
 "No one can be more wise than destiny." 
 
 The short equatorial twilight was drawing to an end, and 
 all Nature stood in silence, while Night crept up to claim the 
 land where her reign is more autocratic than elsewhere on 
 earth. There is a black night above the trees, and a blacker 
 beneath. In an hour it would be dark, and, in the mean- 
 time, the lowering clouds were tinged with a pink glow that 
 filtered through from above. There was rain coming, and 
 probably thunder. Moreover, the trees seemed to know it, 
 for there was a limpness in their attitude, as if they were 
 tucking their heads into their shoulders in anticipation of 
 the worst. The insects were certainly possessed of a pre- 
 monition. They had crept away. 
 
 It was distinctly an unlikely evening for the sportsman. 
 The stillness was so complete that the faintest rustle could 
 be heard at a great distance. Moreover, it was the sort of 
 evening when Nature herself seems to be glancing over her 
 shoulder with timorous restlessness. 
 
 Nevertheless, a sportsman was abroad. He was creeping 
 up the right-hand bank of a stream, his only chance lying 
 in the noise of the waters which might serve to deaden the 
 sound of broken twig or rustling leaf. 
 
 This sportsman was Jack Meredith, and it was evident 
 that he was bringing to bear upon the matter in hand that 
 intelligence and keenness of perception which had made 
 him a person of some prominence in other scenes where 
 Nature has a less assured place. 
 
 It would appear that he was not so much at home in the
 
 82 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 tangle of an African forest as in the crooked paths of 
 London society ; for his clothes were torn in more than one 
 place; a mosquito, done to sudden death, adhered san- 
 guinarily to the side of his aristocratic nose, while heat and 
 mental distress had drawn damp stripes down his coun- 
 tenance. His hands were scratched and inclined to bleed, 
 and one leg had apparently been in a morass. Added to 
 these physical drawbacks there was no visible sign of suc- 
 cess, which was probably the worst part of Jack Meredith's 
 plight. 
 
 Since sunset he had been crawling, scrambling, stumbling 
 up the bank of this stream in relentless pursuit of some 
 large animal which persistently kept hidden in the tangle 
 across the bed of the river. The strange part of it was tha\> 
 when he stopped to peep through the branches the animal 
 stopped too, and he found no way of discovering its where- 
 abouts. More than once they stopped thus for nearly five 
 minutes, peering at each other through the heavy leafage. 
 It was distinctly unpleasant, for Meredith felt that the 
 animal was not afraid of him, and did not fully understand 
 the situation. The respective positions of hunter and hunted 
 were imperfectly defined. He had hitherto confined his 
 attentions to such game as showed a sporting readiness to 
 run away, and there was a striking novelty in this unseen 
 beast of the forest, fresh, as it were, from the hands of its 
 Creator, that entered into the fun of the thing from a 
 totally mistaken standpoint. 
 
 Once Meredith was able to decide approximately the 
 whereabouts of his prey by the momentary shaking of a 
 twig. He raised his rifle and covered that twig steadily ; 
 his forefinger played tentatively on the trigger, but on 
 second thoughts he refrained. He was keenly conscious of 
 the fact that the beast was doing its work with skill superior 
 to his own. In comparison to his, its movements were 
 almost noiseless. Jack Meredith was too clever a man to 
 be conceited iv the wrong place, which is the habit of
 
 A MEETING 83 
 
 fools. He recognized very plainly that he was not distin- 
 guishing himself in this new field of glory; he was not yet 
 an accomplished big-game hunter. 
 
 Twice he raised his rifle with the intention of firing at 
 random into the underwood on the remote chance of bring- 
 ing his enemy into the open. But the fascination of this 
 duel of cunning was too strong, and he crept onward with 
 bated breath. 
 
 It was terrifically hot, and all the while Night was stalking 
 westward on the summits of the trees with stealthy tread. 
 
 While absorbed in the intricacies of pursuit — while 
 anathematizing tendrils and condemning thorns to summary 
 judgment — Jack Meredith was not losing sight of his 
 chance of getting back to the little village of Msala. He 
 knew that he had only to follow the course of the stream 
 downward, retracing his steps until a junction with the 
 Ogowe River was effected. In the meantime his lips were 
 parted breathlessly, and there was a light in the quiet eyes 
 which might have startled some of his well-bred friends 
 could they have seen it. 
 
 At last he came to an open space made by a slip of the 
 land into the bed of the river. When Jack Meredith came 
 co this he stepped out of the thicket and stood in the open, 
 awaiting the approach of his stealthy prey. The sound of 
 its footfall was just perceptible, slowly diminishing the dis- 
 tance that divided them. Then the trees were parted, and 
 a tall, fair man stepped forward onto the opposite bank. 
 
 Jack Meredith bowed gravely, and the other sportsman, 
 seeing the absurdity of the situation, burst into hearty 
 laughter. In a moment or two he had leaped from rock to 
 rock and come to Meredith. 
 
 " It seems," he said, " that we have been wasting a con- 
 siderable amount of time." 
 
 "I very nearly wasted powder and shot," replied Jack, 
 significantly indicating his rifle. 
 
 " I saw you twice, and raised my rifle ; your breeches are
 
 84 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 just the color of a young doe. Are you Meredith? My 
 name is Oscard." 
 
 " Ah ! Yes, I am Meredith. I am glad to see you." 
 
 They shook hands. There was a twinkle in Jack Mere- 
 dith's eyes, but Oscard was quite grave. His sense of humor 
 was not very keen, and he was before all things a sportsman. 
 
 " I left the canoes a mile below Msala and landed to shoot 
 a deer we saw drinking, but I never saw him afterwards. 
 Then I heard you, and I have been stalking you ever since." 
 
 " But I never expected you so soon ; you were not due 
 till — look !" Jack whispered, suddenly. 
 
 Oscard turned on his heel, and the next instant their two 
 rifles rang out through the forest stillness in one sharp 
 crack. Across the stream, ten yards behind the spot where 
 Oscard had emerged from the brush, a leopard sprang into 
 the air, five feet from the ground, with head thrown back 
 and paws clawing at the thinness of space with grand free 
 sweeps. The beast fell with a thud, and lay still — dead. 
 
 The two men clambered across the rocks again, side by 
 side. While they stood over the prostrate form of the 
 leopard — beautiful, incomparably graceful and sleek even 
 in death — Guy Oscard stole a sidelong glance at his com- 
 panion. He was a modest man, and yet he knew that he 
 was reckoned among the big-game hunters of the age. This 
 man had fired as quickly as himself, and there were two 
 small trickling holes in the animal's head. 
 
 While he was being quietly scrutinized Jack Meredith 
 stooped down, and, taking the leopard beneath the shoulders, 
 lifted it bodily back from the pool of blood. 
 
 " Pity to spoil the skin," he explained, as he put a fresh 
 cartridge into his rifle. 
 
 Oscar nodded in an approving way. He knew the weight 
 of a full-grown male leopard, all muscle and bone, and he 
 was one of those old-fashioned persons mentioned in the 
 Scriptures as taking a delight in a man's legs — or his arms, 
 so long as they were strong.
 
 A MEETING 85 
 
 "I suppose," he said, quietlv, " we had better skin him 
 here." 
 
 As ne spoke he drew a long hunting-knife, and, slashing 
 down a bunch of the maidenhair fern that grew like nettles 
 around them, he wiped the blood gently, almost affection- 
 ately, from the leopard's cat-like face. 
 
 There was about these two men a strict attention to the 
 matter in hand, a mutual and common respect for all things 
 pertaining to sport, a quiet sense of settling down without 
 delay to the regulation of necessary detail that promised 
 well for any future interest they might have in common. 
 
 So these highly-educated young gentlemen turned up 
 their sleeves and steeped themselves to the elbow in gore. 
 Moreover, they did it with a certain technical skill and a 
 distinct sense of enjoyment. Truly, the modern English 
 gentleman is a strange being. There is nothing his soul 
 takes so much delight in as the process of getting hot and 
 very dirty, and, if convenient, somewhat sanguinary. You 
 cannot educate the manliness out of him, try as you will ; 
 and for such blessings let us in all humbleness give thanks 
 to Heaven. 
 
 This was the bringing together of Jack Meredith and Guy 
 Oscard — two men who loved the same woman. Tliey knelt 
 side by side, and Jack Meredith — the older man, the accom- 
 plished, gifted gentleman of the world, who stood second 
 to none in that varied knowledge required nowadays of the 
 successful societarian — Jack Meredith, be it noted, humbly 
 dragged the skin away from the body while Guy Oscard 
 cut the clioofino: integuments with a delicate touch and 
 finished skill. 
 
 They laid the skin out on the trampled maidenhair and 
 contemplated it with silent satisfaction. In the course of 
 their inspection they both arrived at the head at the same 
 moment. The two holes in the hide, just above the eyes, 
 came under their notice at the same moment, and they 
 turned and smiled gravely at each other, thinking the same
 
 86 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 thought — the sort of thoughx that Englishmen rarely put 
 into intelligible English. 
 
 " I'm glad we did that," said Guy Oscard at length ; 
 suddenly, " Whatever comes of this expedition of ours — if 
 we fight like hell, as we probably shall, before it is finished 
 — if we hate each other ever afterwards, that skin ought to 
 remind us that we are much of a muchness." 
 
 It might have been put into better English ; it might al- 
 most have sounded like poetry had Guy Oscard been pos- 
 sessed of the poetic soul. But this, fortunately, was not 
 his; and all that might have been said was left to the 
 imagination of Meredith. What he really felt was that 
 there need be no rivalry, and that he for one had no 
 thought of such ; that in the quest which they were about 
 to undertake there need be no question of first and last ; 
 that they were merely two men, good or bad, competent or 
 incompetent, but through all equal. 
 
 Neither of them suspected that the friendship thus 
 strangely inaugurated at the rifle's mouth was to run 
 through a longer period than the few months required to 
 reach the plateau — that it was, in fact, to extend through 
 that long expedition over a strange country that we call 
 Life, and that it was to stand the greatest test that friend- 
 ship has to meet with here on earth. 
 
 It was almost dark when at last they turned to go, Jack 
 Meredith carrying the skin over his shoulder and leading the 
 way. There was no opportunity for conversation, as their 
 progress was necessarily very difficult. Only by the prattle 
 of the stream were they able to make sure of keeping in 
 the right direction. Each had a thousand questions to ask 
 the other. They were total strangers ; but it is not, one 
 finds, by conversation that men get to know each other. A 
 common danger, a common pleasure, a common pursuit — 
 these are the touches of nature by which men are drawn 
 together into the kinship of mutual esteem. 
 
 Once they gained the banks of the Ogowe their progress
 
 IN BLACK AND WHITE 87 
 
 was quicker, and by nine o'clock they reached the camp at 
 Msala. Victor Dnrnovo was still at work superintending 
 the discharge of the bao-jracre and stores from the larnje 
 trading- canoes. They heard the shouting and chattering 
 before coming in sight of the camp, and one voice raised 
 angrily above the others. 
 
 "Is that Durnovo's voice?" asked Meredith. 
 
 " Yes," answered his companion, curtly. 
 
 It was a new voice, which Meredith had not heard be- 
 fore. When they shouted to announce their arrival it was 
 suddenly hushed, aud presently Durnovo came forward to 
 greet them. 
 
 Meredith hardly knew him, he was so much stronger and 
 healthier in appearance. Durnovo shook hands heartily. 
 
 " No need to introduce you two," he said, looking from 
 one to the other. 
 
 " No ; after one mistake we discovered each other's iden- 
 tity in the forest," answered Meredith. 
 
 Durnovo smiled; but there was something behind the 
 smile. He did not seem to approve of their meeting with- 
 out his intervention. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 IN BLACK AND WHITE 
 
 "A little lurking secret of the blood, 
 A little serpent secret rankling keen." 
 
 The three men walked up towards the house together. 
 It was a fair-sized house, with a heavy thatched roof that 
 overhung the walls like the crown of a mushroom. The 
 walls were only mud, and the thatching was nothing else 
 than banana leaves ; but there was evidence of European
 
 88 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 taste in the garden surrounding the structure, and in the 
 glazed windows and wooden door. 
 
 As they approached the open doorway three little chil- 
 dren, clad in very little more than their native modesty, ran 
 gleefully out, and proceeded to engage seats on Jack Mere- 
 dith's boots, looking upon him as a mere public convey- 
 ance. They took hardly any notice of him, but chattered 
 and quarrelled among themselves, sometimes in baby Eng- 
 lish, sometimes in a dialect unknown to Oscard and Meredith. 
 " These," said the latter, when they were seated, and 
 clinging with their little dusky arms round his legs, "are 
 the very rummest little kids I ever came across." 
 
 Durnovo gave an impatient laugh, and went on towards 
 the house. But Guy Oscard stopped, and walked more 
 slowlv beside Meredith, as he labored along heavy-footed. 
 
 "They are the jolliest little souls imaginable," continued 
 Jack Meredith. " There," he said to them when they had 
 reached the door -step, "run away to your mother — very 
 fine ride — no ! no more to-night ! I'm aweary — you under- 
 stand — aweary !" 
 
 " Aweary — awe-e-e-ary !" repeated the little things, stand- 
 ing before him in infantile nude rotundity, looking up with 
 bright eyes. 
 
 " Aweary — that is it. Good-night, Epaminondas — good- 
 night, Xantippe ! Give ye good hap, most stout Nestorius !" 
 He stooped and gravely shook hands with each one in 
 turn, and, after forcing a like ceremonial upon Guy Os- 
 card, they reluctantly withdrew. 
 
 "They have not joined us, I suppose?" said Oscard, as 
 he followed his companion into the house. 
 
 " Not yet. They live in this place. Nestorius, I under- 
 stand, takes care of his mother, who in her turn takes care 
 of this house. He is one and a half." 
 
 Guy Oscard seemed to have inherited the mind inquisi- 
 tive from his learned father. He asked another question 
 later on.
 
 IN BLACK AND WHITE 89 
 
 "Who is that woman?" he said, during dinner, with a 
 little nod towards the doorway, through which the object of 
 liis curiosity had passed with some plates. 
 
 " That is the mother of the stout Nestorius," answered 
 Jack — " Durnovo's house-keeper." 
 
 He spoke quietly, looking straight in front of him ; and 
 Joseph, who was drawing a cork at the back of the room, 
 was watching his face. 
 
 There was a little pause, during which Durnovo drank 
 slowly. Then Guy Oscard spoke again. 
 
 " If she cooked the dinner," he said, " she knows her 
 business." 
 
 " Yes," answered Durnovo, " she is a good cook — if she 
 is nothing else." 
 
 It did not sound as if further inquiries would be wel- 
 come, and so the subject was dropped with a silent tribute 
 to the culinary powers of Durnovo's house-keeper at the 
 Msala Station. 
 
 The woman had only appeared for a moment, bringing 
 in some dishes for Joseph — a tall, stately woman, with 
 great dark eyes, in which the patience of motherhood had 
 succeeded to the soft fire of West-Indian love and youth. 
 She had the graceful, slow carriage of the Creole, although 
 her skin was darker than that of those dangerous sirens. 
 That Spanish blood ran in her veins could be seen by the 
 intelligence of her eyes; for there is an intelligence in 
 Spanish eyes which stands apart. In the men it seems to 
 refer to the past or the future, for their incorrigible leisure- 
 liness prevents the present rendering of a full justice to 
 their powers. In the women it belongs essentially to the 
 present; for there is no time like the present for love and 
 other things. 
 
 "They call me," she had said to Jack Meredith, in her 
 soft, mumbled English, a fortnight earlier — " they call me 
 Marie." 
 
 The children he had named after his own fautasy, and
 
 90 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 when she had once seen him with them there was a notable 
 change in her manner. Her eyes rested on him with a sort 
 of wondering attention, and when she cooked his meals or 
 touched anything that was his, there was something in her 
 attitude that denoted a special care. 
 
 Joseph called her " Missis," with a sort of friendliness in 
 his voice, which never rose to badinage nor descended to 
 familiarity. 
 
 " Seems to me, missis," he said, on the third evening 
 after the arrival of the advance column, "that the guv'nor 
 takes uncommon kindly to them little uns of yours." 
 
 They were washing up together after dinner in a part of 
 the garden which was used for a scullery, and Joseph was 
 enjoying a postprandial pipe. 
 
 " Yes," she said, simply, following the direction of 
 Joseph's glance. Jack Meredith was engaged in teaching 
 Epaminondas the intellectual game of bowls with a rounded 
 pebble and a beer-bottle. Nestorius, whose person seemed 
 more distended than usual, stood gravely by, engaged in 
 dental endeavors on a cork, while Xantippe joined noisily 
 in the game. Their lack of dress was essentially native to 
 the country, while their mother affected a simple European 
 style of costume. 
 
 " And," added Joseph, on politeness bent, " it don't sur- 
 prise me. I'm wonderfully fond of the little nig — nippers 
 already. I am — straight." 
 
 The truth was that the position of this grave and still 
 comely woman was ambiguous. Neither Joseph nor his 
 master called her by the name she had offered for their use. 
 Joseph compromised by the universal and elastic "Missis"; 
 his master simply avoided all names. 
 
 Ambiguity is one of those intangible nothings that get 
 into the atmosphere and have a trick of remaining there. 
 Marie seemed in some subtle way to pervade the atmosphere 
 of Msala. It would seem that Guy Oscard, in his thick- 
 headed way, was conscious of this mystery in the air ; for
 
 IN BLACK AND WHITE 91 
 
 he had not been two hours in Msala before he asked, " Wh<* 
 is that woman?" and received the reply which has been 
 recorded. 
 
 After dinner they had passed out onto the little terrace over- 
 looking the river, and it was here that the great Simiacine 
 scheme was pieced together. It was here, beneath the vast 
 palm-trees that stood like two beacons towering over the 
 surrounding forest, that three men deliberately staked their 
 own lives and the lives of others against a fortune. Nature 
 has a strange way of hiding her gifts. Many of the most 
 precious have lain unheeded for hundreds of years in barren 
 plains, on inaccessible mountains, or beneath the wave, 
 while others are thrown at the feet of savages who know no 
 use for them. 
 
 The man who had found the Simiacine was eager, restless, 
 full of suspicion. To the others the scheme obviously pre- 
 sented itself in a different light. Jack Meredith was dilet- 
 tante, light-hearted, and unsatisfactory. It was impossible 
 to arouse any enthusiasm in him — to make him take it 
 seriously. Guy Oscard was gravely indifferent. He wanted 
 to get rid of a certain space of time, and the African forest, 
 containing as it did the only excitement that his large heart 
 knew, was as good a place as any. The Simiacine was, in 
 his mind, relegated to a distant place behind weeks of sport 
 and adventure such as his soul loved. He scarcely took 
 Victor Durnovo au pied de la lettre. Perhaps he knew too 
 much about him for that. Certain it is that neither of the 
 two realized at that moment the importance of the step 
 that they were taking. 
 
 "You men," said Durnovo, eagerly, "don't seem to take 
 the thing seriously." 
 
 " I," answered Meredith, " intend, at all events, to take 
 the profits very seriously. When they begin to come in, J. 
 Meredith will be at the above address, and trusts by a care- 
 ful attention to business to merit a continuance of yonr 
 kind patronage,"
 
 92 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Durnovo laughed somewhat nervously. Oscard did not 
 seem to hear. 
 
 " It is all very well for you," said the half-caste, in a 
 lower voice. " You have not so much at stake. It is likely 
 that the happiness of my whole life depends upon this 
 venture." 
 
 A curious smile passed across Jack Meredith's face. 
 Without turning his head, he glanced sideways into Dur- 
 novo's face through the gloom. But he said nothing, and 
 it was Oscard who broke the silence by saying, simply : 
 
 " The same may possibly apply to me." 
 
 There was a little pause, during which he lighted his pipe. 
 
 " To a certain extent," he said, in emendation. " Of 
 course, my real object, as you no doubt know, is to get 
 away from England until my father's death has been for- 
 gotten. My own conscience is quite clear, but — " 
 
 Jack Meredith drew in his legs and leaned forward. 
 
 " But," he said, interrupting, and yet not interrupting — 
 "but the public mind is an unclean sink. Everything that 
 goes into it comes out taiuted. Therefore, it is best only to 
 let the public mind have the scourings, as it were, of one's 
 existence. If they get anything better — anything more 
 important — it is better to skedaddle until it has run through 
 and been swept away by a flow of social garbage." 
 
 Guy Oscard grunted with his pipe between his teeth, 
 after the manner of the stoic American Indian — a grunt 
 that seemed to say, "My pale-faced brother has spoken well ; 
 he expresses my feelings." Then he gave further vent to 
 the deliberate expansiveness which was his. 
 
 " What I cannot stand," he said, " are the nudges and 
 the nods and the surreptitious glances of the silly women 
 who think that one cannot see them looking. I hate being 
 pointed out." 
 
 " Together with the latest skirt-dancing girl and the last 
 female society-detective, with the blushing honors of the 
 witness-box thick upon her," suggested Jack Meredith.
 
 IN BLACK AND WHITE 93 
 
 " Yes," muttered Guy. He turned with a sort of simple 
 wonder, and looked at Meredith curiously. He had never 
 been understood so quickly before. He had never met 
 man or woman possessing in so marked a degree that subtle 
 power of going right inside the mind of another and feel- 
 ing the things that are there — the greatest power of all — 
 the power that rules the world ; and it is only called Sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 " Well," said the voice of Durnovo through the darkness, 
 " I don't mind admitting that all I want is the money. I 
 want to get out of this confounded country, but I don't 
 want to leave till I have made a fortune." 
 
 The subtle influence that Meredith wielded seemed to 
 have reached him too, warming into expansiveness his hot 
 Spanish blood. His voice was full of confidence. 
 
 " Very right and proper," said Meredith. " Got a grudge 
 against the country ; make the country pay for it, in cash." 
 
 " That's what I intend to do ; and it shall pay heavily. 
 Then, when I've got the money, I'll know what to do with 
 it. I know where to look, and I do not think that I shall 
 look in vain." 
 
 Guy Oscard shuffled uneasily in his camp-chair. He had 
 an Englishman's horror of putting into speech those things 
 which we all think, while only Frenchmen and Italians say 
 them. The Spaniards are not so bad, and Victor Durnovo 
 had enough of their blood in him to say no more. 
 
 It did not seem to occur to any of them that the only 
 person whose individuality was still veiled happened to be 
 Jack Meredith. He alone had said nothing, had imparted 
 no confidence. He it was who spake first, after a proper 
 period of silence. He was too much of an adept to betray 
 haste, and thus admit his debt of mutual confidence. 
 
 " It seems to me," he said, " that we have all the techni- 
 calities arranged now. So far as the working of the expe- 
 dition is concerned, we know our places, and the difficulties 
 will be met as they present themselves. But there is one
 
 94 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 thing which I think we should set in order now. I have 
 been thinking about it while I have been waiting here 
 alone." 
 
 The glow of Victor Durnovo's cigar died away as if in his 
 attention he was forgetting to smoke ; but he said nothing. 
 
 " It seems to me," Jack went on, " that before we leave 
 here we should draw up and sign a sort of deed of partner- 
 ship. Of course, we trust each other perfectly — there is no 
 question of that. But life is an uncertain thing, as some 
 earlier philosopher said before me; and one never knows 
 what may happen. I have drawn up a paper in triplicate. 
 If you have a match, I will read it to you." 
 
 Oscard produced a match, and, striking it on his boot, 
 sheltered it with the hollow of his hand while Jack read : 
 
 " We, the undersigned, hereby enter into partnership to 
 search for and sell, to our mutual profit, the herb known as 
 Simiacine, the profits to be divided into three equal portions, 
 after the deduction of one-hundredth part to be handed to 
 the servant, Joseph Atkinson. Any further expenses that 
 may be incurred to be borne in the same proportion as the 
 original expense of fitting out the expedition — namely, two- 
 fifths to be paid by Guy Cravener Oscard, two-fifths by John 
 Meredith, one-fifth by Victor Durnovo. 
 
 "The sum of fifty pounds per month to be paid to Vic- 
 tor Durnovo, wherewith he may pay the thirty special men 
 taken from his estate and headquarters at Msala to cultivate 
 the Simiacine, and such corn and vegetables as may be re- 
 quired for the sustenance of the expedition ; these men to 
 act as porters until the plateau be reached. 
 
 " The opinion of two of the three leaders against one to 
 be accepted unconditionally in all questions where contro- 
 versy may arise. In case of death each of us undertakes 
 hereby to hand over to the executor of the dead partner or 
 partners such moneys as shall belong to him or them." 
 
 At this juncture there was a little pause, while Guy Os- 
 card lighted a second match.
 
 PANIC-STRICKEN 95 
 
 "And," continued Jack, " we hereby undertake severally, 
 on oath, to hold the secret of the whereabouts of the Simia- 
 cine a strict secret, which secret may not be revealed by any 
 one of us to whomsoever it may be without the sanction, in 
 writing, of the other two partners." 
 
 "There," concluded Jack Meredith, " I am rather pleased 
 with that literary production ; it is forcible and yet devoid 
 of violence. I feel that in me the commerce of the century 
 has lost an ornament. Moreover, I am ready to swear to 
 the terms of the agreement." 
 
 There was a little pause. Guy Oscard took his pipe from 
 his mouth, and while he knocked the ashes out against the 
 leg of his chair he mumbled, " I swear to hold to that agree- 
 ment." 
 
 Victor Durnovo took off his hat with a sweep and a 
 flourish, and, raising his bared brow to the stars, he said : 
 " I swear to hold to that agreement. If I fail, may God 
 strike me dead !" 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 PANIC- STRICKEN 
 " Is this reason ? Is this humanity ? Alas ! it is man." 
 
 Tiie next morning Jack Meredith was awakened by his 
 servant Joseph before it was fully light. It would appear 
 as if Joseph had taken no means of awakening him, for 
 Meredith awoke quite quietly to find Joseph standing by 
 bis bed. 
 
 " Holloa !" exclaimed the master, fully awake at once, as 
 townsmen are. 
 
 Joseph stood at attention by the bedside. 
 
 " Woke you before yer time, sir," he said. " There's 
 something wrong among these 'ere darky fellers, sir."
 
 96 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " Wrong ! What do you mean ?" 
 
 Meredith was already lacing his shoes. 
 
 " Not rebellion ?" he said, curtly, looking towards his 
 fire-arms. 
 
 " No, sir, not that. It's some mortual sickness. I don't 
 know what it is. I've been up half the night with them. 
 It's spreading, too." 
 
 " Sickness ! what does it seem like ? Just give me that 
 jacket. Not that sleeping sickness ?" 
 
 " No, sir. It's not that. Missis Marie was telling me 
 about that — awful scourge that, sir. No, the poor chaps 
 are wide awake enough. Groanin', and off their heads too, 
 mostly." 
 
 " Have you called Mr. Oscard ?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Call him and Mr. Durnovo." 
 
 " Met Mr. Durnovo, sir, goin' out as I came in." 
 
 In a few moments Jack joined Durnovo and Oscard, who 
 were talking together on the terrace in front of the house. 
 Guy Oscard was still in his pyjamas, which he had tucked 
 into top-boots. He also wore a sun-helmet, which added 
 a finish to his costume. They got quite accustomed to 
 this get-up during the next three days, for he never had 
 time to change it; and, somehow, it ceased to be humorous 
 long before the end of that time. 
 
 " Oh, it's nothing," Durnovo was saying, with a singular 
 eagerness. " I know these chaps. They have been paid in 
 advance. They are probably shamming, and if they are 
 not they are only suffering from the effects of a farewell 
 glorification. They want to delay our start. That is their 
 little game. It will give them a better chance of deserting." 
 
 " At any rate, we had better go and see them," suggested 
 Jack. 
 
 "No, don't 1" cried Durnovo, eagerly, detaining him with 
 both hands. " Take my advice, and don't. Just have 
 breakfast in the ordinary way, and pretend there is nothing
 
 PANIC-STRICKEN 97 
 
 wrong. Then afterwards you can lounge casually into the 
 camp." 
 
 "All right," said Jack, rather unwillingly. 
 
 " It has been of some use — this scare," said Durnovo, 
 turning and looking towards the river. " It has reminded 
 me of something. We have not nearly enough quinine. 
 I will just take a quick canoe, and run down to Loango to 
 fetch some." 
 
 He turned quite away from them, and stooped to attach 
 the lace of his boot. 
 
 " I can travel night and day, and be back here in three 
 days," he added. " In the meantime you can be getting on 
 with the loading of the canoes, and we will start as soon as 
 I get back." 
 
 He stood upright and looked around with weather-wise, 
 furtive eyes. 
 
 " Seems to me," he said, " there's thunder coming. I 
 think I had better be off at once." 
 
 In the course of his inspection of the lowering clouds 
 which hung, black as ink, just above the trees, his eyes 
 lighted on Joseph, standing within the door of the cottage, 
 watching him with a singular half-suppressed smile. 
 
 " Yes," he said, hurriedly, " I will start at once. I can 
 eat some sort of a breakfast when we are under way." 
 
 He looked beneath his lashes quickly from Jack to Guy 
 and back again. Their silent acquiescence was not quite 
 satisfactory. Then he called his own men, and spoke to 
 them in a tongue unknown to the Eno-Hshmen. He hurried 
 forward their preparations with a feverish irritability which 
 made Jack Meredith think of the first time he had ever 
 seen Durnovo — a few miles farther down the river — all 
 palpitating and trembling with climatic nervousness. His 
 face was quite yellow, and there was a line drawn diagonally 
 from the nostrils down each cheek, to lose itself ultimately 
 in the heavy black mustache. 
 
 Before he stepped into his canoe the thunder was rum-
 
 98 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 bling in the distance, and the air was still as death. Breath- 
 ing was an effort ; the inhaled air did not satisfy the lungs, 
 and seemed powerless to expand them. 
 
 Overhead the clouds, of a blue-black intensity, seemed 
 almost to touch the trees ; the river was of ink. The row- 
 ers said nothing, but they lingered on the bank and watched 
 Durnovo's face anxiously. When he took his seat in the 
 canoe they looked protestingly up to the sky. Durnovo 
 said something to them rapidly, and they laid their paddles 
 to the water. 
 
 Scarcely had the boat disappeared in the bend of the 
 river before the rain broke. It came with the rush of an 
 express train — the trees bending before the squall like reeds. 
 The face of the river was tormented into a white fury by 
 the drops which splashed up again a foot in height. The 
 lashing of the water on the bare backs of the negroes was 
 distinctly audible to Victor Durnovo. 
 
 Then the black clouds split up like a rent cloth, and 
 showed behind them, not heaven, but the living fire of hell. 
 The thunder crashed out in sharp reports like file-firing at 
 a review, and with one accord the men ceased rowing and 
 crouched down in the canoe. 
 
 Durnovo shouted to them, his face livid with fury. But 
 for some moments his voice was quite lost. The lightning 
 ran over the face of the river like will-o'-the-wisps ; the 
 whole heaven was streaked continuously with it. 
 
 Suddenly the negroes leaped to their paddles and rowed 
 with bent backs and wild, staring eyes, as if possessed. 
 They were covered by the muzzle of Durnovo's revolver. 
 
 Behind the evil - looking barrel of blue steel the half- 
 caste's dripping face looked forth, peering into the terrific 
 storm. There was no question of fending off such torrents 
 of rain, nor did be attempt it. Indeed, he seemed to court 
 its downfall. He held out his arms and stretched forth his 
 legs, giving free play to the water which ran off him in a 
 continual stream, washing his thin khaki clothing on his
 
 PANIO-STKICKEN 99 
 
 limbs. He raised bis face to tbe sky, and let tbe water 
 beat upon his brow and hair. 
 
 The roar of the thunder, which could be felt, so great was 
 the vibration of the laden air, seemed to have no fear for 
 him. The lightning, ever shooting athwart the sky, made 
 him blink as if dazzled, but he looked upon it without 
 emotion. 
 
 He knew that behind him he had left a greater danger 
 than this, and he stretched out his limbs to the cleansing 
 torrent with an exulting relief to be washed from the dread 
 infection. Small -pox had laid its hand on the camp at 
 Msala ; and from the curse of it Victor Durnovo was flying 
 in a mad, chattering panic through all the anger of the 
 tropic elements, holding Death over his half-stunned crew, 
 not daring to look behind him or pause in his coward's 
 flight. 
 
 It is still said on the Ogowe River that no man travels 
 like Victor Durnovo. Certain it is that, in twenty-seven 
 hours from the time that he left Msala on the morning of 
 the great storm, he presented himself before Maurice Gor- 
 don in his office at the factory at Loango. 
 
 " Ah !" cried Gordon, hardly noticing the washed-out, har- 
 assed appearance of his visitor ; " here you are again. I 
 heard that the great expedition had started." 
 
 " So it has, but I have come back to get one or two 
 things we have forgotten. Got any sherry handy ?" 
 
 "Of course," replied Gordon, with perfect adhesion to the 
 truth. 
 
 He laid aside his pen, and, turning in his chair, drew a 
 decanter from a small cupboard, which stood on the ground 
 at his side. 
 
 " Here you are," he continued, pouring out a full glass 
 with practised, but slightly unsteady, hand. 
 
 Durnovo drank the wine at one gulp and set the glass 
 down. 
 
 "Ah I" he said, " that does a chap good."
 
 100 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " Does it now ?" exclaimed Maurice Gordon, with mock 
 surprise. " Well, I'll just try." 
 
 The manner in which he emptied his glass was quite dif- 
 ferent, with a long, slow drawing-out of the enjoyment, full 
 of significance for the initiated. 
 
 "Will you be at home to-night?" asked Durnovo, gently 
 pushing aside the hospitable decanter. " I have got a lot 
 of work to do to-day, but I should like to run in and see 
 you this evening." 
 
 " Yes, come and dine." 
 
 Durnovo shook his head and looked down at his wrinkled 
 and draggled clothing. 
 
 " No, I can't do that, old man. Not in this trim." 
 
 "Bosh ! What matter? Jocelyn doesn't mind." 
 
 " No, but I do." 
 
 It was obvious that he wanted to accept the invitation, 
 although the objection he raised was probably honest. For 
 that taint in the blood that cometh from the subtle tar-brush 
 brings with it a vanity that has its equal in no white man's 
 heart. 
 
 " Well, I'll lend you a black coat! Seven o'clock sharp !" 
 
 Durnovo hurried away with a gleam of excitement in his 
 dark eyes. 
 
 Maurice Gordon did not resume his work at once. He 
 sat for some time idly drumming with his fingers on the 
 desk. 
 
 " If I can only get her to be civil to him," he reflected 
 aloud, " I'll get into this business yet." 
 
 At seven o'clock Durnovo appeared at the Gordons' house. 
 He had managed to borrow a dress-suit, and wore an orchid 
 in his button-hole. It was probably the first time that Joce- 
 lyn had seen him in this garb of civilization, which is at the 
 same time the most becoming and the most trying variety 
 of costume left to sensible men in these days. A dress-suit 
 finds a man out sooner than anything except speech. 
 
 Jocelyn was civil in her reception — more so, indeed, than
 
 PANIC-STKICKEN 101 
 
 Maurice Gordon had hoped for. She seemed almost glad 
 to see Durnovo, and evinced quite a kindly interest in his 
 movements. Durnovo attributed this to the dress-suit, while 
 Maurice concluded that his obvious hints, thrown out before 
 dinner, had fallen on fruitful ground. 
 
 At dinner Victor Durnovo was quite charmed with the 
 interest that Jocelyn took in the expedition, of which, he 
 gave it to be understood, he was the chief. So also was 
 Maurice, because Durnovo's evident admiration of Jocelyn 
 somewhat overcame his natural secrecy of character. 
 
 " You'll hear of me, Miss Gordon, never fear, before three 
 months are past," said Durnovo, in reply to a vague sugges- 
 tion that his absence might extend to several months. " I 
 am not the sort of man to come to grief by a foolish mis- 
 take or any unnecessary risk." 
 
 To which sentiment two men at Msala bore generous testi- 
 mony later on. 
 
 The simple dinner was almost at an end, and it was at 
 this time that Jocelyn Gordon began once more to dislike 
 Durnovo. At first she had felt drawn towards him. Al- 
 though he wore the dress-clothes rather awkwardly, there 
 was something in his manner which reminded her vaguely 
 of a gentleman. It was not that he was exactly gentlemanly, 
 but there was the reflection of good-breeding in his bearing. 
 Dark-skinned people, be it noted, have usually the imitative 
 faculty. As the dinner and the wine warmed his heart, so 
 by degrees he drew on his old self like a glove. He grew 
 bolder and less guarded. His own opinion of himself rose 
 momentarily, and with it a certain gleam in his eyes in- 
 creased as they rested on Jocelyn. 
 
 It was not long before she noted this, and quite suddenly 
 her ancient dislike of the man was up in arms with a new 
 intensity gathered she knew not whence. 
 
 " And," said Maurice, when Jocelyn had left them, " I 
 suppose you'll be a millionaire in about six months?" 
 
 He gently pushed the wine towards him at the same time.
 
 102 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Durnovo bad not slept for forty hours. The excitement of bis 
 escape from the plague-ridden camp bad scarcely subsided. 
 The glitter of the silver on the table, the shaded candles, 
 the subtle sensuality of refinement and daintiness appealed 
 to bis hot-blooded nature. He was a little off bis feet per- 
 haps. He took the decanter and put it to the worst use he 
 could have selected. 
 
 " Not so soon as that," he said ; " but in time — in time." 
 
 " Lucky beggar !" muttered Maurice Gordon, with a little 
 sigh. 
 
 " I don't mind telling you," said Durnovo, with a sudden 
 confidence begotten of Madeira, " that it's Simiacine — that's 
 what it is. I can't tell you more." 
 
 " Simiacine," repeated Gordon, fingering the stem of his 
 wineglass and looking at him keenly between the candle- 
 shades. "Yes. You've always been on its track, haven't 
 you ?" 
 
 " In six months your go-downs will be full of it — my 
 Simiacine, my Simiacine." 
 
 " By God, I wish I had a hand in it !" 
 
 Maurice Gordon pushed the decanter again — gently, al- 
 most surreptitiously. 
 
 "Aud so you may, some day. You help me and I'll 
 help you — that is my ticket. Reciprocity — reciprocity, my 
 dear Maurice." 
 
 "Yes, but how?" 
 
 " Can't tell you now, but I will in good time — in my 
 own time. Come, let's join the ladies — eh ? ha, ha 1" 
 
 But at this moment the servant brought in coffee, saying 
 in his master's ear that Miss Jocelyn had gone to bed with 
 a slight headache.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 A CONFIDENCE 
 
 "The spirits 
 Of coming things stride on before their issues." 
 
 There is nothing that brings men so close to each other 
 as a common grievance or a common danger. Men who 
 fiud pleasure in the same game or the same pursuit are 
 drawn together by a common taste ; but in the indulgence 
 of it there is sure to arise, sooner or later, a spirit of compe- 
 tition. Now, this spirit, which is in most human affairs, is 
 a new bond of union when men are fighting side by side 
 against a common foe. 
 
 During the three days that followed Durnovo's departure 
 from Msala, Jack Meredith and Oscard learned to know each 
 other. These three days were as severe a test as could well 
 be found ; for courage, humanity, tenderness, loyalty, were 
 by turns called forth by circumstance. Small-pox rages in 
 Africa as it rages nowhere else in these days. The natives 
 fight it or bow before it as before an ancient and deeply- 
 dreaded foe. It was nothing new to them ; and it would 
 have been easy enough for Jack and Oscard to prove to their 
 own satisfaction that the presence of three white men at 
 Msala was a danger to themselves and no advantage to the 
 natives. It would have been very simple to abandon the 
 river station, leaving there such men as were stricken down 
 to care for each other. But such a thought never seemed 
 to suggest itself. 
 
 The camp was moved across the river, where all who 
 seemed strong and healthy were placed under canvas, await- 
 ing further developments.
 
 104 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 The infected were carried to a special camp set apart and 
 guarded, and this work was executed almost entirely by the 
 three Englishmen, aided by a few natives who had had the 
 disease. 
 
 For three days these men went about with their lives lit- 
 erally in their hands, tending the sick, cheering the despon- 
 dent, frightening the cowards into some semblance of self- 
 respect and dignity. And during these three days, wherein 
 they never took an organized meal or three consecutive 
 hours of rest, Joseph, Meredith, and Oscard rose together to 
 that height of manhood where master and servant, educated 
 man and common soldier, stand equal before their Maker. 
 
 Owing to the promptness with which measures had been 
 taken for isolating the affected, the terrible sickness did not 
 spread. In all eleven men were stricken, and of these ten 
 died within three days. The eleventh recovered, but event- 
 ually remained at Msala. 
 
 It was only on the evening of the third day that Jack 
 and Guy found time to talk of the future. They had never 
 left Durnovo' s house, and on this third day they found time 
 to dine together. 
 
 " Do you think," Oscard asked, bluntly, when they were 
 left alone to smoke, "that Durnovo spotted what was the 
 matter ?" 
 
 " I am afraid that I have not the slightest doubt of it," 
 replied Jack, lightly. 
 
 " And bolted ?" suggested Oscard. 
 
 " And bolted." 
 
 Guy Oscard gave a contemptuous little laugh, which had 
 a deeper insult in it than he could have put into words. 
 
 " And what is to be done?" he inquired. 
 
 " Nothing. People in books would mount on a very 
 high pinnacle of virtue and cast off Mr. Durnovo and all his 
 works ; but it is much more practical to make what use we 
 can of him. That is a worldly-wise, nineteenth - century 
 way of looking at it ; we cannot do without him."
 
 A CONFIDENCE 105 
 
 The contemplativeness of nicotine was upon Guv Oscard. 
 
 "Uraph !" he grunted. " It is rather disgusting," he said, 
 after a pause; "I hate dealing with cowards." 
 
 " And I with fools. For every-day use, give me a cow- 
 ard by preference." 
 
 " Yes, there is something in that. Still, I'd throw up the 
 
 whole thing if — " 
 
 --' So would I," said Jack, turning sharply in his chair, 
 " if _» 
 
 Oscard laughed curtly and waited. 
 
 " If," continued Jack, " I could. But I am more or less 
 bound to go on now. Such chances as this do not turn up 
 every day ; I cannot afford to let it go by. Truth is, I told 
 — some one who shall be nameless — that I would make 
 money to keep her in that state of life wherein her god- 
 fathers, etc., have placed her; and make that money I must." 
 
 "That's about my size, too," said Guy Oscard, somewhat 
 indistinctly, owing to the fact that he habitually smoked a 
 thick-stemmed pipe. 
 
 " Is it? I'm glad of that. It gives us something in com- 
 mon to work for." 
 
 "Yes." Guy paused, and made a huge effort, finally 
 conquering that taciturnity which was almost an affliction 
 to him. " The reason I gave the other night to you and 
 that chap Durnovo was honest enough, but I have another. 
 I want to lie low for a few months, but I also want to 
 make money. I'm as good as engaged to be married, and 
 I find that I am not so well off as I thought I was. Peo- 
 pie told me that I should have three thousand a year when 
 the guv'nor died, but I find that people know less of my 
 affairs than I thought." 
 
 " They invariably do," put in Jack, encouragingly. 
 
 " It is barely two thousand, and — and she has been 
 brought up to something better than that." 
 
 " Urn ! they mostly are. Mine has been brought up to 
 something better than that, too. That is the worst of it."
 
 106 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Jack Meredith leaned back in bis folding-chair, and gazed 
 practically up into the heavens. 
 
 " Of course," Guy went on, doggedly expansive now that 
 he had once plunged, " two thousand a year sounds pretty 
 good, and it is not bad to start upon. But there is no 
 chance of its increasing ; in fact, the lawyer fellows say it 
 may diminish. I know of no other way to make money — 
 had no sort of training for it. I'm not of a commercial 
 turn of mind. Fellows go into the City and brew beer or 
 float companies, whatever that may be." 
 
 "It means they sink other people's funds," explained 
 Jack. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose it does. The guv'nor, y' know, never 
 taught me how to make a livelihood ; wouldn't let me be a 
 soldier ; sent me to college, and all that ; wanted me to be 
 a litterateur. Now, I'm not literary." 
 
 " No, I shouldn't think you were." 
 
 " Remains Africa. I am not a clever chap like you, Mere- 
 dith." 
 
 " For which you may thank a gracious Providence," in- 
 terposed Jack. " Chaps like me are what some people call 
 ' fools ' in their uncouth way." 
 
 "But I know a little about Africa, and I know some- 
 thing about Durnovo. That man has got a mania, and it 
 is called Simiacine. He is quite straight upon that point, 
 whatever he may be upon others. He knows this country, 
 and he is not making any mistake about the Simiacine, 
 whatever — " 
 
 " His powers of sick-nursing may be," suggested Jack. 
 
 " Yes, that's it. We'll put it that way if you like." 
 
 " Thanks, I do prefer it. Any fool could call a spade a 
 spade. The natural ambition would be to find something 
 more flowery and yet equally descriptive." 
 
 Guy Oscard subsided into a monosyllabic sound. 
 
 " I believe implicitly in this scheme," he went on, after a 
 pause. " It is a certain fact that the men who can supply
 
 A CONFIDENCE 107 
 
 pure Simiacinc have only to name their price for it. They 
 will make a fortune, and I believe that Dumovo knows 
 where it is growing in quantities." 
 
 " I cannot see how it would pay him to deceive us in the 
 matter. That is the best way of looking at it," murmured 
 Jack, reflectively. " When I first met him the man thought 
 he was dying, and for the time I really believe that he was 
 honest. Some men are honest when they feel unwell. 
 There was so little doubt in my mind that I went into the 
 thing at once." 
 
 " If you will go on with it I will stand by you," said 
 Oscard, shortly. 
 
 " All right ; I think we two together are as good as any 
 half-bred sharper on this coast, to put it gracefully." 
 
 Jack Meredith lighted a fresh cigarette, and leaned back 
 with the somewhat exaggerated grace of movement which 
 was in reality partly attributable to natural litheness. For 
 some time they smoked in silence, subject to the influence 
 of the dreamy tropic night. Across the river some belated 
 bird was calling continuously and cautiously for its mate. 
 At times the splashing movements of a crocodile broke the 
 smooth silence of the water. Overhead the air was lumi- 
 nous with that night-glow which never speaks to the senses 
 in latitudes above the teens. 
 
 There is something in man's nature that inclines him 
 sympathetically — almost respectfully — towards a mental 
 inferior. Moreover, the feeling, whatever it may be, is 
 rarely, if ever, found in women. A man does not openly 
 triumph in victory, as do women. One sees an easy victor 
 — at lawn-tennis, for instance — go to his vanquished foe, 
 wiping vigorously a brow that is scarcely damp, and explain- 
 ing more or less lamely how it came about. But the same 
 rarely happens in the " ladies' singles." What, to quote 
 another instance, is more profound than the contempt be- 
 stowed by the girl with the good figure upon her who has 
 no figure at all ? Without claiming the virtue of a greater
 
 108 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 generosity for the sex, one may, perhaps, assume that men 
 learn by experience the danger of despising any man. The 
 girl with the good figure is sometimes — nay, often — found 
 blooming alone in her superiority, while the despised com- 
 petitor is a happy mother of children. And all this to ex- 
 plain that Jack Meredith felt drawn towards his great 
 hulking companion by something that was not a mere respect 
 of mind for matter. 
 
 As love is inexplicable, so is friendship. No man can 
 explain why Saul held Jonathan in such high esteem. 
 Between men it would appear that admiration is no part of 
 friendship. And such as have the patience to follow the 
 lives of the two Englishmen thus brought together by a 
 series of chances will perhaps be able to discover in this 
 record of a great scheme the reason why Jack Meredith, 
 the brilliant, the gifted, should bestow upon Guy Oscard 
 such a wealth of love and esteem as he never received in 
 return. 
 
 During the silence Jack was apparently meditating over 
 the debt of confidence which he still owed to his com- 
 panion ; for he spoke first, and spoke seriously, about him- 
 self, which was somewhat against his habit. 
 
 " I dare say you have heard," he said, " that I had a — a 
 disagreement with my father." 
 
 " Yes. Heard something about it," replied Oscard, in a 
 tone which seemed to imply that the " something " was quite 
 sufficient for his requirements. 
 
 " It was about my engagement," Jack went on, deliber- 
 ately. " I do not know how it was, but they did not hit it 
 off together. She was too honest to throw herself at his 
 head, I suppose ; for I imagine a pretty girl can usually 
 do what she likes with an old man if she takes the 
 trouble." 
 
 " Not with him, I think. Seemed to be rather down on 
 girls in general," said Oscard, coolly. 
 
 " Then you know him I"
 
 A CONFIDENCE 109 
 
 " Yes, a little. I have met him once or twice, out, you 
 know. I don't suppose he would know me again if he saw 
 me." 
 
 Which last remark does not redound to the credit of 
 Guy's powers of observation. 
 
 They paused. It is wonderful how near we may stand 
 to the brink and look far away beyond the chasm. Years 
 afterwards they remembered this conversation, and it is 
 possible that Jack Meredith wondered then what instinct 
 it was that made him change the direction of their thoughts. 
 
 " If it is agreeable to you," he said, " I think it would be 
 wise for me to go down to Loango, and gently intimate to 
 Durnovo that we should be glad of his services." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " He cannot be buying quinine all this time, you know. 
 He said he would travel night and day." 
 
 Oscard nodded gravely. 
 
 " How will you put it?" he asked. 
 
 " I thought I would simply say that his non-arrival caused 
 us some anxiety, and that I had come down to see if any- 
 thing was wrong." 
 
 Jack rose and threw away the end of his cigarette. It 
 was quite late, and across the river the gleam of the 
 moonlight on fixed bayonets told that only the sentries 
 were astir. 
 
 " And what about the small-pox ?" pursued Oscard, more 
 with the desire to learn than to amend. 
 
 " Don't think I shall say anything about that. The man 
 wants careful handling." 
 
 " You will have to tell him that we have got it under." 
 
 " Yes, I'll do that. Good-night, old fellow ; I shall be off 
 by daylight." 
 
 By seven o'clock the next morning the eanoe was ready, 
 with its swarthy rowers in their places. The two English- 
 men breakfasted together, and then walked down to the 
 landing-stage side by side.
 
 110 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 It was raining steadily, and the atmosphere had that sin- 
 gular feeling of total relaxation and limpness which is only 
 to be felt in the rain-ridden districts of Central Africa. 
 
 "Take care of yourself," said Oscard, gruffly, as Jack 
 stepped into the canoe. 
 
 " All right." 
 
 " And bring back Durnovo with you." 
 
 Jack Meredith looked up with a vague smile. 
 
 "That man," he said, lightly, "is going to the plateau if 
 I have to drag him there by the scruff of the neck." 
 
 And he believed that he was thinking of the expedition 
 only. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 WAR 
 
 " Who, when they slash and cut to pieces, 
 Do so with civilest addresses." 
 
 There is no power so subtle and so strong as that of asso- 
 ciation. We have learned to associate mustard with beef, 
 and therefore mustard shall be eaten with beef until the day 
 wherein the lion shall lie down with the lamb. 
 
 Miss Millicent Chyne became aware, as the year advanced 
 towards the sere and yellow age, that in opposing her way- 
 ward will in single combat against a simple little association 
 in the public mind she was undertaking a somewhat hercu- 
 lean task. 
 
 Society — itself an association — is the slave of a word, 
 and society had acquired the habit of coupling the names 
 of Sir John Meredith and Lady Cantourne. They belonged 
 to the same generation ; they had similar tastes ; they were 
 both of some considerable power in the world of leisured 
 pleasure; and, lastly, they amused each other. The result
 
 WAR 111 
 
 is not far to seek. Wherever the one was invited, the other 
 was considered to be in demand ; and Millicent found her- 
 self face to face with a huge difficulty. 
 
 Sir John was distinctly in the way. He had a keener eye 
 than the majority of young men, and occasionally exercised 
 the old man's privilege of saying outright things which, de- 
 spite theory, are better left unsaid. Moreover, the situation 
 was ill-defined, and an ill-defined situation does not improve 
 in the keeping. Sir John said sharp things — too sharp even 
 for Millicent — and, in addition to the original grudge be- 
 gotten of his quarrel with Jack and its result, the girl nour- 
 ished an ever-present feeling of resentment at a persistency 
 in misunderstanding her, of which she shrewdly suspected 
 the existence. 
 
 Perhaps the worst of it was that Sir John never said any- 
 thing which could be construed into direct disapproval. He 
 merely indicated, in passing, the possession of a keen eye- 
 sight coupled with the embarrassing faculty of adding to- 
 gether correctly two small numerals. 
 
 When, therefore, Millicent allowed herself to be assisted 
 from the carriage at the door of a large midland country- 
 house by an eager and lively little French baron of her ac- 
 quaintance, she was disgusted but not surprised to see a 
 well-known figure leaning gracefully on a billiard-cue in the 
 hall. 
 
 " I wish I could think that this pleasure was mutual," 
 said Sir John with his courtliest smile, as he bowed over 
 Millicent's hand. 
 
 " It might be," with a coquettish glance. 
 
 " If—"' 
 
 " If I were not afraid of you." 
 
 Sir John turned, smiling, to greet Lady Cantourne. He 
 did not appear to have heard, but in reality the remark had 
 made a distinct impression on him. It signalized a new de- 
 parture — the attack at a fresh quarter. Millicent had tried 
 most methods — and she possessed many — hitherto in vain.
 
 112 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 She had attempted to coax him with a filial playfulness of 
 demeanor, to dazzle him by a brilliancy which had that 
 effect upon the majority of men in her train, to win him by 
 respectful affection; but the result had been failure. She 
 was now bringing her last reserve up to the front; and 
 there are few things more dangerous, even to an old cam- 
 paigner, than a confession of fear from the lips of a pretty 
 girl. 
 
 Sir John Meredith gave himself a little jerk — a throw 
 back of the shoulders which was habitual — which might 
 have been a tribute either to Millicent behind, or to Lady 
 Cantourne in front. 
 
 The pleasantest part of existence in a large country-house 
 full of visitors is the facility with which one may avoid 
 those among the guests for whom one has no sympathy. 
 Millicent managed very well to avoid Sir John Meredith. 
 The baron was her slave — at least, he said so — and she 
 easily kept him at her beck and call during the first evening. 
 
 It would seem that that strange hollow energy of old a^e 
 had laid its hand upon Sir John Meredith, for he was the 
 first to appear in the breakfast-room the next morning. 
 He went straight to the sideboard, where the letters and 
 newspapers lay in an orderly heap. It is a question whether 
 he had not come down early on purpose to look for a letter. 
 Perhaps he could not stay in his bed with the knowledge 
 that the postman had called. He was possibly afraid to 
 ask his old servant to go down and fetch his letters. 
 
 His bent and knotted hands fumbled among the corre- 
 spondence, and suddenly his twitching lips were still. A 
 strange stillness indeed overcame his whole face, turning it 
 to stone. The letter was there ; it had come, but it was 
 not addressed to him. 
 
 Sir John Meredith took up the missive ; he looked at the 
 back, turned it, and examined the handwriting of his own 
 son. There was a whole volume — filled with pride and 
 love and unquenchable resolve — written on his face. He
 
 WAR 113 
 
 threw the letter down among its fellows, and his hand went 
 fumbling weakly at his lips. He gazed, blinking his lash- 
 less lids, at the heap of letters, and the corner of another 
 envelope presently arrested his attention. It was of the 
 same paper, the same shape and hue, as that addressed to 
 Miss Chyne. Sir John drew a deep breath, and reached 
 out his hand. The letter had come at last. At last, thank 
 God ! And how weakly ready he was to grasp at the olive- 
 branch held out to him across a continent ! 
 
 He took the letter; he made a step with it towards the 
 door, seeking solitude ; then, as an after-thought, he looked 
 at the superscription. It was addressed to the same person, 
 Miss Chyne, but in a different handwriting — the hand- 
 writing of a man well educated, but little used to wielding 
 the pen. 
 
 "The other," mumbled Sir John — "the other man, by 
 God !" 
 
 And, with a smile that sat singularly on his withered 
 face, he took up a newspaper and went towards the fire- 
 place, where he sat stiffly in an arm-chair, taking an enor- 
 mous interest in the morning's news. Pie read a single 
 piece of news three times over, and a fourth time in a 
 whisper, so as to rivet his attention upon it. He would 
 not admit that he was worsted — would not humble his 
 pride even before the ornaments on the mantel-piece. 
 
 Before Millicent came down, looking very fresh and 
 pretty in her tweed dress, the butler had sorted the letters. 
 There were only two upon her plate — the twin envelopes 
 addressed by different hands. Sir John was talking with a 
 certain labored lightness to Lady Cantourne when that 
 lady's niece came into the room. He was watching keenly. 
 There was a certain amount of interest in the question of 
 those two envelopes, as to which she would open first. She 
 looked at each in turn, glanced furtively towards Sir John, 
 made a suitable reply to some remark addressed to her by 
 the baron, and tore open Jack's envelope. There was a
 
 114 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 gravity — a concentrated gravity — about her lips as she un- 
 folded the thin paper ; and Sir John, who knew the world 
 and the little all-important trifles thereof, gave an impatient 
 sigh. It is the little trifle that betrays the man, and not 
 the larger issues of life in which we usually follow prece- 
 dent. It was that passing gravity (of the lips only) that 
 told Sir John more about Millicent Chyne than she herself 
 knew, and what he had learned did not seem to be to his 
 liking. 
 
 There is nothing so disquieting as the unknown motive, 
 which disquietude was Sir John's soon after breakfast. 
 The other men dispersed to put on gaiters and cartridge- 
 bags, and the old aristocrat took his newspaper onto the 
 terrace. 
 
 Millicent followed him almost at once. 
 
 " Sir John," she said, " I have had a letter from Africa." 
 
 Did she take it for granted that he knew this already ? 
 Was this spontaneous ? Had Jack told her to do it ? 
 
 These questions flashed through the old man's mind as 
 his eyes rested on her pretty face. 
 
 He was beginning to be afraid of this girl ; which 
 showed his wisdom. For the maiden beautiful is a stronger 
 power in the world than the strong man. The proof of 
 which is that she gets her own way more often than the 
 strong man gets his. 
 
 "From Africa?" repeated Sir John Meredith, with a 
 twitching lip. " And from whom is your letter, my dear 
 young lady ?" 
 
 His face was quite still, his old eyes steady, as he waited 
 for the answer. 
 
 " From Jack." 
 
 Sir John winced inwardly. Outwardly he smiled and 
 folded his newspaper upon his knees. 
 
 " Ah, from my brilliant son. That is interesting." 
 
 "Have you had one?" she asked, in prompt payment of 
 his sarcasm.
 
 WAR 115 
 
 Sir John Meredith looked up with a queer little smile. 
 He admired the girl's spirit. It was the smile of the fencer 
 on touching worthy steel. 
 
 " No, my dear young lady, I have not. Mr. John Mere- 
 dith does not find time to write to me — but he draws his 
 allowance from the bank with a filial regularity." 
 
 Millicent had the letter in her hand. She made it crinkle 
 in her fingers within a foot of the old gentleman's face. A 
 faint odor of the scent she used reached his nostrils. He 
 drew back a little as if he disliked it. His feeling for her 
 almost amounted to a repugnance. 
 
 "I thought you might like to hear that he is well," she 
 said, gently. She was reading the address on the envelope, 
 and again he saw that look of concentrated gravity which 
 made him feel uneasy for reasons of his own. 
 
 " It is very kind of you to throw me even that crumb 
 from your richly-stored intellectual table. I am very glad 
 to hear that he is well. A whole long letter from him 
 must be a treat indeed." 
 
 She thought of a proverb relating to the grapes that are 
 out of reach, but said nothing. 
 
 It was the fashion that year to wear little flyaway jack- 
 ets with a coquettish pocket on each side. Millicent was 
 wearing one of them, and she now became aware that Sir 
 John had glanced more than once with a certain signifi- 
 cance towards her left hand, which happened to be in that 
 pocket. It, moreover, happened that Guy Oscard's letter 
 was in the same receptacle. 
 
 She withdrew the hand, and changed color slightly as 
 she became conscious that the corner of the envelope was 
 protruding. 
 
 " I suppose that by this time," said Sir John, pleasantly, 
 " you are quite an authority upon African matters ?" 
 
 His manner was so extremely conversational and inno- 
 cent that she did not think it necessary to look for an inner 
 meaning. She was relieved to find that the two men, hav-
 
 116 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 ing actually met, spoke of each other frankly. It was evi- 
 dent that Guy Oscard could be trusted to keep his promise, 
 and Jack Meredith was not the man to force or repose a 
 confidence. 
 
 "He does not tell me much about Africa," she replied, 
 determined to hold her ground. She was engaged to be 
 married to Jack Meredith, and, whether Sir John chose to 
 ignore the fact or not, she did not mean to admit that the 
 subject should be tabooed. 
 
 " No — I suppose he has plenty to tell you about himself 
 and his prospects ?" 
 
 " Yes, he has. His prospects are not so hopeless as you 
 think." 
 
 " My dear Miss Chyne," protested Sir John, " I know noth- 
 ing about his prospects beyond the fact that, when I am re- 
 moved from this sphere of activity, he will come into posses- 
 sion of my title, such as it is, and my means, such as they are." 
 
 "Then you attach no importance to the work he is inau- 
 gurating in Africa ?" 
 
 "Not the least. I did not even know that he was en- 
 deavoring to work. I only trust it is not manual labor — 
 it is so injurious to the finger-nails. I have no sympathy 
 with a gentleman who imagines that manual labor is com- 
 patible with his position, provided that he does not put his 
 hand to the plough in England. Is not there something in 
 the Scriptures about a man putting his hand to the plough 
 and looking back? If Jack undertakes any work of that 
 description I trust that he will recognize the fact that he 
 forfeits his position by doing so." 
 
 " It is not manual labor — I can assure you of that." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it. He probably sells printed cot- 
 tons to the natives, or exchanges wrought metal for ivory — 
 an intellectual craft. But he is gaining experience, and I 
 suppose he thinks he is going to make a fortune." 
 
 It happened that this was precisely the thought expressed 
 by Jack Meredith in the letter in Millicent's hand.
 
 WAR 117 
 
 " He is sanguine," she admitted. 
 
 " Of course. Quite right. Pray do not discourage him 
 ■ — if you find time to write. But, between you and me, my 
 dear Miss Chyne, fortunes are not made in Africa. I am 
 an old man, aud I have some experience of the world. That 
 part of it which is called Africa is not the place where fort- 
 unes are made. It is as different from India as chalk is 
 from cheese, if you will permit so vulgar a simile." 
 
 Millicent's face dropped. 
 
 " But some people have made fortunes there." 
 
 "Yes — in slaves! But that interesting commerce is at 
 an end. However, so long as my son does not suffer in 
 health, I suppose we must be thankful that he is creditably 
 employed." 
 
 He rose as he spoke. 
 
 " I see," he went on, " your amiable friend the baron 
 approaching with lawn-tennis necessaries. It is wonderful 
 that our neighbors never learn to keep their enthusiasm for 
 lawn-tennis in bounds until the afternoon." 
 
 With that he left her, and the baron came to the conclu- 
 sion, before very long, that something had " contraried " the 
 charming Miss Chyne. The truth was that Millicent was 
 bitterly disappointed. The idea of failure had never en- 
 tered her head since Jack's letters, full of life and energy, 
 had begun to arrive. Sir John Meredith was a man whose 
 words commanded respect — partly because he was an old 
 man whose powers of perception had as yet apparently re- 
 tained their full force, and the vast experience of life which 
 was his could hardly be overrated. Man's prime is that 
 period when the widest experience and the keenest per- 
 ception meet. 
 
 Millicent Chyne had lulled herself into a false security. 
 She had taken it for granted that Jack would succeed, and 
 would return rich and prosperous within a few months. 
 Upon this pleasant certainty Sir John had cast a doubt, 
 and she could hardly treat his words with contempt. She
 
 118 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 had almost forgotten Guy Oscard's letter. Across a hemi- 
 sphere Jack Meredith was a stronger influence in her life 
 than Oscard. 
 
 While she sat on the terrace and flirted with the baron 
 she reflected hurriedly over the situation. She was, she 
 argued to herself, not in any way engaged to Guy Oscard. 
 If he in an unguarded moment should dare to mention such 
 a possibility to Jack, it would be quite easy to contradict 
 the statement with convincing heat. But in her heart she 
 was sure of Guy Oscard. One of the worst traits in the 
 character of an unfaithful woman is the readiness with 
 which she trades upon the faithfulness of men. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 UNDERHAND 
 " The offender never pardons." 
 
 Victor Durnovo lingered on at Loango. He elaborated 
 and detailed to all interested, and to some whom it did not 
 concern, many excuses for his delay in returning to his ex- 
 pedition, lying supine and attendant at Msala. It was by 
 now an open secret on the coast that a great trading expe- 
 dition was about to ascend the Ogowe River, with, it was 
 whispered, a fortune awaiting it in the dim perspective of 
 Central Africa. 
 
 Durnovo had already built up for himself a reputation. 
 He was known as one of the foremost ivory traders on the 
 coast — a man capable of standing against those enormous 
 climatic risks before which his competitors surely fell soon- 
 er or later. His knowledge of the interior was unrivalled, 
 his power over the natives a household word. Great things 
 were therefore expected, and Durnovo found himself looked.
 
 UNDERHAND 119 
 
 up to and respected in Loango with that friendly worship 
 which is only to be acquired by the possession or prospective 
 possession of vast wealth. 
 
 It is possible even in Loango to have a fling, but the 
 carouser must be prepared to face, even in the midst of his 
 revelry, the haunting thought that the exercise of the strict- 
 est economy in any other part of the world might be a 
 preferable pastime. 
 
 During the three days following his arrival Victor Dur- 
 novo indulged, according to his lights, in the doubtful 
 pleasure mentioned. He purchased at the best factory the 
 best clothes obtainable; he lived like a fighting cock in 
 the one so-called hotel — a house chiefly affected and sup- 
 ported by ship-captains. He spent freely of money that 
 was not his, and imagined himself to be leading the life 
 of a gentleman. He rode round on a hired horse to call 
 on his friends, and on the afternoon of the sixth day he 
 alighted from this quadruped at the gate of the Gordons' 
 bungalow. 
 
 He knew that Maurice Gordon had left that morning on 
 one of his frequent -'cits to a neighboring sub -factory. 
 Nevertheless, he expressed surprise when the servant gave 
 him the information. 
 
 " Miss Gordon," he said, tapping his boot with a riding- 
 whip : "is she in?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 A few minutes later Jocelyn came into the drawing-room, 
 where he was waiting with a brazen face and a sinking 
 heart. Somehow the very room had power to bring him 
 down towards his own level. When he set eyes on Jocelyn, 
 in her fair Saxon beauty, he regained aplomb. 
 
 She appeared to be rather glad to see him. 
 
 " I thought," she said, " that you had gone back to the 
 expedition ?" 
 
 And Victor Durnovo's boundless conceit substituted 
 " feared " for " thought."
 
 120 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 "Not without coming to say good-bye," he answered. 
 " It is not likely." 
 
 Just to demonstrate how fully he felt at ease, he took a 
 chair without waiting for an invitation, and sat tapping his 
 boot with his whip, looking her furtively up and down all 
 the while with an appraising eye. 
 
 " And when do you go?" she asked, with a subtle change 
 in her toue which did not penetrate through his mental 
 epidermis. 
 
 " I suppose in a few days now ; but I'll let you know all 
 right, never fear." 
 
 Victor Durnovo stretched out his legs and made bimself 
 quite at home ; but Jocelyn did not sit down. On the con- 
 trary, she remained standing, persistently and significantly. 
 
 " Maurice gone away ?" he inquired. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And left you all alone," in a tone of light badinage, 
 which fell rather flat, ou stony ground. 
 
 " I am accustomed to being left," she answered, gravely. 
 
 " I don't quite like it, you know." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 She looked at him with a steady surprise which made 
 him feel a trifle uncomfortable. 
 
 "Well, you know," he was forced to explain, shuffling 
 the while uneasily in his chair and dropping his whip, " one 
 naturally takes an interest in one's friends' welfare. You 
 and Maurice are the best friends I have in Loango. I often 
 speak to Maurice about it. It isn't as if there was an Eng- 
 lish garrison, or anything like that. I don't trust these 
 niggers a bit." 
 
 " Perhaps you do not understand them ?" suggested she, 
 gently. 
 
 She moved away from him as far as she could get. Every 
 moment increased her repugnance for his presence. 
 
 " I don't think Maurice would endorse that," he said, 
 with a conceited laugh.
 
 UNDERHAND 121 
 
 She winced at the familiar mention of her brother's 
 name, which was probably intentional, and her old fear of 
 this man came back with renewed force. 
 
 " I don't think," he went on, " that Maurice's estimation 
 of my humble self is quite so low as yours." 
 
 She gave a nervous little laugh. 
 
 "Maurice has always spoken of you with gratitude," she 
 said. 
 
 "To deaf ears, eh? Yes, he has reason to be grateful, 
 though perhaps I ought not to say it. I have put him into 
 several very good things on the coast, and it is in my power 
 to get him into this new scheme. It is a big thing; he 
 would be a rich man in no time." 
 
 He rose from his seat, and deliberately crossed the room 
 to the sofa where she had sat down, where he reclined, witli 
 one arm stretched out along the back of it towards her. 
 In his other hand he held his riding- whip, with which he 
 began to stroke the skirt of her dress, which reached along 
 the floor almost to his feet. 
 
 " Would you like him to be in it ?" he asked, with a 
 meaning glance beneath his lashes. " It is a pity to throw 
 away a good chance ; his position is not so very secure, you 
 know." 
 
 She gave a strange little hunted glance round the room. 
 She was wedged into a corner, and could not rise without 
 incurring the risk of his saying something she did not wish 
 to hear. Then she leaned forward and deliberately with- 
 drew her dress from the touch of his whip, which was, in 
 its way, a subtle caress. 
 
 " Is he throwing away the chance ?" she asked 
 
 " No, but you are." 
 
 Then she rose from her seat, and, standing in the middle 
 of the room, faced him with a sudden gleam in her eyes. 
 
 " I do not see what it has to do with me," she said ; " I 
 do not know anything about Maurice's business arrange- 
 ments, and very little about his business friends."
 
 122 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 "Then let me tell you, Jocelyn — well, then, Miss Gordon, 
 if yon prefer it — that you will know more about one of his 
 business friends before you have finished with him. I've got 
 Maurice more or less in my power now, and it rests with you — " 
 
 At this moment a shadow darkened the floor of the ve- 
 randa, and an instant later Jack Meredith walked quietly in 
 by the window. 
 
 " Enter, young man," he said, dramatically, " by window 
 — centre." 
 
 " I am sorry," he went on, in a different tone to Jocelyn, 
 " to come in this unceremonious way, but the servant told 
 me that you were in the veranda with Durnovo, and — " 
 
 He turned towards the half-breed, pausing. 
 
 "And Durnovo is the man I want," weighing each word. 
 
 Durnovo's right hand was in his jacket-pocket. Seeing 
 Meredith's proffered salutation, he slowly withdrew it and 
 shook hands. 
 
 The flash of hatred was still in his eyes when Jack Mer- 
 edith turned upon him with aggravating courtesy. The 
 pleasant, half-cynical glance wandered from Durnovo's dark 
 face very deliberately down to his jacket -pocket, where the 
 stock of a revolver was imperfectly concealed. 
 
 " We were getting anxious about you," he explained, 
 " seeing that you did not come back. Of course, we knew 
 that you were capable of taking — care — of yourself." 
 
 He was still looking innocently at the tell-tale jacket- 
 pocket, and Durnovo, following the direction of his glance, 
 hastily thrust his hand into it. 
 
 " But one can never tell, with a treacherous climate like 
 this, what a day may bring forth. However, I am glad to 
 find you looking — so very fit." 
 
 Victor Durnovo gave an awkward little laugh, extremely 
 conscious of the factorv clothes. 
 
 " Oh yes ; I'm all right," he said. " I was going to start 
 this evening." 
 
 The girl stood behind them, with a flush slowly fading
 
 UNDERHAND 123 
 
 from her face. There are some women who become sud- 
 denly beautiful — not by the glory of a beautiful thought, 
 not by the exaltation of a lofty virtue, but by the mere 
 practical human flush. Jack Meredith, when he took his 
 eyes from Durnovo's, glancing at Jocelyn, suddenly became 
 aware of the presence of a beautiful woman. 
 
 The crisis was past ; and if Jack knew it, so also did 
 Jocelyn. She knew that the imperturbable gentlemanliness 
 of the Englishman had conveyed to the more passionate 
 West-Indian the simple, downright fact that in a lady's 
 drawing-room there was to be no raised voice, no itching 
 fingers, no flash of fiery eyes. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "that will suit me splendidly. We will 
 travel together." 
 
 He turned to Jocelyn. 
 
 " I hear your brother is away ?" 
 
 " Yes, for a few days. He has gone up the coast." 
 
 Then there was a silence. They both paused, helping 
 each other as if by prearrangement, and Victor Durnovo 
 suddenly felt that he must go. He rose, and picked up the 
 whip which he had dropped on the matting. There was 
 no help for it — the united wills of these two people were 
 too strong for him. 
 
 Jack Meredith passed out of the veranda with him, mur- 
 muring something about giving him a leg up. While they 
 were walking round the house, Victor Durnovo made one 
 of those hideous mistakes which one remembers all through 
 life with a sudden rush of warm shame and self-contempt. 
 The very thing that was uppermost in his mind to be avoid- 
 ed suddenly bubbled to his lips, almost, it would seem, in 
 defiance of his own will. 
 
 " What about the small — the small-pox ?" he asked. 
 
 " We have got it under," replied Jack, quietly. " We 
 had a very bad time for three days, but we got all the cases 
 isolated and prevented it from spreading. Of course, we 
 could do little or nothing to save them ; they died,"
 
 124 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Durnovo had the air of a whipped dog. His mind was a 
 blank. He simply had nothing to say ; the humiliation of 
 utter self-contempt was his. 
 
 " You need not be afraid to come back now," Jack Mere- 
 dith went on, with a strange refinement of cruelty. 
 
 And that was all he ever said about it. 
 
 " Will it be convenient for yon to meet me on the beach 
 at four o'clock this afternoon ?" he asked, when Durnovo 
 was in the saddle. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "All right, four o'clock." 
 
 He turned and deliberately went back to the bungalow. 
 
 There are some friendships where the intercourse is only 
 the seed which absence duly germinates. Jocelyn Gordon 
 and Jack had parted as acquaintances ; they met as friends. 
 There is no explaining these things, for there is no gauging 
 the depths of the human mind. There is no getting down 
 to the little bond that lies at the bottom of the well — the 
 bond of sympathy. There is no knowing what it is that 
 prompts us to say, " This man, or this woman, of all the 
 millions, shall be my friend." 
 
 " I am sorry," he said, " that he should have had a chance 
 of causing you uneasiness again." 
 
 Jocelyn remembered that all her life. She remembers 
 still — and Africa has slipped away from her existence for- 
 ever. It is one of the mental photographs of her memory, 
 standing out clear and strong amid a host of minor recol- 
 lections.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 A REQUEST 
 
 "It surely was my profit had I known, 
 It would have been my pleasure had I seen." 
 
 " Why did he come back ?" 
 
 Jocelyn had risen as if to intimate that, if he cared to do 
 so, they would sit in the veranda. 
 
 " Why did Mr. Durnovo come back ?" she repeated ; for 
 Jack did not seem to have heard the question. He was 
 drawing forward a cane chair with the leisurely debonnair 
 grace that was his, and, before replying, he considered for a 
 moment. 
 
 " To get quinine," he answered. 
 
 Without looking at her, he seemed to divine that he had 
 made a mistake. He seemed to know that she had flushed 
 suddenly to the roots of her hair, with a distressed look in 
 her eyes. The reason was too trivial. She could only draw 
 one conclusion. 
 
 " No," he continued ; " to tell you the truth, I think his 
 nerve gave way a little. His health is undermined by the 
 climate. He has been too long in Africa. We have had 
 a bad time at Msala. We have had small-pox in the camp. 
 Oscard and I have been doing doughty deeds. I feel con- 
 vinced that, if we applied to some society, we should get 
 something: or other — a testimonial or a monument — also 
 Joseph." 
 
 " I like Joseph," she said, in a low tone. 
 
 "So do I. If circumstances had been different — if 
 Joseph had not been my domestic servant — I should have 
 liked him for a friend."
 
 126 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 He was looking straight in front of him with a singular 
 fixity. It is possible that he was conscious of the sidelong 
 scrutiny which he was undergoing. 
 
 "And you — you have been all right?" she said, lightly. 
 
 " Oh yes," with a laugh. " I have not brought the infec- 
 tion down to Loango ; you need not be afraid of that." 
 
 For a moment she looked as if she were going to explain 
 that she was not " afraid of that." Then she changed her 
 mind, and let it pass, as he seemed to believe. 
 
 " Joseph constructed a disinfecting - room with a wood- 
 smoke fire, or something of that description, and he has 
 been disinfecting everything, down to Oscard's pipes." 
 
 She gave a little laugh, which stopped suddenly. 
 
 " Was it very bad ?" she asked. 
 
 " Oh no. We took it in time, you see. We had eleven 
 deaths. And now we are all right. We are only waiting 
 for Durnovo to join, and then we shall make a start. Of 
 course, somebody else could have come down for the qui- 
 nine." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He glanced at her beneath his lashes before going on. 
 
 "But, as Durnovo's nerves were a little shaken, it — was 
 just as well, don't you know, to get him out of it all." 
 
 " I suppose he got himself out of it all ?" she said, quietly. 
 
 "Well — to a certain extent. With our approval, you 
 understand." 
 
 Men have an esprit de sexe as well as women. They like 
 to hustle the cowards through with the crowd, unobserved. 
 
 " It is a strange thing," said Jocelyn, with a woman's 
 scorn of the man who fears those things of which she her- 
 self has no sort of dread — " a very strange thing that Mr. 
 Durnovo said nothing about it down here. It is not known 
 in Loango that you had small-pox in the camp." 
 
 " Well, you see, when he left we were not quite sure 
 about it." 
 
 "I imagine Mr. Durnovo knows all about small -pox.
 
 A REQUEST 127 
 
 We all do on this coast. He could hardly help recognizing 
 it in its earliest stage." 
 
 She turned on him with a smile which he remembered 
 afterwards. At the moment he felt rather abashed, as if he 
 had been caught in a very maze of untruths. He did not 
 meet her eyes. It was a matter of pride with him that he 
 was equal to any social emergency that might arise. He 
 had always deemed himself capable of withholding from 
 the whole questioning world anything that he might wish 
 to withhold. But afterwards — later in his life — he remem- 
 bered that look in Jocelyn Gordon's face. 
 
 " Altogether," she said, with a peculiar little contented 
 laugh, " I think you cannot keep it up any longer. He ran 
 away from you, and left you to fight against it alone. All 
 the same, it was — nice — of you to try and screen him— ^ 
 very nice; but I do not think that I could have done it 
 myself. I suppose it was — noble — and women cannot be 
 noble." 
 
 " No, it was only expedient. The best way to take the 
 world is to wring it dry — not to try and convert it and 
 make it better, but to turn its vices to account. That 
 method has the double advantage of serving one's purpose 
 at the time, and standing as a warning later. The best way 
 to cure vice is to turn it ruthlessly to one's own account. 
 That is what we are doing with Durnovo. His little idio- 
 syncrasies will turn in witness against him later on." 
 
 She shook her head in disbelief. 
 
 " Your practice and your theory do not agree," she said. 
 
 There was a little pause ; then she turned to him, gravely. 
 
 " Have you been vaccinated ?" she asked. 
 
 " In the days of my baptism, wherein I was made — " 
 
 "No doubt," she interrupted, impatiently ; "but since? 
 Have you had it done lately ?" 
 
 "Just before I came away from England. My tailor 
 urged it so strongly. He said that he had made outfits for 
 many gents going to Africa, and they had all made their
 
 128 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 wills and been vaccinated. For reasons which are too pain- 
 ful to dwell upon in these pages I could not make a will, so 
 I was enthusiastically vaccinated." 
 
 "And have you all the medicines you will require? Did 
 you really want that quinine?" 
 
 There was a practical common-sense anxiety in the way 
 she asked these questions which made him answer, gravely : 
 
 "All, thanks. We did not really want the quinine, but 
 we can do with it. Oscard is our doctor ; he is really very 
 good. He looks it all up in a book, puts all the negative 
 symptoms on one side and the positive on the other — adds 
 them all up ; then deducts the smaller from the larger, and 
 treats what is left of the patient accordingly." 
 
 She laughed more with the view of pleasing him than 
 from a real sense of the ludicrous. 
 
 " I do not believe," she said, " that you know the risks 
 you are running into. Even in the short time that Maurice 
 and I have been here we have learned to treat the climate 
 of Western Africa with a proper respect. We have known 
 so many people who have — succumbed." 
 
 " Yes, hut I do not mean to do that. In a way, Dur- 
 novo's — what shall we call it ? — lack of nerve is a great safe- 
 guard. He will not run into any danger." 
 
 " No, but he might run you into it." 
 
 " Not a second time, Miss Gordon. Not if we know it. 
 Oscard mentioned a desire to wring Durnovo's neck. I am 
 afraid he will do it one of these days." 
 
 " The mistake that most people make," the girl went on, 
 more lightly, " is a want of care. You cannot be too care- 
 ful, you know, in Africa." 
 
 " I am careful ; I have reason to be." 
 
 She was looking at him steadily, her blue eyes searching 
 his. 
 
 " Yes ?" she said, slowly, and there were a thousand ques- 
 tions in the word. 
 
 "It would be very foolish of me to be otherwise," he said.
 
 A REQUEST 129 
 
 " I am engaged to be married, and I came out here to make 
 the wherewithal. This expedition is an expedition to seek 
 the wherewithal." 
 
 " Yes," she said, " and therefore you must be more care- 
 ful than any one else. Because, you see, your life is some- 
 thing which does not belong to you, but with which you are 
 trusted. I mean, if there is anything dangerous to be done, 
 let some one else do it. What is she like ? What is her 
 name?" 
 
 " Her name is Millicent — Millicent Chyne." 
 
 " And— what is she like ?" 
 
 He leaned back, and, interlocking his fingers, stretched 
 his arms out with the palms of his hands outward — a habit 
 of his when asked a question needing consideration. 
 
 "She is of medium height; her hair is brown. Her 
 worst enemy admits, I believe, that she is pretty. Of course, 
 I am convinced of it." 
 
 " Of course," replied Jocelyn, steadily. " That is as it 
 should be. And I have no doubt that you and her worst 
 enemy are both quite right." 
 
 He nodded cheerfully, indicating a great faith in his own 
 judgment on the matter under discussion. 
 
 " I am afraid," he said, " that I have not a photograph. 
 That would be the correct thing, would it not ? I ought 
 to have one always with me in a locket round my neck, or 
 somewhere. A curiously- wrought locket is the correct 
 thing, I believe. People in books usually carry something 
 of that description — and it is always curiously wrought. I 
 don't know where they buy them." 
 
 " I think they are usually inherited," suggested Jocelyn. 
 
 " I suppose they are," he went on, in the same serai- 
 serious tone. " And then I ought to have it always ready 
 to clasp in my dying hand, where Joseph would find it and 
 wipe away a furtive tear as he buried me. It is a pity. I 
 am afraid I inherited nothing from my ancestors except a 
 very practical mind."
 
 130 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " I should Lave liked very much to see a photograph of 
 Miss Chyne," said Jocelyn, who had, apparently, not been 
 listening. 
 
 " I hope some day you will see herself, at home in Eng- 
 land. For you have no abiding city here." 
 
 " Only a few more years now. Has she — are her parents 
 living ?" 
 
 " No ; they are both dead. Indian people they were. 
 Indian people have a tragic way of dying young. Millicent 
 lives with her aunt, Lady Cantourne. And Lady Cantourne 
 ought to have married my respected father." 
 
 "Why did she not do so?" 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders — paused — sat up, and nicked 
 a large moth off the arm of his chair. Then : 
 
 " Goodness only knows," he said. " Goodness, and 
 themselves. I suppose they found it out too late. That 
 is one of the little risks of life." 
 
 She answered nothing. 
 
 " Do you think," he went on, " that there will be a spe- 
 cial hell in the hereafter for parents who have sacrificed 
 their children's lives to their own ambition % I hope there 
 will be." 
 
 " I have never given the matter the consideration it de- 
 serves," she answered. " Was that the reason ? Is Lady 
 Cantourne a more important person than Lady Meredith ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 She gave a little nod of comprehension, as if he had raised 
 a curtain for her to see into his life — into the far perspective 
 of it, reaching back into the dim distance of fifty years be- 
 fore. For our lives do reach back into the lives of our fathers 
 and grandfathers; the beginnings made there come down 
 into our daily existence, shaping our thought and action. 
 That which stood between Sir John Meredith and his son 
 was not so much the present personality of Millicent Chyne 
 as the past shadows of a disappointed life, an unloved wife 
 and an unsympathetic mother. And these things Jocelyn
 
 A REQUEST 131 
 
 Gordon knew while she sat, gazing with thoughtful eyes, 
 wherein something lived and burned of which she was al- 
 most ignorant — gazing through the tendrils of the creeping 
 flowers that hung around them. 
 
 At last Jack Meredith rose briskly, watch in hand, and 
 Jocelyn came back to things of earth with a quick, gasping 
 sigh which took her by surprise. 
 
 " Miss Gordon, will you do something for me ?" 
 
 "With pleasure." 
 
 He tore a leaf from his pocket-book, and, going to the 
 table, he wrote on the paper with a pencil pendent at his 
 watch-chain. 
 
 "The last few days," he explained while he wrote, "have 
 awakened me to the lamentable fact that human life is rather 
 an uncertain affair." 
 
 He came towards her, holding out the paper. 
 
 " If you hear — if anything happens to me, would you be 
 so kind as to write to Millicent and tell her of it ? That is 
 the address." 
 
 She took the paper, and read the address with a dull sort 
 of interest. 
 
 "Yes," she said. " Yes, if you like. But — nothing 
 must happen to you." 
 
 There was a slight unsteadiness in her voice which made 
 her stop suddenly. She did not fold the paper, but contin- 
 ued to read the address. 
 
 " No," he said, " nothing will. But would you not de- 
 spise a man who could not screw up his courage to face the 
 possibility ?" 
 
 He wondered what she was thinking about, for she did 
 not seem to hear him. 
 
 A clock in the drawing - room behind them struck the 
 half-hour, and the sound seemed to recall her to the present. 
 
 " Are you going now ?" she asked. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, vaguely puzzled. " Yes, I must go 
 now."
 
 132 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 She rose, and for a moment he held her hand. He was 
 distinctly conscious of something left unsaid — of many 
 things. He even paused on the edge of the veranda, trying 
 to think what it was that he had to say. Then he pushed 
 aside the hanging flowers and passed out. 
 
 " Good-bye !" he said, over his shoulder. 
 
 Her lips moved, but he heard no sound. She turned with 
 a white, drawn face and sat down again. The paper was still 
 in her hand. She consulted it again, reading in a whisper : 
 
 " Millicent Chyne— Millicent !" 
 
 She turned the paper over and studied the back of it — 
 almost as if she were trying to find what there was behind 
 that name. 
 
 Through the trees there rose and fell the music of the 
 distant surf. Somewhere near at hand a water-wheel, slowly 
 irrigating the rice-fields, creaked and groaned after the man- 
 ner of water-wheels all over Africa. In all there was that 
 subtle sense of unreality — that utter lack of permanency 
 which touches the heart of the white exile in tropic lands, 
 and lets life slip away without allowing the reality of it to 
 be felt. 
 
 The girl sat there with the name before her — written on 
 the little slip of paper — the only memento he had left her. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 IVORY 
 
 " 'Tis one thing to be tempted, E3calus, 
 Another thing to fall." 
 
 One of the peculiarities of Africa yet to be explained is 
 the almost supernatural rapidity with which rumor travels. 
 Across the whole breadth of this darkest continent a mere 
 bit of gossip has made its way in a month. A man may
 
 IVORY 133 
 
 divulge a secret, say, at St. Paul de Loanda, take ship to 
 Zanzibar, and there his own secret will be told to him. 
 
 Rumor met Maurice Gordon almost at the outset of his 
 journey northward. 
 
 " Small-pox is raging on the Ogowe River," they told him. 
 " The English expedition is stricken down with it. The 
 three leaders are dead." 
 
 Maurice Gordon had not lived four years on the West 
 African coast in vain. lie took this for what it was worth. 
 But if he had acquired scepticism, he had lost his nerve. 
 He put about and sailed back to Loango. 
 
 "I wonder," he muttered, as he walked up from the beach 
 to his office that same afternoon — " I wonder if Durnovo is 
 among them ?" 
 
 And he was conscious of a ray of hope in his mind. He 
 was a kind-hearted man, in his way — this Maurice Gordon, 
 of Loango; but he could not disguise from himself the 
 simple fact that the death of Victor Durnovo would be a 
 distinct convenience and a most desirable relief. Even the 
 best of us — that is to say, the present writer and his reader 
 — have these inconvenient little feelings. There are people 
 who have done us no particular injury, to whom we wish no 
 particular harm, but we feel that it would be very expedient 
 and considerate of them to die. 
 
 Thinking these thoughts, Maurice Gordon arrived at the 
 factory and went straight to his own office, where he found 
 the object of them — Victor Durnovo — sitting in consump- 
 tion of the office sherry. 
 
 Gordon saw at once that the rumor was true. There was 
 a hunted, unwholesome look in Durnovo's eyes. He looked 
 shaken, and failed to convey a suggestion of personal dignity. 
 
 " Holloa !" exclaimed the proprietor of the decanter. 
 u You look a bit chippy. I've heard you've got small-pox 
 up at Msala." 
 
 " So have I. I've just heard it from Meredith." 
 
 " Just heard it — is Meredith down here too ?"
 
 134 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " Yes, and the fool wants to go back to-night. I have to 
 meet him on the beach at four o'clock." 
 
 Maurice Gordon sat down, poured out for himself a glass 
 of sherry, and drank it thoughtfully. 
 
 " Do you know, Durnovo," he said, emphatically, " I have 
 my doubts about Meredith being a fool." 
 
 "Indeed !" with a derisive laugh. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Maurice Gordon looked over his shoulder to see that the 
 door was shut. 
 
 " You'll have to be very careful," he said. " The least 
 slip might let it all out. Meredith has a quiet way of 
 looking at one which disquiets me. He might find out." 
 
 " Not he," replied Durnovo confidently, " especially if we 
 succeed ; and we shall succeed — by God, we shall !" 
 
 Maurice Gordon made a little movement of the shoulders, 
 as indicating a certain uneasiness ; but he said nothing. 
 
 There was a pause of considerable duration, at the end of 
 which Durnovo produced a paper from his pocket and 
 threw it down. 
 
 " That's good business," he said. 
 
 " Two thousand tusks," murmured Maurice Gordon. 
 "Yes, that's good. Through Akmed, I suppose 2" 
 
 " Yes. We cau outdo these Arabs at their own trade." 
 An evil smile lighted up Durnovo's sallow face. When 
 he smiled, his drooping, curtain-like mustache projected in 
 a way that made keen observers of the human face wonder 
 what his mouth was like. 
 
 Gordon, who had been handling the paper with the tips 
 of his fingers, as if it were something unclean, threw it 
 down on the table again. 
 
 " Ye — es," he said, slowly ; " but it does not seem to dirty 
 black hands as it does white. They know no better." 
 
 " Lord !" ejaculated Durnovo. " Don't let us begin the 
 old arguments all over again. I thought we settled that the 
 trade was there ; we couldn't prevent it, and therefore the
 
 IVORY 135 
 
 best tiling is to make hay while the sun shines, and then 
 clear out of the country." 
 
 " But suppose Meredith finds out ?" reiterated Maurice 
 Gordon, with the lamentable hesitation that precedes loss. 
 
 " If Meredith finds out, it will be the worse for him." 
 
 A certain concentration of tone aroused Maurice Gordon's 
 attention, and he glanced uneasily at his companion. 
 
 " No one knows what goes on in the heart of Africa," 
 saidDurnovo, darkly. "But we will not trouble about that; 
 Meredith won't find out." 
 
 " Where is he now ?" 
 
 "With your sister, at the bungalow. A lady's man — 
 that is what he is." 
 
 Victor Durnovo was smarting under a sense of injury 
 which was annoyingly indefinite. It was true that Jack 
 Meredith had come at a very unpropitious moment ; but it 
 was equally clear that the intrusion could only have been 
 the result of accident. It was really a case of the third 
 person who is no company, with aggravated symptoms. 
 Durnovo had vaguely felt in the presence of either a subtle 
 possibility of sympathy between Jocelyn Gordon and Jack 
 Meredith. When he saw them together, for only a few 
 minutes as it happened, the sympathy rose up and buffeted 
 him in the face, and he hated Jack Meredith for it. He 
 hated him for a certain reposeful sense of capability which 
 he had at first set down as conceit, and later on had learned 
 to value as something innate in blood and education which 
 was not conceit. He hated him because his gentlemanli- 
 ness was so obvious that it showed up the flaws in other 
 men, as the masterpiece upon the wall shows up the weak- 
 nesses of the surrounding pictures. But most of all he 
 hated him because Jocelyn Gordon seemed to have some- 
 thing in common with the son of Sir John Meredith — a 
 world above the head of even the most successful trader on 
 the coast — a world in which he, Victor Durnovo, could 
 never live and move at ease.
 
 136 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Beyond this, Victor Durnovo cherished the hatred of the 
 Found Out. He felt instinctively that behind the courteous 
 demeanor of Jack Meredith there was an opinion — a cool, 
 unbiassed criticism — of himself, which Meredith had no 
 intention of divulging. 
 
 On hearing that Jack was at the bungalow with Jocelyn, 
 Maurice Gordon glanced at the clock and wondered how he 
 could get away from his present visitor. The atmosphere 
 of Jack Meredith's presence was preferable to that diffused 
 by Victor Durnovo. There was a feeling of personal safety 
 and dignity in the very sound of his voice which set a weak 
 and easily-led man upon his feet. 
 
 But Victor Durnovo had something to say to Gordon 
 which circumstances had brought to a crisis. 
 
 " Look here," he said, leaning forward and throwing 
 away the cigarette he had been smoking, " this Simiacine 
 scheme is going to be the biggest thing that has ever been 
 run on this coast." 
 
 "Yes," said Gordon, with the indifference that comes 
 from non-participation. 
 
 " And I'm the only business man in it," significantly. 
 
 Gordon nodded his head, awaiting further developments. 
 
 " Which means that I could work another man into it. I 
 might find out that we could not get on without him." 
 
 The black eyes seemed to probe the good-natured, sensual 
 face of Maurice Gordon, so keen, so searching was their 
 glance. 
 
 "And I would be willing to do it — to make that man's 
 fortune — provided — that he was — my brother-in-law." 
 
 " What the devil do you mean ?" asked Gordon, setting 
 down the glass that was half-raised to his lips. 
 
 " I mean that I want to marry — Jocelyn." 
 
 And the modern school of realistic, mawkishly foul nov- 
 elists, who hold that Love excuseth all, would have taken 
 delight in the passionate rendering of the girl's name. 
 
 " Want to marry Jocelyn, do you ?" answered Maurice,
 
 IVORY 137 
 
 with a derisive little laugh. On the first impulse of the 
 moment he gave no thought to himself or his own interests, 
 and spoke with undisguised contempt. He might have 
 been speaking to a beggar on the road-.side. 
 
 Durnovo's eyes flashed dangerously, and his to v 5cco- 
 stained teeth clinched for a moment over his lower li^. 
 
 " That is my desire — and intention." 
 
 "Look here, Durnovo," exclaimed Gordon, "don't be 
 a fool ! Can't you see that it is quite out of the question ?'' 
 
 He attempted weakly to dismiss the matter by leaning 
 forward on his writing-table, taking up his pen, and busying 
 himself with a number of papers. 
 
 Victor Durnovo rose from his chair so hastily that in a 
 flash Maurice Gordon's hand was in the top right-hand 
 drawer of his writing-table. The good-natured blue eyes 
 suddenly became fixed and steady. But Durnovo seemed 
 to make an effort over himself, and walked to the window, 
 where he drew aside the woven-grass blind and looked out 
 into the glaring sunlight. Still standing there, he turned 
 and spoke in a low, concentrated voice : 
 
 " No," he said, " I can't see that it is out of the question. 
 On the contrary, it seems only natural that she should 
 marry the man who is her brother's partner in many a 
 little — speculation." 
 
 Maurice Gordon, sitting there, staring hopelessly into the 
 half-breed's face, saw it all. He went back in a flash of 
 recollection to many passing details which had been un- 
 noted at the time — details which now fitted into each 
 other like links of a chain — and that chain was around 
 him. He leaped forward in a momentary opening of the 
 future, *n<! saw himself ruined, disgraced, held up to the 
 ration of the whole civilized world. He was utterly in 
 this mau'b power — bound hand and foot. He could not 
 say him no ; and least of all could he say no to this de- 
 mand, which had roused all the latent chivalry, gentleman- 
 liness, brotherly love that was in him. Maurice Gordon
 
 138 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 knew that Victor Durnovo possessed knowledge which Joce 
 lyn would consider cheap at the price of her person. 
 
 There was one way out of it. His hand was still on the 
 handle of the top right-hand drawer. He was a dead-shot. 
 His finger was within two inches of the stock of a revolver. 
 One bullet for Victor Durnovo, another for himself. Then 
 the old training of his school-days — the training that makes 
 an upright, honest gentleman — asserted itself, and he saw 
 the cowardice of it. There was time enough for that later, 
 when the crisis came. In the meantime, if the worst came 
 to the worst, he could fight to the end. 
 
 " I don't think," said Durnovo, who seemed to be follow- 
 ing Gordon's thoughts, " that the idea will be so repellent 
 to your sister as you seem to think." 
 
 And a sudden ray of hope shot athwart the future into 
 which his listener was staring. It might be so. One can 
 never tell with women. Maurice Gordon had had consider- 
 able experience of the world, and, after all, he was only 
 building up hope upon precedent. He knew, as well as you 
 or I, that women will dance and flirt with — even marry — 
 men who are not gentlemen. Not only for the moment, 
 but as a permanency, something seems to kill their percep- 
 tion of a fact which is patent to every educated man in the 
 room ; and one never knows what it is. One can only sur- 
 mise that it is that thirst for admiration which does more 
 harm in the world than the thirst for alcoholic stimulant 
 which we fight by societies and guilds, oaths, and little bits 
 of ribbon. 
 
 " The idea never entered my head," said Gordon. 
 
 " It has never been out of mine," replied Durnovo, with 
 a little harsh laugh which was almost pathetic. 
 
 "I don't want you to do anything now," he went on, 
 more gently. It was wonderful how well he knew Mau- 
 rice Gordon. The suggested delay appealed to one side of 
 his nature, the softened tone to another. " There is time 
 enough. When I come back I will speak of it again."
 
 IVORY 139 
 
 "You have not spoken to her?" 
 
 "No, I have not spoken to her." 
 
 Maurice Gordon shook his head. 
 
 " She is a queer girl," he said, trying to conceal the hope 
 that was in his voice. " She is cleverer than me, you know, 
 and all that. My influence is very small, and would scarce- 
 ly be considered." 
 
 " But your interests would," suggested Durnovo. " Your 
 sister is very fond of you, and — I think I have one or two 
 arguments to put forward which she would recognize as 
 uncommonly strong." 
 
 The color which had been returning slowly to Mau- 
 rice Gordon's face now faded away again. His lips 
 were dry and shrivelled as if he had passed through a 
 sirocco. 
 
 " Mind," continued Durnovo, reassuringly, " I don't say I 
 would use them unless I suspected that you were acting in 
 opposition to my wishes." 
 
 Gordon said nothing. His heart was throbbing uncom- 
 fortably — it seemed to be in his throat. 
 
 " I would not bring forward those arguments except as a 
 last resource," went on Victor Durnovo, with the deliberate 
 cruelty of a tyrant. " I would first point out the advan- 
 tages ; a fourth share in the Simiacine scheme would make 
 you a rich man — above suspicion — independent of the gos- 
 sip of the market-place." 
 
 Maurice Gordon winced visibly, and his eyes wavered as 
 if he were about to give way to panic. 
 
 " You could retire and go home to England — to a cooler 
 climate. This country might get too hot for your consti- 
 tution — see ?" 
 
 Durnovo came back into the centre of the room and 
 stood by the writing-table. His attitude was that of a man 
 holding a whip over a cowering dog. 
 
 He took up his hat and riding-whip with a satisfied little 
 laugh, as if the dog had cringingly done bis bidding.
 
 140 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " Besides," he said, with a certain defiance of manner, " I 
 may succeed without any of that — eh ?" 
 
 "Yes," Gordon was obliged to admit with a gulp, as if 
 he were swallowing his pride, and he knew that in saying 
 the word he was degrading his sister — throwing her at this 
 man's feet as the price of his own honor. 
 
 With a half-contemptuous nod Victor Durnovo turned 
 and went away to keep his appointment with Meredith. 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 BROUGHT TO THE 8CRATCH 
 
 " Take heed of still waters ; the quick pass away." 
 
 Gut Oscard was sitting on the natural terrace in front 
 of Durnovo's house at Msala, and Marie attended to his sim- 
 ple wants with that patient dignity which suggested the rec- 
 ollection of better times, and appealed strongly to the man- 
 hood of her fellow-servant Joseph and her whilom master. 
 
 Oscard was not good at the enunciation of those small 
 amenities which are supposed to soothe the feelings of the 
 temporarily debased. He vaguely felt that this woman was 
 not accustomed to menial service, but he knew that any 
 suggestion of sympathy was more than he could compass. 
 So he merely spoke to her more gently than to the men, and 
 perhaps she understood, despite her chocolate-colored skin. 
 
 They had inaugurated a strange unequal friendship during 
 the three days that Oscard had been left alone at Msala. 
 Joseph had been promoted to the command of a certain 
 number of the porters, and his domestic duties were laid 
 aside. Thus Marie was called upon to attend to Guy Osr 
 card's daily wants.
 
 BROUGHT TO THE SCRATCH 141 
 
 " I think I'll take coffee," he was saying to her, in reply 
 to a question. " Yes — coffee, please, Marie." 
 
 He was smoking one of his big wooden pipes, staring 
 straight in front of him with a placidity natural to his bulk. 
 
 The woman turned away with a little smile. She liked 
 this big man with his halting tongue and quiet ways. She 
 liked his awkward attempts to conciliate the coquette Xan- 
 tippe — to extract a smile from the grave Nestorius, and she 
 liked his manner towards herself. She liked the poised pipe 
 and the jerky voice as he said, " Yes — coffee, please, Marie." 
 
 Women do like these things — they seem to understand 
 them, and to attach some strange, subtle importance of their 
 own to them. For which power some of us who have not 
 the knack of turning a pretty phrase, or throwing off an 
 appropriate pleasantry, may well be thankful. 
 
 Presently she returned, bringing the coffee on a rough 
 tray, also a box of matches and Oscard's tobacco-pouch. 
 Noting this gratuitous attention to his comfort, he looked 
 up with a little laugh. 
 
 " Er— thank you," he said. " Very kind." 
 
 He did not put his pipe back to his lips — keenly alive to 
 the fact that the exigency of the moment demanded a little 
 polite exchange of commonplace. 
 
 " Children gone to bed ?" he asked, anxiously. 
 
 She paused in her slow, deft arrangement of the little 
 table. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, quietly. 
 
 He nodded as if the news were eminently satisfactory. 
 " Nestorius," he said, adhering to Meredith's pleasantry, " is 
 the jolliest little chap I have met for a long time." 
 
 " Yes," she answered, softly. " Yes — but listen 1" 
 
 He raised his head, listening as she did — both looking 
 down the river into the gathering darkness. 
 
 " I hear the sound of paddles," she said. "And you?" 
 
 " Not yet. My ears are not so sharp as yours." 
 
 " I am accustomed to it," the woman said, with some
 
 142 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 emotion in ber voice which, he did not understand then. 
 " I am always listening." 
 
 Oscard seemed to be struck with this description of her- 
 self. It was so very apt — so comprehensive. The woman's 
 attitude before the world was the attitude of the listener for 
 some distant sound. 
 
 She poured out his coffee, setting the cup at his elbow. 
 " Now you will hear," she said, standing upright with that 
 untrammelled dignity of carriage which is found wherever 
 African blood is in the veins. " They have just come round 
 Broken Tree Bend. . There are two boats." 
 
 He listened, and after a moment heard the regular glug- 
 glug of the paddles stealing over the waters of the still 
 tropic river, covering a wonderful distance. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I hear. Mr. Meredith said he would be 
 back to-night." 
 
 She gave a strange little low laugh — almost the laugh of 
 a happy woman. 
 
 " He is like that, Mr. Meredith," she said ; " what he says 
 he does" — in the pretty English of one who has learned 
 Spanish first. 
 
 " Yes, Marie— he is like that." 
 
 She turned, in her strangely subdued way, and went into 
 the house to prepare some supper for the new-comers. 
 
 It was not long before the sound of the paddles was quite 
 distinct, and then — probably on turning a corner of the 
 river and coming in sight of the lights of Msala — Jack 
 Meredith's cheery shout came floating through the night. 
 Oscard took his pipe from his lips and sent back an answer 
 that echoed against the trees across the river. He walked 
 down to the water's edge, where he was presently joined by 
 Joseph with a lantern. 
 
 The two boats came on to the sloping shore with a grat- 
 ing sound, and by the light of the waving lantern Oscard 
 saw Durnovo and Jack land from the same boat. 
 
 The three men walked up to the house together. Marie
 
 BROUGHT TO THE SCRATCH 143 
 
 was at the door, and bowed her head gravely in answer to 
 Jack's salutation. Durnovo nodded curtly and said nothing. 
 
 In the sitting-room, by the light of the paraffin lamp, the 
 two Englishmen exchanged a long questioning glance, quite 
 different from the quick interrogation of a woman's eyes. 
 There was a smile on Jack Meredith's face. 
 
 " All ready to start to-morrow V he inquired. 
 
 "Yes," replied Oscard. 
 
 And that was all they could say. Durnovo never left 
 them alone together that night. He watched their faces 
 with keen, suspicious eyes. Behind the mustache his lips 
 were pursed up in restless anxiety. But he saw nothing — 
 learned nothing. These two men were inscrutable. 
 
 At eleven o'clock the next morning the Simiacine seekers 
 left their first unhappy camp at Msala. They had tasted 
 of misfortune at the very beginning, but after the first re- 
 verse they returned to their work with that dogged deter- 
 mination which is a better spirit than the wild enthusiasm 
 of departure, where friends shout and flags wave, and an 
 artificial hopefulness throws in its jarring note. 
 
 They had left behind them with the artifice of civil- 
 ization that subtle handicap of a woman's presence ; and 
 the little flotilla of canoes that set sail from the terrace at 
 Msala one morning in November, not so many years ago, 
 was essentially masculine in its bearing. The four white 
 men — quiet, self-contained, and intrepid — seemed to work 
 together with a perfect unity, a oneness of thought and 
 action which really lay in the brain of one of them. No 
 man can define a true leader ; for one is too autocratic and 
 the next too easily led ; one is too quick-tempered, another 
 too reserved. It would almost seem that the ideal leader is 
 that man who knows how to extract from the brains of his 
 subordinates all that is best and strongest therein — who 
 knows how to suppress his own individuality, and merge it 
 for the time being into that of his fellow-worker — whose 
 influence is from within, and not from without.
 
 144 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 The most successful Presidents of Republics Lave been 
 those who are or pretend to be nonentities, content to be 
 mere pegs, standing still and lifeless, for things to be hung 
 upon. Jack Meredith was, or pretended to be, this. He 
 never assumed the airs of a leader. He never was a leader. 
 He merely smoothed things over, suggested here, laughed 
 there, and seemed to stand by, indifferent all the while. 
 
 In less than a week they left the river, hauling their 
 canoes up on the bank, and hiding them in the tangle of 
 the virgin underwood. A depot of provisions, likewise 
 hidden, was duly made, and the long, weary march began. 
 
 The daily routine of this need not be followed, for there 
 were weeks of long monotony varied only by a new diffi- 
 culty, a fresh danger, or a deplorable accident. Twice the 
 whole company had to lay aside the baggage and assume 
 arms, when Guy Oscard proved himself to be a cool and 
 daring leader. Not twice, but two hundred times, the ring 
 of Joseph's unerring rifle sent some naked savage crawling 
 into the brake to die, with a sudden wonder in his half* 
 awakened brain. They could not afford to be merciful ; 
 their own safeguard was to pass through this country, 
 leaving a track of blood and fire and dread behind them. 
 
 This, however, is no record of travel in Central Africa. 
 There are many such to be had at any circulating library, 
 written by abler and more fantastic pens. Some of us who 
 have wandered in the darkest continent have looked in vain 
 for things seen by former travellers — things which, as the 
 saying is, are neither here nor there. Indeed, there is not 
 much to see in a vast, boundless forest with little life and no 
 variety — nothing but a deadly monotony of twilight tangle. 
 There is nothing new under the sun— even immediately 
 under it in Central Africa. The only novelty is the human 
 heart — Central Man. That is never stale, and there are 
 depths still unexplored, heights still unattained, warm rivers 
 of love, cold streams of hatred, and vast plains where strange 
 motives grow. These are our business.
 
 BROUGHT TO THE SCRATCH 145 
 
 We have not to deal so much with the finding of the 
 Simiacine as with the finders, and of these the chief at 
 this time was Jack Meredith. It seemed quite natural that 
 one duty after another should devolve upon him, and he 
 invariably had time to do them all, and leisure to comment 
 pleasantly upon it. But his chief care was Victor Durnovo. 
 As soon as they entered the forest two hundred miles 
 above Msala, the half-breed was a changed man. The 
 strange restlessness asserted itself again — the man was 
 nervous, eager, sincere. His whole being was given up 
 to this search ; his whole heart and soul were enveloped 
 in it. At first he worked steadily, like a mariner thread- 
 ing his way through known waters ; but gradually his com- 
 posure left him, and he became incapable of doing other 
 work. 
 
 Jack Meredith was at his side always. By day he walked 
 near him as he piloted the column through the trackless 
 forest. At night he slept in the same tent, stretched across 
 the door-way. Despite the enormous fatigue, he slept the 
 light sleep of the townsman, and often he was awakened by 
 Durnovo talking aloud, groaning, tossing on his narrow bed. 
 When they had been on the march for two months — 
 piloted with marvellous instinct by Durnovo — Meredith 
 made one or two changes in the organization. The cara- 
 van naturally moved slowly, owing to the enormous amount 
 of baggage to be carried, and this delay seemed to irritate 
 Victor Durnovo to such an extent that at last it was obvi- 
 ous that the man would go mad unless this enormous ten- 
 sion could be relieved. 
 
 " For God's sake," he would shout, " hurry those men 
 on ! We haven't done ten miles to-day. Another man 
 down — damn him !" 
 
 And more than once he had to be dragged forcibly away 
 from the fallen porter, whom he battered with both fists. 
 Had he had his will he would have allowed no time for 
 meals, and only a few hours' halt for rest, Guy Oscard did
 
 146 , WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 not understand it. His denser nerves were incapable of 
 comprehending the state of irritation and unreasoning rest- 
 lessness into which the climate and excitement had brought 
 Durnovo. But Meredith, in his finer organization, under- 
 stood the case better. He it was who soothingly explained 
 the necessity for giving the men a longer rest. He alone 
 could persuade Durnovo to lie down at night and cease his 
 perpetual calculations. The man's hands were so unsteady 
 that he could hardly take the sights necessary to determine 
 their position in this sea-like waste. And to Jack alone did 
 Victor Durnovo ever approach the precincts of mutual con- 
 fidence. 
 
 " I can't help it, Meredith," he said one day, with a scared 
 look, after a particularly violent outburst of temper. " I 
 don't know what it is. I sometimes think I'm going 
 mad." 
 
 And soon after that the change was made. 
 
 An advance column, commanded by Meredith and Dur- 
 novo, was selected to push on to the plateau, while Oscard 
 and Joseph followed more leisurely with the baggage and 
 the slower travellers. 
 
 One of the strangest journeys in the vast unwritten his- 
 tory of commercial advance was that made by the five men 
 from the camp of the main expedition across the lower 
 slopes of a mountain range — unmarked on any map, un- 
 named by any geographer — to the mysterious Simiacine 
 Plateau. It almost seemed as if the wild, bloodshot eyes 
 of their guide could pierce the density of the forest where 
 Nature had held unchecked, untrimmed sway for countless 
 generations. Victor Durnovo noted a thousand indications 
 unseen by his four companions. The journey no longer 
 partook of the nature of a carefully calculated progress 
 across a country untrodden by a white man's foot ; it was 
 a wild rush in a straight line through unbroken forest fast- 
 ness, guided by an instinct that was stronger than knowl- 
 edge. And the only Englishman in the party — Jack Mere-
 
 BROUGHT TO THE SCRATCH 149 
 
 dith — bad to choose between madness and rest. lie knew 
 enough of the human brain to be convinced that the only 
 possible relief to this tension was success. 
 
 Victor Durnovo would never know rest now until he 
 reached the spot where the Simiacine should be. If the 
 trees were there, growing, as he said, in solitary state and 
 order, strangely suggestive of human handiwork, then Vic- 
 tor Durnovo was saved. If no such spot was found, mad- 
 ness and death could only follow. 
 
 To save his companion's reason, Meredith more than once 
 drugged his food ; but when the land began to rise beneath 
 their feet in slight billow-like inequalities — the deposit of 
 a glacial age — Durnovo refused to stop for the prepa- 
 ration of food. Eating dry biscuits and stringy tinned 
 meat as they went along, the four men — three blacks 
 and one white — followed in the footsteps of their mad 
 pilot. 
 
 " We're getting to the mountains — we're getting to the 
 mountains ! We shall be there to-night ! Think of that, 
 Meredith — to-night !" he kept repeating with a sickening 
 monotony. And all the while he stumbled on. The per- 
 spiration ran down his face in one continuous stream ; at 
 times he paused to wipe it from his eyes with the back of 
 his hands, and as these were torn and bleeding there were 
 smears of blood across his cheeks. 
 
 The night fell ; the moon rose, red and glorious, and the 
 beasts of this untrodden forest paused in their search for 
 food to watch with wondering, fearless eyes that strange, 
 unknown animal — man. 
 
 It was Durnovo who, climbing wildly, first saw the break 
 in the trees ahead. lie gave a muffled cry of delight, and 
 in a few minutes they were all rushing, like men possessed, 
 up a bare slope of broken shale. 
 
 Durnovo reached the summit first. A faint, pleasant 
 odor was wafted into their faces. They stood on the edge 
 of a vast table-land melting away in the yellow moonlight.
 
 148 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Studded all over, like sheep in a meadow, were a number of 
 
 little bushes, and no other vegetation. 
 
 Victor Durnovo stooped over one of these. He buried 
 
 his face among the leaves of it, and suddenly he toppled 
 
 over. 
 
 " Yes," he cried, as he fell, " it's Simiaciue !" 
 
 And he turned over with a groan of satisfaction, and lay 
 
 like a dead man. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE FIRST CONSIGNMENT 
 
 "Since all that I can ever do for thee 
 Is to do nothing, may'st thou never see, 
 Never divine, the all that nothing costeth me." 
 
 One morning, three months later, Guy Oscard drew up 
 in line his flying column. He was going back to England 
 with the first consignment of Simiacine. During the twelve 
 weeks that lay behind there had been constant reference 
 made to his little body of picked men, and the leader had 
 selected with a grave deliberation that promised well. 
 
 The lost soldier that was in him was all astir in his veins 
 as he reviewed his command in the cool air of early morn- 
 ing. The journey from Msala to the plateau had occupied 
 a busy two months. Oscard expected to reach Msala with 
 his men in forty days. Piled up in neat square cases, such 
 as could be carried in pairs by a man of ordinary strength, 
 was the crop of Simiacine, roughly valued by Victor Dur- 
 novo at forty thousand pounds. Ten men could carry the 
 whole of it, and the twenty cases set close together on the 
 ground made a bed for Guy Oscard. Upon this improvised 
 couch he gravely stretched his bulk every night all through 
 the journey that followed.
 
 THE FIRST CONSIGNMENT 149 
 
 Over the whole face of the sparsely vegetated table-land 
 the dwarf bushes grew at intervals, each one in a little circle 
 of its own, where no grass grew ; for the dead leaves, falling, 
 poisoned the earth. There were no leaves on the bushes 
 now, for they had all been denuded, and the twisted branches 
 stood out nakedly in the morning mist. Some of the 
 bushes had been roughly pruned, to foster, if possible, a 
 more bushy growth and a heavier crop of leaves near to the 
 parent stem. 
 
 It was a strange landscape ; and any passing traveller, 
 knowing nothing of the Simiacine, must perforce have seen 
 at once that these insignificant little trees were something 
 quite apart in the vegetable kingdom. Each standing 
 within its magic circle, no bird built its nest within the 
 branches — no insect constructed its filmy home — no spider 
 weaved its busy web from twig to twig. 
 
 Solitary, mournful, lifeless, the plateau which had nearly 
 cost Victor Durnovo his life lay beneath the face of heaven, 
 far above the surrounding country — the summit of an un- 
 named mountain — a land lying in the heart of a tropic 
 country which was neither tropic, temperate, nor arctic. 
 Fauna had it none, for it produced nothing that could sus- 
 tain life. Flora it knew not, for the little trees, each with 
 its perennial fortune of brilliant brown - tinted leaves, mo- 
 nopolized vegetable life and slew all comers. It seemed 
 like some stray tract of another planet, where the condition 
 of living things was different. There was a strange sense 
 of having been thrown up — thrown up, as it were, into mid- 
 heaven, there to hang forever — neither this world nor the 
 world to come. The silence of it all was such as would 
 drive men mad if they came to think of it. It was the si- 
 lence of the stars. 
 
 The men who had lived up here for three months did 
 not look quite natural. There was a singular heaviness of 
 the eyelids which all had noticed, though none had spoken 
 of it. A craving for animal food, which could only be
 
 150 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 stayed by the consumption of abnormal quantities or meat, 
 kept the hunters ever at work on the lower slopes of the 
 mountain. Sleep was broken, and uncanny things happened 
 in the night. Men said that they saw other men like trees, 
 walking abroad with sightless eyes ; and Joseph said, " Gam- 
 mon, my festive darky — gammon!" but he nevertheless 
 glanced somewhat uneasily towards his master whenever the 
 natives said such things. 
 
 A clearing had been made on that part of the plateau 
 which was most accessible from below. The Simiacine- 
 trees had been ruthlessly cut away — even the roots were 
 grubbed up and burned — far away on the leeward side of the 
 little kingdom. This was done because there arose at sun- 
 set a soft and pleasant odor from the bushes which seemed 
 to affect the nerves and even made the teeth chatter. It 
 was therefore deemed wise that the camp should stand on 
 bare ground. 
 
 It was on this ground, in front of the tents, that Guy 
 Oscard drew up his quick-marching column before the sun 
 had sprung up in its fantastic tropical way from the distant 
 line of virgin forest. As he walked along the line, making 
 a suggestion here, pulling on a shoulder-rope there, he 
 looked stanch and strong as any man might wish to be. 
 His face was burned so brown that eyebrows and mustache 
 stood out almost blond, though in reality they were only 
 brown. His eyes did not seem to be suffering from the heav- 
 iness noticeable in others ; altogether, the climate and the 
 mystic breath of the Simiacine grove did not appear to affect 
 him as it did his companions. This was probably accounted 
 for by the fact that, being chief of the hunters, most of his 
 days had been passed on the lower slopes in search of game. 
 
 To him came presently Jack Meredith — the same gentle- 
 mannered man, with an incongruously brown face and quick 
 eyes seeing all. It is not, after all, the life that makes the 
 man. There are gentle backwoodsmen, and ruffians among 
 those who live in drawing-rooms.
 
 THE FIRST CONSIGNMENT 151 
 
 " Well ?" said Meredith, following the glance of his 
 friend's eye as he surveyed his men. 
 
 Oscard took his pipe from his lips and looked gravely at 
 him. 
 
 " Don't half like it, you know," he said, in a low voice ; 
 for Durnovo was talking with a head-porter a few yards 
 away. 
 
 - Don't half like what — the flavor of that pipe ? It 
 looks a little strong." 
 
 " No, leaving you here," replied Oscard. 
 
 " Oh, that's all right, old chap ! You can't take me with 
 you, you know. I intended to stick to it when I camp- 
 away from home, and I am not going to turn back now." 
 
 Oscard gave a queer little upward jerk of the head, as if 
 he had just collected further evidence in support of a 
 theory which chronically surprised him. Then he turned 
 away and looked down over the vast untrodden tract of Africa 
 that lay beneath them. He kept his eyes fixed there, after 
 the manner of a man who has no fluency in personal com- 
 ment. 
 
 " You know," he said, jerkily, " I didn't think — I mean 
 you're not the sort of chap I took you for. When I first 
 saw you I thought you were a bit of a dandy and — all 
 that. Not the sort of man for this work. I thought that 
 the thing was bound to be a failure. I knew Durnovo, and 
 had no faith in him. You've got a gentle way about you, 
 and your clothes are so confoundedly neat. But — " Here 
 he paused and pulled down the folds of his Norfolk jacket. 
 " But I liked the way you shot that leopard the day we 
 first met." 
 
 " Beastly fluke," put in Meredith, with his pleasant 
 laugh. 
 
 Oscard contented himself with a denying shake of the 
 head. 
 
 " Of course," he continued, with obvious determination 
 to get it all off his mind, " I know as well as you do that
 
 152 "WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 you are the chief of this concern — have been chief since we 
 left Msala — and I never want to work under a better man." 
 
 He put his pipe back between his lips and turned round 
 with a contented smile, as much as to say, " There, that is 
 the sort of man I am ! When I want to say that sort of 
 thing I can say it with the best of you." 
 
 " We have pulled along very comfortably, haven't we ?" 
 said Meredith ; " thanks to your angelic temper. And 
 you'll deliver that packet of letters to the governor, won't 
 you ? I have sent them in one packet, addressed to him, as 
 it is easier to carry. I will let you hear of us somehow 
 within the next six months. Do not go and get married 
 before I get home. I want to be your best man." 
 
 Oscard laughed and gave the signal for the men to start, 
 and the long caravan defiled before them. The porters 
 nodded ts> Meredith with a great display of white teeth, 
 while the neadmen, the captains of tens, stepped out of the 
 ranks and shook hands. 
 
 Before they had disappeared over the edge of the plateau 
 Joseph came forward to say good-bye to Oscard. 
 
 " And it is understood," said the latter, " that I pay in 
 to your account at Lloyd's Bank your share of the pro- 
 ceeds." 
 
 Joseph grinned. " Yes, sir, if you please, presumin' it'i 
 a safe bank." - 
 
 " Safe as houses." 
 
 " Cos it's a tolerable big amount," settling himself into 
 his boots in the manner of a millionaire. 
 
 " Lots of money — about four hundred pounds ! But 
 you can trust me to see to it all right." 
 
 '" No fear, sir," replied Joseph, grandly. " I'm quit*- con- 
 tent, I'm sure, that you should have the — fingering o' the 
 dibs." 
 
 As be finished — somewhat lamely, perhaps — his rounded 
 periods, he looked very deliberately over Oscard's shoulder 
 towards Durnovo, who was approaching them.
 
 THE FIRST CONSIGNMENT 153 
 
 Meredith walked a little way down the slope with Oscard. 
 
 " Good-bye, old cbap !" be said, when the parting came. 
 " Good-luck, and all that. Hope you will find all right at 
 home. By-the-way," he shouted after him, "give my kind 
 regards to the Gordons at Loango." 
 
 And so the first consignment of Simiacine was sent from 
 the plateau to the coast. 
 
 Guy Oscard was one of those deceptive men who only 
 do a few things, and do those few very well. In forty- 
 three days he deposited the twenty precious cases in Gor- 
 don's godowns at Loango, and paid off the porters, of whom 
 he had not lost one. These duties performed, he turned 
 his steps towards the bungalow. He had refused Gordon's 
 invitation to stay with him until the next day, when the 
 coasting steamer was expected. To tell the truth, he was 
 not very much prepossessed in Maurice's favor, and it was 
 with a doubtful mind that he turned his steps towards the 
 little house in the forest between Loango and the sea. 
 
 The room was the first surprise that awaited him, its 
 youthful mistress the second. Guy Oscard was rather 
 afraid of most women. He did not understand them, and 
 probably he despised them. Men who are afraid or igno- 
 rant often do. 
 
 "And when did you leave them?" asked Jocelyn, after 
 her visitor had explained who he was. He was rather 
 taken aback by so much dainty refinement in remote Africa, 
 and explained rather badly. But she helped him out by 
 intimating that she knew all about him. 
 
 " I left them forty-four days ago," he replied. 
 
 " And were they well ?" 
 
 " She is very much interested," reflected Oscard, upon 
 whom her eagerness of manner had not been lost. " Sureiy, 
 it cannot be that fellow Durnovo?" 
 
 " Oh yes," he replied, with unconscious curtness. 
 
 " Mr. Durnovo cannot ever remain inland for long with- 
 out feeling the effect of the climate."
 
 154 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Guy Oscard, with the perspicacity of his sex, gobbled up 
 the bait. " It is Durnovo," he reflected. 
 
 " Oh, he is all right," he said ; " wonderfully well, and so 
 are the others — Joseph and Meredith. You know Mere- 
 dith ?" 
 
 Jocelyu was busy with a vase of flowers standing on the 
 table at her elbow. One of the flowers had fallen half out, 
 and she was replacing it — very carefully. 
 
 " Oh yes," she said, without ceasing her occupation, " we 
 know Mr. Meredith." 
 
 The visitor did not speak at once, and she looked up at 
 him, over the flowers, with grave politeness. 
 
 " Meredith," he said, " is one of the most remarkable 
 men I have ever met." 
 
 It was evident that this ordinarily taciturn man wanted 
 to unburden his mind. He was desirous of talking to some 
 one of Jack Meredith ; and perhaps Jocelyn reflected that 
 she was as good a listener as he would find in Loango. 
 
 " Really," she replied, with a kindly interest. " How?" 
 
 He paused, not because he found it difficult to talk to 
 this woman, but because he was thinking of something. 
 
 " I have read or heard somewhere of a steel gauntlet be- 
 neath a velvet glove." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That describes Meredith. He is not the man I took 
 him for. He is so wonderfully polite and gentle and pleas- 
 ant. Not the qualities that make a good leader for an 
 African exploring expedition — eh?" 
 
 Jocelyn gave a strange little laugh, which included, among 
 other things, a subtle intimation that she rather liked Guy 
 Oscard. Women do convey these small meanings some- 
 times, but one finds that they do not intend them to be 
 acted upon. 
 
 " And he has kept well all the time ?" she asked, softly. 
 " He did not look strong." 
 
 " Oh yes. He is much stronger than he looks."
 
 THE FIRST CONSIGNMENT 155 
 
 "And you — you have been all right?" 
 
 "Yes, thanks." 
 
 " Are you going back to — them ?" 
 
 " No, I leave to-morrow morning early by the Portuguese 
 boat. I am going home to be married." 
 
 " Indeed ! Then I suppose you will wash your hands of 
 Africa forever ?" 
 
 " Not quite," he replied. " I told Meredith that I would 
 be prepared to go up to him in case of emergency, but not 
 otherwise. I shall, of course, still be interested in the 
 scheme. I take home the first consignment of Simiacine; 
 we have been very successful, you know. I shall have to 
 stay in London to sell that. I have a house there." 
 
 "Are you to be married at once?" inquired Jocelyn, 
 with that frank interest which makes it, so much easier for 
 a man to talk of his own affairs to a woman than to one of 
 his own sex. 
 
 "As soon as I can arrange it," he answered, with a little 
 laugh. "There is nothing to wait for. We are both 
 orphans, and, fortunately, we are fairly well off." 
 
 lie was fumbling in his breast-pocket, and presently he 
 rose, crossed the room, and handed her, quite without after- 
 thought or self-consciousness, a photograph in a morocco 
 case. 
 
 Explanation was unnecessary, and Jocelyn Gordon looked 
 smilingly upon a smiling, bright young face. 
 
 " She is very pretty," she said, honestly. 
 
 Whereupon Guy Oscard grunted unintelligibly. 
 
 " Millicent," he said, after a little pause — " Millicent is her 
 name." 
 
 "Millicent?" repeated Jocelyn — "Millicent what/" 
 
 " Millicent Chyne." 
 
 Jocelyn folded the morocco case together and handed it 
 back to him. 
 
 " She is very pretty," she repeated slowly, as if her mind 
 could only reproduce — it was incapable of creation.
 
 156 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Oscard looked puzzled. Having risen, he did not sit down 
 again, and presently he took his leave, feeling convinced that 
 Jocelyu was about to faint. 
 
 When he was gone the girl sat wearily down. 
 
 " Millicent Chyne," she whispered. " What is to be 
 done?" 
 
 " Nothing," she answered to herself after a while. "Noth- 
 ing. It is not my business. I can do nothing." 
 
 She sat there — alone, as she had been all her life — until 
 the short tropical twilight fell over the forest. Quite sud- 
 denly she burst into tears. 
 
 " It is my business," she sobbed. " It is no good pretend- 
 ing otherwise ; but I can do nothing." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 THE SECOND CONSIGNMENT 
 
 " Who has lost all hope has also lost all fear." 
 
 Among others, it was a strange thing that Jocelyn felt no 
 surprise at meeting the name of Millicent Chyne on the lips 
 of another man. Women understand these things better 
 than we do. They understand each other, and they seem 
 to have a practical way of accepting human nature as it is 
 which we never learn to apply to our fellow-men. They 
 never bluster as we do, nor expect impossibilities from the 
 frail. 
 
 Another somewhat singular residue left, as it were, in 
 Joceiyn's mind when the storm of emotion had subsided was 
 a certain indefinite tenderness for Millicent Chyne. She felt 
 sure that Jack Meredith's feeling for her was that feeling 
 vaguely called the right one, and, as such, unalterable. To 
 this knowledge the subtle sympathy for Millicent was per-
 
 THE SECOND CONSIGNMENT 157 
 
 haps attributable. But navigation with pen and thought 
 among the shoals and depths of a woman's heart is hazard- 
 ous and uncertain. 
 
 Coupled with this — as only a woman could couple contra- 
 dictions — was an unpardoning abhorrence for the deceit 
 practised. But Jocelyn knew the world well enough to sus- 
 pect that, if she were ever brought face to face with her 
 meanness, Millicent would be able to bring about her own 
 forgiveness. It is the knowledge of this lamentable fact that 
 undermines the feminine sense of honor. 
 
 Lastly, there was a calm acceptance of the fact that Guy 
 Oscard must and would inevitably go to the wall. There 
 could be no comparison between the two men. Millicent 
 Chyne could scarcely hesitate for a moment. That she 
 herself must likewise suffer uncomplainingly, inevitably, 
 seemed to be an equally natural consequence in Jocelyn 
 Gordon's mind. 
 
 She could not go to Jack Meredith and say : 
 
 " This woman is deceiving you, but I love you, and my 
 love is a nobler, grander thing than hers. It is no passing 
 fancy of a giddy, dazzled girl, but the deep, strong passion 
 of a woman almost in the middle of her life. It is a love 
 so complete, so sufficing, that I know I could make you 
 forget this girl. I could so envelop you with love, so 
 watch over you and care for you, and tend you and under- 
 stand you, that you must be happy. I feel that I could 
 make you happier than any other woman in the world could 
 make you." 
 
 Jocelyn Gordon coald not do this; and all the advanced 
 females in the world, all the blue- stockings and divided 
 skirts, all the wild women and those who pant for burdens 
 other than children will never bring it to pass that women 
 can say such things. 
 
 And precisely because she could not say this Jooelyn felt 
 hot and sick at the very thought that Jack Meredith should 
 learn aught of Millicent Chyne from her. Her own inner
 
 158 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 motive in divulging what she had learned from Guy Oscard 
 could never for a moment be hidden behind a wish, however 
 sincere, to act for the happiness of two honorable gentle- 
 men. 
 
 Jocelyn had no one to consult — no one to whom she 
 could turn, in the maddening difficulty of her position, for 
 advice or sympathy. She had to work it out by herself, 
 steering through the quicksands by that compass that knows 
 no deviation — the compass of her own honor and maidenly 
 reserve. 
 
 Just because she was so sure of her own love she felt that 
 she could never betray the falseness of Millicent Chyne. 
 She felt somehow that Millicent's fall in Jack Meredith's 
 estimation would drag down with it the whole of her sex, 
 and consequently herself. She did not dare to betray 
 Millicent, because the honor of her sex must be held up by 
 an exaggerated honor in herself. Thus her love for Jack 
 Meredith tied her hands while she stood idly by to see 
 him wreck his own life by what could only be a miserable 
 union. 
 
 With the clear sight of the on-looker Jocelyn Gordon now 
 saw that, by Jack Meredith's own showing, Millicent was 
 quite unworthy of him. But she also remembered words, 
 silences, and hints which demonstrated with lamentable 
 plainness the fact that he loved her. She was old enough 
 and sufficiently experienced to avoid the futile speculation 
 as to what had attracted this love. She knew that men 
 marry women who in the estimation of on-looking relatives 
 are unworthy of them, and live happily ever afterwards 
 without deeming it necessary to explain to those relatives 
 how it comes about. 
 
 Now it happened that this woman — Jocelyn Gordon — 
 was not one of those who gracefully betray themselves at 
 the right moment and are immediately covered with a most 
 becoming confusion. She was strong to hold to her pur- 
 pose, to subdue herself, to keep silent. And this task she
 
 THE SECOND CONSIGNMENT 159 
 
 set herself, having thought it all carefully out in the little 
 flower-scented veranda, so full of pathetic association. But 
 it must be remembered that she in no wise seemed to see the 
 pathos in her own life. She was unconscious of romance. 
 It was all plain fact, and the plainest was her love for Jack 
 Meredith. 
 
 Her daily life was in no perceptible way changed. Maurice 
 Gordon saw no difference. She had never been an hilarious 
 person. Now she went about her household, her kindnesses, 
 and unobtrusive good works with a quieter mien ; but, when 
 occasion or social duty demanded, she seemed perhaps a 
 little readier than before to talk of indifferent topics, to 
 laugh at indifferent wit. Those who have ears to hear and 
 eyes wherewith to see learn to distrust the laugh that is 
 too ready, the sympathy that flows in too broad a stream. 
 Happiness is self-absorbed. 
 
 Four months elapsed, and the excitement created in the 
 small world of Western Africa by the first dazzling success 
 of the Simiacine Expedition began to subside. The thing 
 took its usual course. At first the experts disbelieved, and 
 then they prophesied that it could not last. Finally, the 
 active period of envy, hatred, and malice gave way to a 
 sullen tolerance not unmixed with an indefinite grudge tow- 
 ards Fortune who had favored the brave once more. 
 
 Maurice Gordon was in daily expectation of news from 
 that far-off favored spot they vaguely called the Plateau. 
 And Jocelyn did not pretend to conceal from herself the 
 hope that filled her whole being — the hope that Jack Mere- 
 dith might bring the news in person. 
 
 Instead, came Victor Durnovo. 
 
 He came upon her one evening when she was walking 
 slowly home from a mild tea-party at the house of a 
 missionary. Hearing footsteps on the sandy soil, she turned, 
 and found herself face to face with Durnovo. 
 
 " Ah !" she exclaimed, and her voice thrilled with sorno 
 emotion which he did not understand. " Ah, it is you."
 
 160 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " Yes," he said, holding her hand a little longer than was 
 necessary. " It is I." 
 
 His journey from Msala through the more civilized reaches 
 of the lower river, his voyage in the coasting-boat, and his 
 arrival at Loango, had partaken of the nature of a triumphal 
 progress. Victor Durnovo was elated — like a girl in a new 
 dress. 
 
 "I was coming along to see you," he said, and there was 
 a subtle offence in his tone. 
 
 She did not trouble to tell him that Maurice was away 
 for ten days. She felt that he knew that. There was a 
 certain truculence in his walk which annoyed her, but she 
 was wonderingly conscious of the fact that she was no long- 
 er afraid of him. This feeling had as yet taken no definite 
 shape. She did not know what she felt, but she knew that 
 there was no fear in her mind. 
 
 " Have you been successful ?" she asked, with a certain 
 negative kindness of tone bred of this new self-confidence. 
 
 "I should think we had. Why, the lot that Oscard 
 brought down was a fortune in itself. But you saw Oscard, 
 of course. Did he stay at the bungalow ?" 
 
 " No ; he stayed at the hotel." 
 
 " Did you like him ?" 
 
 The question was accompanied by a momentary glance 
 of the dark, jealous eyes. 
 
 " Yes, very much." 
 
 " He is a nice fellow — first-rate fellow. Of course, he has 
 his faults, but he and I got on splendidly. He's — engaged, 
 you know." 
 
 " So he told me." 
 
 Durnovo glanced at her again searchingly, and looked 
 relieved. He gave an awkward little laugh. 
 
 "And I understand," he said, "that Meredith is in the 
 same enviable position." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 Durnovo indulged in a meaning silence,
 
 THE SECOND CONSIGNMENT 161 
 
 " When do you go back ?" she asked, carelessly. 
 
 " Almost at once," in a tone that apologized for causing 
 her necessary pain. " I must leave to-morrow or the next 
 day. I do not like the idea of Meredith being left too long 
 alone up there with a reduced number of men. Of course, 
 I had to bring a pretty large escort. I brought down sixty 
 thousand pounds' worth of Simiacine." 
 
 " Yes," she said ; " and you take all the men back to-mor- 
 row ?" 
 
 He did not remember having stated for certain that he 
 was leaving the next day. 
 
 " Or the day after," he amended. 
 
 " Have you had any more sickness among the men ?" she 
 asked at once, in a tone of half-veiled sarcasm which made 
 him wince. 
 
 "No," he answered; "they have been quite all right." 
 
 "What time do you start?" she asked. "There are 
 letters for Mr. Meredith at the office. Maurice's head-clerk 
 will give them to you." 
 
 She knew that these letters were from Millicent. She 
 had actually had them in her hand. She had inhaled the 
 faint, refined scent of the paper and envelopes. 
 
 "You will be careful that they are not lost, won't you?" 
 she said, tearing at her own heart with a strange love of the 
 pain. " They may be important." 
 
 "Oh, I will deliver them sharp enough," he answered. 
 " I suppose I had better start to-morrow." 
 
 " I should think so," she replied quietly, with that gentle 
 mendacity which can scarcely be grudged to women be- 
 cause they are so poorly armed. " I should think so. You 
 know what these men are. Every hour they have in Loango 
 demoralizes them more and more." 
 
 They had reached the gate of the bungalow garden. She 
 turned and held out her hand in an undeniable manner. 
 He bade her good-bye and went his way, wondering vaguely 
 what had happened to them both. The conversation had
 
 162 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 taken quite a different turn to what he had expected and 
 intended. But somehow it had got beyond his control. 
 He had looked forward to a very different ending to the 
 interview. And now he found himself returning somewhat 
 disconsolately to the wretched hotel in Loango — dismissed 
 — sent back. 
 
 The next day he actually left the little West African 
 Coast town, turning his face northward with bad grace. 
 Even at that distance he feared Jack Meredith's half-veiled 
 sarcasm. He knew that nothing could be hidden for long 
 from the Englishman's suavely persistent inquiry and de- 
 duction. Besides, the natives were no longer safe. Mere- 
 dith, with the quickness of a cultured linguist, had picked 
 up enough of their language to understand them, while 
 Joseph talked freely with them in that singular mixture of 
 slang and vernacular which follows the redcoat all over the 
 world. Durnovo had only been allowed to come down to 
 the coast under a promise, gracefully veiled but distinct 
 enough, that he should only remain twenty hours in Loango. 
 
 Jocelyn avoided seeing him again. She was forced to 
 forego the opportunity of hearing much that she wanted 
 to learn, because Durnovo, the source of the desired knowl- 
 edge, was unsafe. But the relief from the suspense of the 
 last few months was in itself a consolation. All seemed to 
 be going on well at the plateau. Danger is always dis- 
 counted at sight, and Jocelyn felt comparatively easy re- 
 specting the present welfare of Jack Meredith, living as she 
 did on the edge of danger. 
 
 Four days later she was riding through the native town 
 of Loango, accompanied by a lady - friend, when she met 
 Victor Durnovo. The sight of him gave her a distinct 
 shock. She knew that he had left Loango three days 
 before with all his men. There was no doubt about that. 
 Moreover, his air was distinctly furtive — almost scared. It 
 was evident that the chance meeting was as undesired by 
 him as it was surprising to her.
 
 MERCURY 163 
 
 "I thought you had left," she said shortly, pulling up 
 her horse with undeniable decision. 
 
 " Yes . . . but I have come back — for, for more men." 
 She knew he was lying, and he felt that she knew. 
 " Indeed !" she said. " You are not ... a good starter." 
 She turned her horse's head, nodded to her friend, bowed 
 coldly to Durnovo, and trotted towards home. When she 
 had reached the corner of the rambling ill-paved street she 
 touched her horse. The animal responded. It broke into 
 a gentle canter, which made the little children cease their 
 play and stare. In the forest she applied the spur, and be- 
 neath the whispering trees, over the silent sand, the girl 
 galloped home as fast as her horse could lay legs to ground. 
 Jocelyn Gordon was one of those women who rise slowly 
 to the occasion, and the limit of their power seems at times 
 to be only defined by the greatness of the need. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 MERCURY 
 
 "So cowards never use their might 
 But against such that will not fight." 
 
 On nearing the bungalow Jocelyn turned aside into the 
 forest where a little colony of huts nestled in a hollow of 
 the sand-dunes. 
 
 " Nala," she cried, "the paddle - maker. Ask him to 
 come to me." 
 
 She spoke in the dialect of the coast to some women who 
 sat together before one of the huts. 
 
 "Nala — yes," they answered. And they raised their 
 strident voices. 
 
 In a few moments a man emerged from a shed of banana-
 
 164 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 leaves. He was a scraggy man — very lightly clad — and a 
 violent squint handicapped him seriously in the matter of 
 first impressions. When he saw Jocelyn he dropped his 
 burden of wood and ran towards her. The African negro 
 does not cringe. He is a proud man in his way. If he is 
 properly handled he is not only trustworthy — he is some- 
 thing stronger. Nala grinned as he ran towards Jocelyn. 
 
 " Nala," she said, " will you go a journey for me?" 
 
 " I will go at once." 
 
 " I came to you," said Jocelyn, " because I know that 
 you are an intelligent man and a great traveller." 
 
 " I have travelled much," he answered, " when I was 
 younger." 
 
 "Before you were married?" said the English girl. 
 " Before little Nala came ?" 
 
 The man grinned. 
 
 He looked back over his shoulder towards one of the huts 
 where a scraggy infant with a violent squint lay on its 
 stomach on the sand. 
 
 " Where do you wish me to go ?" asked the proud father. 
 
 "To Msala, on the Cteowe River." 
 
 " I know the Ogowe. I have been to Msala," with the 
 grave nod of a great traveller. 
 
 " When can you leave ?" 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Now." 
 
 Jocelyn had her purse in her hand. 
 
 " You can hire a dhow," she said ; " and on the river you 
 may have as many rowers as you like. You must go very 
 quickly to Msala. There you must ask about the English 
 man's expedition. You have heard of it ?" 
 
 " Yes ; the Englishman Durnovo, and the soldier who 
 laughs." 
 
 " Yes. Some of the men are at Msala now. They were 
 going up-country to join the other Englishman far away — 
 near the mountains. They have stopped at Msala. Find
 
 MERCURY 165 
 
 out why they have not gone on, and come back very quick- 
 ly to tell me. You understand, Nala?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And I can trust you ?" 
 
 "Yes; because you cured the little one when he had an 
 evil spirit. Yes, you can trust me." 
 
 She gave him money and rode on home. Before she 
 reached the bungalow the paddle-maker passed her at a trot, 
 going towards the sea. 
 
 She waited for three days, and then Victor Durnovo came 
 again. Maurice was still away. There was an awful sense 
 of impending danger in the very air — in the loneliness of her 
 position. Yet she was not afraid of Duruovo. She had 
 left that fear behind. She went to the drawing-room to see 
 him, full of resolution. 
 
 " I could not go away," he said, after relinquishing her 
 hand, " without coming to see you." 
 
 Jocelyn said nothing. The scared look which she had 
 last seen in his face was no longer there ; but the eyes were 
 full of lies. 
 
 " Jocelyn," the man went on, " I suppose you know that 
 I love you? It must have been plain to you for a long 
 time." 
 
 " No," she answered, with a little catch in her breath. 
 " No, it has not. And I am sorry to hear it now." 
 
 " Why ?" he asked, with a dull gleam which could not be 
 dignified by the name of love. 
 
 " Because it can only lead to trouble." 
 
 Victor Durnovo was standing with his back to the win- 
 dow, while Jocelyn, in the full light of the afternoon, stood 
 before him. He looked her slowly up and down with a 
 glance of approval which alarmed and disquieted her. 
 
 " Will you marry me ?" he asked. 
 
 " No !" 
 
 His black mustache was pushed forward by some mo- 
 tion of the hidden lips.
 
 1G6 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " Do you want the real reason ?" asked Jocelyn. 
 
 Victor Durnovo paused for a moment. 
 
 " Yes," he said. 
 
 " Because I not only do not care for you, but I despise 
 and distrust you." 
 
 " You are candid," he said, with an unpleasant little laugh. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He moved a little to one side and drew a chair towards 
 him, half leaning, half sitting on the back of it. 
 
 " Then," he said, " I will be candid with you. I intend 
 you to marry me; I have intended it for a long time. I 
 am not going down on my knees to ask you to do It* that 
 is not my way. But, if you drive me to it, I will make 
 your brother Maurice go down on his knees and beg you to 
 marry me." 
 
 " I don't think you will do that," answered the girl, stead- 
 ily. " Whatever your power over Maurice may be, it is not 
 strong enough for that ; you overrate it." 
 
 " You think so ?" he sneered. 
 
 " I am sure of it." 
 
 Durnovo glanced hastily round the room in order to make 
 sure that they were not overheard. 
 
 " Suppose," he said, in a low, hissing voice, " that I pos- 
 sess knowledge that I have only to mention to one or two 
 people to make this place too hot for Maurice Gordon. If 
 he escaped the fury of the natives, it would be difficult to 
 know where he could go to. England would be too hot for 
 him. They wouldn't have him there; I could see to that. 
 He would be a ruined man — an outcast — execrated by all 
 the civilized world." 
 
 He was watching her face all the while. He saw the 
 color leave even her lips, but they were steady and firm. A 
 strange wonder crept into his heart. This woman never 
 flinched. There was some reserved strength within herself 
 upon which she was now drawing. His dealings had all
 
 MERCURY 167 
 
 been with half-castes — with impure blood and doubtful de- 
 scendants of a mixed ancestry. He bad never fairly roused 
 a pure-bred English man or woman, and suddenly be began 
 to feel out of his depth. 
 
 " What is your knowledge ?" asked Jocelyn, in a coldly 
 measured voice. 
 
 " I think you had better not ask that ; you will be sorry 
 afterwards. I would rather that you thought quietly over 
 what I have told you. Perhaps, on second thoughts, you 
 will see your way to give me some — slight hope. I should 
 really advise it." 
 
 " I did not ask your advice. What is your knowledge?" 
 
 "You will have it?" he hissed. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He leaned forward, craning his neck, pushing his yellow 
 face and hungering black eyes into hers. 
 
 "Then, if you will have it, your brother — Maurice Gor- 
 don — is a slave-trader." 
 
 She drew back as she might have done from some un- 
 clean animal. She knew that be was telling the truth. 
 There might be extenuating circumstances. The real truth 
 might have quite a different sound, spoken in different 
 words; but there was enough of the truth in it, as Victor 
 Durnovo placed it before her, to condemn Maurice before 
 the world. 
 
 " Now will you marry me?" he sneered. 
 
 " No !" 
 
 Quick as thought she had seen the only loop-hole — the 
 only possible way of meeting this terrible accusation. 
 
 He laughed ; but there was a faint jangle of uneasiness 
 in his laughter. 
 
 " Indeed I" 
 
 " Supposing," said Jocelyn, " for one moment that there 
 was a grain of truth in your fabrication, who would believe 
 you ? Who on this coast would take your word against the 
 word of an English gentleman? Even if the whole story
 
 168 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 were true, which it is not, could you prove it> You are a 
 liar, as well as a coward and traitor! Do you think that 
 the very servants in the stable would believe you ? Do you 
 think that the incident of the small-pox at Msala is forgot- 
 ten ? Do you think that all Loango, even to the boatmen 
 on the beach, ignores the fact that you are here in Loango 
 now because you are afraid to go through a savage country 
 to the Simiacine Plateau, as you are pledged to do ? You 
 were afraid of the small-pox once ; there is something else 
 that you are afraid of now. I do not know what it is, but 
 I will find out. Coward ! Go ! Leave the house at once, 
 before I call in the stable-boys to turn you out, and never 
 dare to speak to me again !" 
 
 Victor Durnovo recoiled before her, conscious all the 
 while that she had never been so beautiful as at that mo- 
 ment. But she was something far above him — a different 
 creation altogether. He never knew what drove him from 
 that room. It was the fear of something that he did not 
 understand. 
 
 He heard her close the window after him as he walked 
 away beneath the trees. 
 
 She stood watching him — proud, cold, terrible in her 
 womanly anger. Then she turned, and suddenly sank 
 down upon the sofa, sobbing. 
 
 But fortune decreed that she should have neither time 
 to weep nor think. She heard the approaching footsteps 
 of her old servant, and when the door was opened Jocelyn 
 Gordon was reading a book, with her back turned towards 
 the window. 
 
 " That man Nala, miss, the paddle-maker, wants to see 
 you." 
 
 " Tell him to go round to the veranda." 
 
 Jocelyn went out by the open window, and presently 
 Nala came grinning towards her. He was evidently very 
 much pleased with himself — held himself erect, and squinted 
 more violently than usual.
 
 MERCURY 169 
 
 " I have been to Msala," he said, with considerable dig- 
 nity of manner. 
 
 " Yes, and what news have you ?" 
 
 Nala squatted down on the chunam floor, and proceeded 
 to unfold a leaf. The operation took some time. Within the 
 outer covering there was a second envelope of paper, like- 
 wise secured by a string. Finally the man produced a 
 small note, which showed signs of having been read more 
 than once. This he handed to Jocelyn with an absurd air 
 of importance. 
 
 She opened the paper and read : 
 
 " To Marie, at Msala, — Send at once to Mr. Durnovo, informing 
 him that the tribes have risen and are rapidly surrounding the Plateau. 
 He must return here at once with as large an armed force as he can 
 raise. But the most important consideration is time. He must not 
 wait for men from elsewhere, but must pick up as many as he can in 
 Loando and on the way up to Msala. I reckon that we can hold out 
 for three months without outside assistance, but after that period we 
 shall be forced to surrender or try and cut our way through without 
 the Simiacine. With a larger force we could beat back the tribes, 
 and establish our hold on the Plateau by force of arms. This must 
 be forwarded to Mr. Durnovo at once, wherever he is. The letter is 
 in duplicate, sent by two good messengers, who go by different routes. 
 
 "John Meredith." 
 
 When Jocelyn looked up, dry-lipped, breathless, Nala 
 was standing before her, beaming with self-importance. 
 
 " Who gave you this ?" 
 
 " Marie, at Msala." 
 
 " Who is she ?" 
 
 "Ob, Mr. Durnovo's woman at Msala. She keeps his 
 house." 
 
 "But this letter is for Mr. Durnovo!" cried Jocelyn, 
 whose fear made her unreasonably angry. " Why has he 
 not had it ?" 
 
 Nala came nearer, with upraised forefinger and explana- 
 tory palm.
 
 170 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " Marie tell me," he said, " that Mr. Meredith send two 
 letters. Marie give Mr. Durnovo one. This — other letter." 
 
 There was a strange glitter in the girl's blue eyes — ■ 
 something steely and unpleasant. 
 
 "You are sure of that? You are quite sure that Mr. 
 Durnovo has had a letter like this ?" she asked, slowly and 
 carefully, so that there could be no mistake. 
 
 " That is true," answered the man. 
 
 " Have you any more news from Msala?" 
 
 Nala looked slightly hurt. He evidently thought that 
 he had brought as much news as one man could be ex- 
 pected to carry. 
 
 " Marie has heard," he said, " that there is much fighting 
 up in the country." 
 
 " She has heard no particulars — nothing more than that?" 
 
 " No ; nothing." 
 
 Jocelyn Gordon rose to this occasion also. 
 
 " Can you go," she said, after a moment's thought, " to 
 St. Paul de Loanda for me ?" 
 
 The man laughed. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, simply. 
 
 " At once — now ?" 
 
 " Oh yes," with a sigh. 
 
 Already Jocelyn was writing something on a sheet of 
 paper. 
 
 " Take this," she said, " to the telegraph - office at St. 
 Paul de Loanda, and send it off at once. Here is money. 
 You understand ? I will pay you when you bring back the 
 receipt. If you have been very quick, I will pay you well." 
 
 That same evening a second messenger started northward 
 after Maurice Gordon with a letter telling him to come back 
 at once to Loango.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 NEMESIS 
 
 "Take heed of still waters." 
 
 Despite his assertion to Lady Cantourne, Guy Oscard 
 stayed on in the gloomy house in Russell Square. He had 
 naturally gone thither on his return from Africa, and during 
 the months that followed he did not find time to think 
 much of his own affairs. Millicent Chyne occupied all his 
 thoughts — all his waking moments. It is marvellous how 
 busily an active-minded young lady can keep a man em- 
 ployed. 
 
 In the ill-lighted study rendered famous by the great 
 history which had emanated in the manuscript therefrom, 
 Guy Oscard had interviewed sundry great commercial ex- 
 perts, and a check for forty-eight thousand pounds had 
 been handed to him across the table polished bright by his 
 father's studious elbow. The Simiacine was sold, and the 
 first portion of it spent went to buy a diamond aigrette for 
 the dainty head of Miss Millicent Chyne. 
 
 Guy Oscard was in the midst of the London season. His 
 w r ealth and a certain restricted renown had soon made him 
 popular. He had only to choose his society, and the selec- 
 tion was not difficult. Wherever Millicent Chyne went, he 
 went also, and to the lady's credit it must be recorded that 
 no one beyond herself and Guy Oscard had hitherto noticed 
 this fact. Millicent was nothing if not discreet. It was 
 more or less generally known that she was engaged to Jack 
 Meredith, who, although absent on some vaguely romantic 
 quest of a fortune, was not yet forgotten. No word, how
 
 172 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 ever, was popularly whispered connecting her name with 
 that of any other swain nearer home. Miss Chyne was too 
 much of a woman of the world to allow that. But, in the 
 meantime, she rather liked diamond aigrettes and the sup- 
 pressed devotion of Guy Oscard. 
 
 It was the evening of a great ball, and Guy Oscard, hav- 
 ing received his orders and instructions, was dining alone 
 in Russell Square, when a telegram was handed to him. He 
 opened it and spread the thin paper out upon the table- 
 cloth. A word from that far, wild country, which seemed 
 so much fitter a background to his simple bulk and strength 
 than the cramped ways of London society — a message from 
 the very heart of the dark continent — to him : 
 
 " Meredith surrounded and in danger. Durnovo false. Come at once. 
 — Jocelyn Gordon." 
 
 Guy Oscard pushed back his chair and rose at once, as if 
 there were somebody waiting in the hall to see him. 
 
 " I do not want any more dinner," he said. " I am go- 
 ing to Africa. Come and help me to pack my things." 
 
 He studied Bradshaw and wrote a note to Millicent 
 Chyne. To her he said the same as he had said to the 
 butler, " I am going to Africa." 
 
 There was something refreshingly direct and simple 
 about this man. He did not enter into long explanations. 
 He simply went on in the line he had marked out. He rose 
 from the table and never looked back. His attitude seemed 
 to say, " I am going to Africa ; kindly get out of my way." 
 
 At three minutes to nine — that is to say, in one hour and 
 a half — Guy Oscard took his seat in the Plymouth Express. 
 He had ascertained that a Madeira boat was timed to sail 
 from Dartmouth at eight o'clock that evening. He was 
 preceded by a telegram to Lloyd's agent at Plymouth : 
 
 " Have fastest craft available, steam up, ready to put to sea to 
 catch the Banyan, African steamer, four o'clock to-morrow morning. 
 Expense not to be considered,"
 
 NEMESIS 173 
 
 As the train crept out into the night the butler of the 
 gloomy house in Russell Square, who had finished the port, 
 and was beginning to feel resigned, received a second shock. 
 This came in the form of a carriage and pair, followed by a 
 ring at the bell. 
 
 The man opened the door, and his fellow-servitor of an 
 eccentric class and generation stepped back on the door-step 
 to let a young lady pass into the hall. 
 
 " Mr. Oscard ?" she said, curtly. 
 
 " Left 'ome, miss," replied the butler, stiffly conscious of 
 walnut-peel on his waistcoat. 
 
 " How long ago ?" 
 
 " A matter of half an hour, miss." 
 
 Millicent Chyne, whose face was drawn and white, passed 
 farther into the ball. Seeing the dining-room door ajar, she 
 passed into that stately apartment, followed by the butler. 
 
 " Mr. Oscard sent me this note," she said, showing a crum- 
 pled paper, " saying that he was leaving for Africa to-night. 
 He gives no explanation. Why has he gone to Africa ?" 
 
 " He received a telegram while he was at dinner, miss," 
 replied the butler, whose knowledge of the world indicated 
 the approach of at least a sovereign. " He rose and threw 
 down his napkin, miss. ' I'm goin' to Africa,' he says. 
 'Come and help me pack.' " 
 
 " Did you see the telegram — by any chance ?" asked Miss 
 Chyne. 
 
 " Well, miss, I didn't rightly read it." 
 
 Millicent had given way to a sudden panic on the receipt 
 of Guy's note. A telegram calling him to Africa — calling 
 with a voice which he obeyed with such alacrity that he 
 had not paused to finish his dinner — could only mean that 
 some disaster had happened — some disaster to Jack Meredith. 
 And quite suddenly Millicent Chyne's world was emptied of 
 all else but Jack Meredith. For a moment she forgot her- 
 self. She ran to the room where Lady Cantourne was af- 
 fixing the family jewelry on her dress, and, showing the
 
 1"74 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 letter, said breathlessly that she must see Guy Oscard at 
 once. Lady Cantourne, wise woman of the world that she 
 was, said nothing. She merely finished her toilet, and, 
 when the carriage was ready, they drove round by Russell 
 Square. 
 
 " Who was it from ?" asked Millicent. 
 
 " From a person named Gordon, miss." 
 
 " And what did it say ?" 
 
 " Well, miss, as I said before, I did not rightly see. But 
 it seems that it said, 'Come at once.' I saw that." 
 
 "And what else? Be quick, please." 
 
 " I think there was mention of somebody bein' surround- 
 ed, miss. Some name like Denver, I think. No ! Wait a 
 bit : it wasn't that ; it was somebody else." 
 
 Finishing off the port had also meant beginning it, and 
 the worthy butler's mind was not particularly clear. 
 
 " Was there any mention of Mr. Oscard's partner, Mr. — 
 eh — Meredith ?" asked Millicent, glancing at the clock. 
 
 " Yes, miss, there was that name, but I don't rightly re- 
 member in what connection." 
 
 " It didn't say that he — " Millicent paused and drew in 
 her breath with a jerk — " was dead, or anything like that ?" 
 
 " Oh no, miss." 
 
 " Thank you. I — am sorry we missed Mr. Oscard." 
 
 She turned and went back to Lady Cantourne, who was 
 sitting in the carriage. And while she was dancing the 
 second extra with the first-comer at four o'clock the next 
 morning, Guy Oscard was racing out of Plymouth Sound 
 into the teeth of a fine, driving rain. On the bridge of the 
 trembling tug-boat, by Oscard's side, stood a keen-eyed 
 Channel pilot, who knew the tracks of the steamers up 
 and down Channel as a game-keeper knows the hare-tracks 
 across a stubble-field. Moreover, the tug-boat caught the 
 big steamer pounding down into the gray of the Atlantic 
 Ocean, and in due time Guy Oscard landed on the beach 
 at Loanda.
 
 NEMESIS 175 
 
 He had the telegram still in his pocket, and he went, not 
 to Maurice Gordon's office, but to the bungalow. 
 
 Jocelyn greeted him with a little inarticulate cry of 
 
 "I did not think that you could possibly be here so soon," 
 she said. 
 
 " What news have you ?" he asked, without pausing to 
 explain. He was one of those men who are silenced by an 
 unlimited capacity for prompt action. 
 
 " That," she replied, handing him the note written by 
 Jack Meredith to Marie at Msala. 
 
 Guy Oscard read it carefully. 
 
 "Dated seven weeks last Monday — nearly two months 
 ago," he muttered, half to himself. 
 
 He raised his head and looked out of the window. There 
 were lines of anxiety round his eyes. Jocelyn never took 
 her glance from his face. 
 
 " Nearly two months ago," he repeated. 
 
 " But you will go ?" she said — and something in her voice 
 startled him. 
 
 " Of course I will go," he replied. He looked down into 
 her face with a vague question in his quiet eyes ; and who 
 knows what he saw there? Perhaps she was off her guard. 
 Perhaps she read this man aright and did not care. 
 
 "With a certain slow hesitation he laid his hand on her 
 arm. There was something almost paternal in his manner 
 which was in keeping with his stature. 
 
 u Moreover," he went on, " I will get there in time. I 
 have an immense respect for Meredith. If he said that he 
 could hold out for four months, I should say that he could 
 hold out for six. There is no one like Meredith, once he 
 makes up his mind to take things seriously." 
 
 It was not very well done, and she probably saw through 
 it. She probably knew that he was as anxious as she was 
 herself. But his very presence was full of comfort. It 
 somehow brought a change to the moral atmosphere — q
 
 176 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 sense of purposeful, direct simplicity which was new to the 
 West African Coast. 
 
 " I will send over to the factory for Maurice," said the 
 girl. "He has been hard at work getting together your 
 men. If your telegram had not come he was going up to 
 the Plateau himself." 
 
 Oscard looked slightly surprised. That did not sound 
 like Maurice Gordon. 
 
 " I believe you are almost capable of going yourself," said 
 the big man, with a slow smile. 
 
 " If I had been a man I should have been half-way there 
 by this time." 
 
 " Where is Durnovo ?" he asked, suddenly. 
 
 "I believe he is in Loango. He has not been to this 
 house for more than a fortnight; but Maurice has heard 
 that he is still somewhere in Loango." 
 
 Jocelyn paused. There was an expression on Guy Os 
 card's face which she rather liked, while it alarmed her. 
 
 " It is not likely," she went on, " that he will come here. 
 I — I rather lost my temper with him, and said things which, 
 I imagine, hurt his feelings." 
 
 Oscar nodded gravely. 
 
 " I'm rather afraid of doing that myself," he said ; " only 
 it will not be his feelings." 
 
 " I do not think," she replied, "that it would be at all ex- 
 pedient to say or do anything at present. He must go with 
 you to the Plateau. Afterwards — perhaps." 
 
 Oscard laughed quietly. 
 
 "Ah," he said, "that sounds like one of Meredith's prop- 
 ositions. But he does not mean it any more than you do." 
 
 " I do mean it," replied Jocelyn, quietly. There is no 
 hatred so complete, so merciless, as the hatred of a woman 
 for one who has wronged the man she loves. At such times 
 women do not pause to give fair play. They make no al- 
 lowance. 
 
 Jocelyn Gordon found a sort of fearful \oy in the anger
 
 NEMESIS 177 
 
 of this self-contained Englishman. It was an unfathomed 
 mine of possible punishment over which she could in 
 thought hold Victor Durnovo. 
 
 " Nothing," she went on, " could be too mean — nothing 
 could be mean enough — to mete out to him in payment of 
 his own treachery and cowardice." 
 
 She went to a drawer in her writing-table and took from 
 it an almanac. 
 
 " The letter you have in your hand," she said, "was hand- 
 ed to Mr. Durnovo exactly a month ago by the woman at 
 Msala. From that time to this he has done nothing. He 
 has simply abandoned Mr. Meredith." 
 
 "He is in Loango?" inquired Oscard, with a premonitory 
 sense of enjoyment in his voice. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Does he know that you have sent for me?" 
 
 " No," replied Jocelyn. 
 
 Guy Oscard smiled. 
 
 " I think I will go and look for him," he said. 
 
 At dusk that same evening there was a singular incident 
 in the bar-room of the only hotel in Loango. 
 
 Victor Durnovo was there, surrounded by a few friends 
 of antecedents and blood similar to his own. They were 
 having a convivial time of it, and the consumption of 
 whiskey was greater than might be deemed discreet in such 
 a climate as that of Loango. 
 
 Durnovo was in the act of raising his glass to his lips 
 when the open doorway was darkened, and Guy Oscard stood 
 before him. The half-breed's jaw dropped; the glass was set 
 down again rather unsteadily on the zinc-covered counter. 
 
 " I want you," said Oscard. 
 
 There was a little pause, an ominous silence, and Victor 
 Durnovo slowly followed Oscard out of the room, leaving 
 that ominous silence behind. 
 
 " I leave for Msala to-night," said Oscard, when they 
 were outside, " and you are coming with me,"
 
 178 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " I'll see you damned first !" replied Durnovo, with a 
 courage born of Irish whiskey. 
 
 Guy Oscard said nothing, but he stretched out his right 
 hand suddenly. His fingers closed in the collar of Victor 
 Durnovo's coat, and that parti-colored scion of two races 
 found himself feebly trotting through the one street of 
 Loango. 
 
 " Le' go 1" he gasped. 
 
 But the hand at his neck neither relinquished nor con- 
 tracted. When they reached the beach the embarkation of 
 the little army was going forward under Maurice Gordon's 
 supervision. Victor looked at Gordon. He reflected over 
 the trump card held in his hand, but he was too skilful to 
 play it then. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 TO THE RESCUE 
 
 " I must mix myself with action lest I wither by despair." 
 
 Jocelyn had not conveyed to her brother by word or 
 hint the accusation brought against him by Victor Dur- 
 novo. But when he returned home it almost seemed as if 
 he were conscious of the knowledge that was hers. She 
 thought she detected a subtle difference in his manner 
 towards herself — something apologetic and humble. This 
 was really the result of Victor Durnovo's threat made in 
 the office of the factory long before. 
 
 Maurice Gordon was not the sort of man to carry through 
 the burden of a half-discovered secret. It needs a special 
 temperament for this — one that is able to inspire fear in 
 whomsoever it may be necessary to hold in check — a tem- 
 perament with sufficient self-reliance and strength to play 
 an open game steadily through to the end. Since Dur-
 
 TO THE RESCUE 179 
 
 novo's plain-spoken threat had been uttered Gordon had 
 thought of little else, and it was well known that Jocelyn's 
 influence was all that prevented him from taking hopelessly 
 to drink. When away from her at the sub-factories it is to 
 be feared that he gave way to the temptation. There is 
 nothing so wearing as a constant suspense, a never-resting 
 fear ; and if a man knows that both may be relieved by a 
 slight over-indulgence he must be a strong man indeed if 
 he can turn aside. 
 
 Gordon betrayed himself to Jocelyn in a thousand littla 
 ways. He consulted her wishes, deferred to her opinion, 
 and sought her advice in a way which never had been his 
 hitherto ; and while both were conscious of this difference, 
 both were alike afraid of seeking to explain it. 
 
 Jocelyn knew that her repulse of Victor Durnovo was 
 only a temporary advantage ; the position could not remain 
 long undecided. Victor Durnovo would have to be met 
 sooner or later. Each day increased the strength of her 
 conviction that her brother was in the power of this man. 
 "Whether he had really allowed himself to be dragged into 
 the horrors of even a slight connection with the slave- 
 trade she could not tell ; but she knew the world well 
 enough to recognize the fact that Durnovo had only to 
 make the accusation for it to be believed by the million 
 sensation-mongers who are always on the alert for some 
 new horror. She knew that should Durnovo breathe a 
 word of this in the right quarter — that is to say, into the 
 eager journalistic ear — there would hardly be a civilized 
 country in the world where Maurice Gordon of Loango 
 could dwell under his own name. She felt that they were 
 all living on a slumbering volcano. It was one of those 
 rare cases where human life seems no longer sacred ; and 
 this refined, educated, gentle English lady found herself 
 face to face with the fact that Victor Durnovo's life would 
 be cheap at the price of her own. 
 
 At this moment Providence, with the wisdom of which
 
 180 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 we sometimes catch a glimpse, laid another trouble upon 
 her shoulders. While she was half distracted with the 
 thought of her brother's danger, the news was put into her 
 hand by the grinning Nala that Jack -Meredith — ■ the man 
 she openly in her own heart loved — was in an even greater 
 strait. 
 
 Here, at all events, was a peril that could be met, how* 
 ever heavy might be the odds. Her own danger, the hor- 
 ror of Maurice's crime, the hatred for Victor Durnovo, 
 were all swallowed up in the sadden call to help Jack 
 Meredith. And Jocelyn found at least a saving excitement 
 in working night and day for the rescue of the man who 
 was to be Millicent Chyne's husband. 
 
 Maurice aided her loyally. His influence with the na- 
 tives was great ; his knowledge of the country second only 
 to Durnovo' s. During the fortnight that elapsed between 
 the despatch of the telegram to Guy Oscard and the arrival 
 of that resourceful individual at Loango, the whole coast 
 was astir with preparation and excitement. Thus it came 
 about that Guy Oscard found a little army awaiting him, 
 and to Maurice Gordon was the credit given. Victor Dur- 
 novo simply kept out of the way. The news that an ex- 
 pedition was being got together to go to the relief of Jack 
 Meredith never reached him in his retreat. But after a fort- 
 night spent in idleness in the neighboring interior he could 
 stand the suspense no longer, and came down into the town, 
 to be pounced upon at once by Guy Oscard. 
 
 As he stood on the beach near to Oscard, watching the 
 embarkation of the men, his feelings were decidedly mixed. 
 There was an immense relief from the anxiety of the last 
 few weeks. He had stood on the verge of many crimes, 
 and had been forcibly dragged back therefrom by the strong 
 arm of Guy Oscard. It had been Victor Durnovo's inten- 
 tion not only to abandon Jack Meredith to his certain fate, 
 but to appropriate to his own use the consignment of Simia- 
 cine, valued at sixty thousand pounds, which he had brought
 
 TO THE RESCUE 181 
 
 down to the coast. The end of it all was, of course, the 
 possession of Jocelyn Gordon. The programme was simple; 
 but, racked as he was by anxiety, weakened by incipient dis- 
 ease, and paralyzed by chronic fear, the difficulties were too 
 great to be overcome. To be a thorough villain one must 
 possess, first of all, good health; secondly, untiring energy; 
 and thirdly, a certain enthusiasm for wrong-doing for its own 
 sake. Criminals of the first standard have always loved 
 crime. Victor Durnovo was not like that. He only made 
 use of crime, and had no desire to cultivate it for its own 
 sake. To be forcibly dragged back, therefore, into the paths 
 of virtue was in some ways a great relief. The presence of 
 Guy Oscard, also, was in itself a comfort. Durnovo felt that 
 no responsibility attached itself to him ; he had entire faith 
 in Oscard and had only to obey. 
 
 Durnovo was not a person who suffered from too delicate 
 a susceptibility. The shame of his present position did not 
 affect him deeply Indeed, he was one of those men who 
 have no sense of shame before certain persons; and Guy 
 Oscard was one of those. The position was not in itself 
 one to be proud of, but the half-breed accepted it with won- 
 derful equanimity, and presently he began to assist in the 
 embarkation. 
 
 It was nearly dark when the little coast steamer secured 
 by Maurice Gordon for the service turned her prow north- 
 ward and steamed away. 
 
 "The truth is," Durnovo took an early opportunity of 
 saying to Oscard, " that my nerve is no longer up to this 
 work. I should not care to undertake this business alone, 
 despite my reputation on the coast. It is a wonderful thing 
 how closely the nerves are allied to the state of one's 
 health." 
 
 " Wonderful !" acquiesced Guy Oscard, with a lack of 
 irony which only made the irony keener. 
 
 " I've been too long in this damned country," exclaimed 
 Durnovo, " that's the fact. I'm not the man I was."
 
 182 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Guy Oscard smoked for some moments in silence; then 
 he took his pipe from his lips. 
 
 " The only pity is," he said, judicially, " that you ever 
 undertook to look for the Simiacine if you were going to 
 funk it when the first difficulty arose." 
 
 Without further comment he walked away, and entered 
 into conversation with the captaiu of the steamer. 
 
 " All right," muttered Durnovo between his teeth — " all 
 right, my sarcastic, grand gentlemen. I'll be even with you 
 yet." 
 
 The strange part of it was that Guy Oscard never at- 
 tempted to degrade Durnovo from his post of joint com- 
 mander. This puzzled the half-breed sorely. It may 
 have been that Oscard knew men better than his indifferent 
 manner would have led the observer to believe. Durnovo's 
 was just one of those natures which in good hands might 
 have been turned to good account. Too much solitude, too 
 much dealing with negro peoples, and, chiefly, too long a 
 sojourn in the demoralizing atmosphere of West Africa, 
 had made a worse man of Victor Durnovo than nature 
 originally intended. He was not wholly bad. Badness is, 
 after all, a matter of comparison, and, in order to draw cor- 
 rectly such a comparison, every allowance must be made for 
 a difference in standard. Victor Durnovo's standard was 
 not a high one ; that was all. And in continuing to treat 
 him as an equal and trust him as such, Guy Oscard only 
 showed that he was a cleverer man than the world took him 
 to be. 
 
 In due time Msala was reached. As the canoes suitable 
 for up-river traffic were by no means sufficient to transport 
 the whole of the expeditionary force in one journey, a di- 
 vision was made. Durnovo took charge of the advance 
 column, journeying up to the camp from which the long 
 march through the forest was to begin, and sending back 
 the canoes for Oscard and the remainder of the force. With 
 these canoes he sent back word that the hostile tribes were
 
 TO THE RESCUE 183 
 
 within a few days' march, and that he was fortifying his 
 camp. 
 
 This news seemed to furnish Guy Oscard with food for 
 considerable thought, and after some space of time he called 
 Marie. 
 
 She came, and, standing before him with her patient dig- 
 nity of mien, awaited his communication. She never took 
 her eyes off the letter in his hand. Oscard noticed the per- 
 sistency of her gaze at the time and remembered it again 
 afterwards. 
 
 " Marie," he said, " I have had rather serious news from 
 Mr. Durnovo." 
 
 " Yes ?" rather breathlessly. 
 
 " It will not be safe for you to stay at Msala — you must 
 take the children down to Loango." 
 
 " Does he say that ?" she asked, in her rapid, indistinct 
 English. 
 
 " Who ?" 
 
 " Vic — Mr. Durnovo." 
 
 "No," replied Oscard, wondering at the question. 
 
 " He does not say anything about me or the children ?" 
 persisted Marie. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " And yet he says there is danger ?" 
 
 There was a strange, angry look in her great dark eyes 
 which Oscard did not understand. 
 
 " He says that the tribes are within two days' march of 
 his camp." 
 
 She gave an unpleasant little laugh. 
 
 " He does not seem to have thought of us at Msala." 
 
 " I suppose," said Oscard, folding the letter and putting 
 it in his pocket, " that he thinks it is my duty to do what 
 is best for Msala. That is why I asked you to speak 
 to me." 
 
 Marie did not seem to be listening. She was looking 
 over his head up the river, in the direction from whence the
 
 184 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 message had come, and there was a singular hopelessness in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " I cannot leave until he tells me to," she said, doggedly. 
 
 Guy Oscard took the pipe from his lips and examined 
 the bowl of it attentively for a moment. 
 
 " Excuse me," he said, gently, " but I insist on your 
 leaving with the children to-morrow. I will send two men 
 down with you, and will give you a letter to Miss Gordon, 
 who will see to your wants at Loango." 
 
 She looked at him with a sort of wonder. 
 
 " You insist ?" she said. 
 
 He raised his eyes to meet hers. 
 
 "Yes," he answered. 
 
 She bowed her head in grave submission, and made a 
 little movement as if to go. 
 
 " It is chiefly on account of the children," he added. 
 
 Quite suddenly she smiled, and seemed to check a sob in 
 her throat. 
 
 " Yes," said she, softly, " I know." And she went into 
 the house. 
 
 The next morning brought further rumors of approach- 
 ing danger, and it seemed certain that this news must have 
 filtered through Durnovo's fortified camp farther up the 
 river. This time the report was more definite. There were 
 Arabs leading the tribes, and rumor further stated that an 
 organized descent on Msala was intended. And yet there 
 was no word from Durnovo — no sign to suggest that he 
 had even thought of securing the safety of his house-keeper 
 and the few aged negroes in charge of Msala. This news 
 only strengthened Oscard's determination to send Marie 
 down to the coast, and he personally superintended their de- 
 parture before taking his seat in the canoe for the up-river 
 voyage. The men of his division had all preceded him, 
 and no one except his own boatmen knew that Msala was 
 to be abandoned. 
 
 There was in Guy Oscard a dogged sense of justice
 
 TO THE RESCUE 185 
 
 which sometimes amounted to a cruel mercilessness. When 
 he reached the camp he deliberately withheld from Dur- 
 novo the news that the Msala household had left the river 
 station. Moreover, he allowed Victor Durnovo to further 
 inculpate himself. He led him on to discuss the position 
 of affairs, and the half-breed displayed an intimate knowl- 
 edge of the enemy's doings. There was only one inference 
 to be drawn — namely, that Victor Durnovo had aban- 
 doned his people at Msala with the same deliberation 
 which had characterized his cowardly faithlessness to Jack 
 Meredith. 
 
 Guy Oscard was a slow-thinking man, although quick in 
 action. He pieced all these things together. The pieces did 
 not seem to fit just then — the construction was decidedly 
 chaotic in its architecture. But later on the corner-stone 
 of knowledge propped up the edifice, and everything slipped 
 into its place. 
 
 Despite disquieting rumors, the expedition was allowed 
 to depart from the river-camp unmolested. For two days 
 they marched through the gloomy forest with all speed. 
 On the third day one of the men of Durnovo's division 
 captured a native who had been prowling on their heels in 
 the line of march. Victor Durnovo sent captor and prisoner 
 to the front of the column, with a message to Oscard that 
 he would come presently and see what information was to be 
 abstracted from the captive. At the mid-day halt Durnovo 
 accordingly joined Oscard, and the man was brought before 
 them. He was hardly worthy of the name, so disease- 
 stricken, so miserable, and half-starved was he. 
 
 At first Durnovo and he did not seem to be able to get 
 to an understanding at all ; but presently they hit upon a 
 dialect in which they possessed a small common knowledge. 
 
 His news was not reassuring. In dealing with numbers 
 he rarely condescended to the use of less than four figures, 
 and his conception of distance was very vague. 
 
 "Ask him," said Oscard, "whether he knows that there
 
 J.86 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 is an Englishman with a large force on the top of a moun< 
 tain far to the east." 
 
 Durnovo translated, and the man answered with a smile. 
 In reply to some further question the negro launched into 
 a detailed narrative, to which Durnovo listened eagerly. 
 
 " He says," said the latter to Oscard, " that the Plateau 
 is in^possession of the Masais. It was taken two months 
 ago. The blacks were sold as slaves ; the two Englishmen 
 were tortured to death and their bodies burned." 
 
 Oscard never moved a muscle. 
 
 " Ask him if he is quite sure about it." 
 
 " Quite," replied Durnovo, after questioning. " By God ! 
 Oscard ; what a pity ! But I always knew it. I knew it 
 was quite hopeless from the first." 
 
 He passed his brown hand nervously over his face, where 
 the perspiration stood in beads. 
 
 " Yes," said Oscard, slowly ; " but I think we will go on 
 all the same." 
 
 " What !" cried Durnovo. " Go on ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Guy Oscard ; " we will go on, and if I find 
 you trying to desert I'll shoot you down like a rat." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 IN PERIL 
 
 "He made no sign; the fires of hell were round him, 
 The pit of hell below." 
 
 " About as bad as they can be, sir. That's bow things 
 is." Joseph set down his master's breakfast on the rough 
 table that stood in front of his tent and looked at Jack 
 Meredith. 
 
 Meredith had a way of performing most of his toilet out-
 
 IN PERIL 187 
 
 side his tent, and while Joseph made his discouraging report 
 he was eno-ao-ed in buttoning his waistcoat. He nodded 
 gravely, but his manner was not that of a man who fully 
 realized his position of imminent danger. Some men are 
 like this — they die without getting at all flustered. 
 
 " There's not more nor two or three out of the whole lot 
 that I can put any trust in," continued Joseph. 
 
 Jack Meredith was putting on his coat. 
 
 " I know what a barrack-room mutiny is. I've felt it in 
 the hatmosphere, so to speak, before now, sir." 
 
 "And what does it feel like?" inquired Jack Meredith, 
 lightly arranging his watch-chain. 
 
 But Joseph did not answer. He stepped backward iato 
 the tent and brought two rifles. There was no need of 
 answer; for this came in the sound of many voices, the 
 clang and clatter of varied arms. 
 
 " Here they come, sir," said the soldier-servant — respect- 
 ful, mindful of his place even at this moment. 
 
 Jack Meredith merely sat down, behind the little table 
 where his breakfast stood untouched. He leaned his elbow 
 on the table and watched the approach of the disorderly band 
 of blacks. Some ran, some hung back, but all were armed. 
 
 In front walked a small, truculent -looking man with 
 broad shoulders and an aggressive head. 
 
 He planted himself before Meredith, and turning, with a 
 wave of t the hand, to indicate his followers, said in English : 
 
 " These men — these friends of me — say they are tired of 
 you. You no good leader. They make me their leader." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders with a hideous grin of depre* 
 cation. 
 
 " I not want. They make me. We go to join our 
 friends in the valley." 
 
 He pointed down into the valley where the enemy was 
 encamped. 
 
 " We have agreed to take two hundred pounds for you. 
 Price given by our friends in valley — "
 
 188 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 The man stopped suddenly. He was looking into th« 
 muzzle of a revolver with a fixed fascination. Jack Mere- 
 dith exhibited no haste. He did not seem yet to have real- 
 ized the gravity of the situation. He took very careful aim 
 and pulled the trigger. A little puff of white smoke floated 
 over their heads. The broad - shouldered man with the 
 aggressive head looked stupidly surprised. He turned tow- 
 ards his supporters with a pained look of inquiry, as if 
 there was something he did not quite understand, and then 
 he fell on his face and lay quite still. 
 
 Jack Meredith looked on the blank faces with a glance of 
 urbane inquiry. 
 
 "Has anybody else anything to say to me?" he asked. 
 
 There was a dead silence. Some one laughed rather fee- 
 bly in the background. 
 
 "Then I think I will go on with my breakfast." 
 
 Which he accordingly proceeded to do. 
 
 One or two of the mutineers dropped away and went 
 back to their own quarters. 
 
 "Take it away," said Meredith, indicating the body of 
 the dead man with his teaspoon. 
 
 " And look here," he cried out after them, " do not let 
 us have any more of this nonsense! It will only lead to 
 unpleasantness." 
 
 Some of the men grinned. They were not particularly 
 respectful in their manner of bearing away the mortal re- 
 mains of their late leader. The feeling had already turned. 
 
 Joseph thought fit to clinch matters later on in the day 
 by a few remarks of his own. 
 
 " That's the sort o' man," he said, more in resignation 
 than in anger, " that the guv'nor is. He's quiet like and 
 smooth-spoken, but when he does 'it he 'its 'ard, and when 
 he shoots he shoots mortal straight. Now, what I says to 
 you Christy Minstrels is this : We're all in the same box 
 and we all want the same thing, although I admit there's a 
 bit of a difference in our complexions. Some o' you jokers
 
 IN PERIL 189 
 
 have got a fine richness of color on your physiognomies that 
 I don't pretend to emulate. But no matter. What you 
 wants is to get out of this confounded old Platter, quick 
 time, ain't it now? — to get down to Loango and go out on 
 the bust, eh ?" 
 
 The " Christy Minstrels " acquiesced. 
 
 " Then," said Joseph," obey orders and be hanged to yer." 
 
 It had been apparent to Meredith for some weeks past 
 that the man Nattoo, whom he had just shot, was bent on 
 making trouble. His prompt action had not, therefore, 
 been the result of panic, but the deliberate execution of a 
 foreordained sentence. The only question was how to 
 make the necessary execution most awe-inspiring and ex- 
 emplary. The moment was well - chosen, and served to 
 strengthen, for the time being, the waning authority of 
 these two Englishmen thus thrown upon their own re- 
 sources in the heart of Africa. 
 
 The position was not a pleasant one. For three months 
 the Plateau had been surrounded by hostile tribes, who 
 made desultory raids from time to time. These the little 
 force on the summit was able to repulse ; but a combined 
 attack from, say, two sides at once would certainly have 
 been successful. Meredith had no reason to suppose that 
 his appeal for help had reached Msala, infested as the inter- 
 vening forests were by cannibal tribes. Provisions were at 
 a low ebb. There seemed to be no hope of outside aid, 
 and disaffection was rife in his small force. Jack Mere- 
 dith, who was no soldier, found himself called upon to de- 
 fend a weak position, with unreliable men, for an indefinite 
 period. 
 
 Joseph had a rough knowledge of soldiering and a very 
 rudimentary notion of fortification. But he had that which 
 served as well: the unerring eye for covert — of a marksman. 
 He was a dead-shot at any range, and knowing what he 
 could hit he also knew how to screen himself from the 
 rifle of an enemy.
 
 190 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Above all, perhaps, was the quiet influence of a man 
 who never flinched from danger nor seemed to be in the 
 least disconcerted by its presence. 
 
 "It seems, sir," said Joseph to his master later in the 
 day, " that you've kinder stumped them. They don't un- 
 derstand you." 
 
 "They must be kept in check by fear. There is no other 
 way," replied Meredith, rather wearily. Of late he had 
 felt less and less inclined to exert himself. 
 
 "Yes, sir. Those sort o' men." 
 
 Meredith made no answer, and after a little pause Joseph 
 repeated the words significantly, if ungrammatically. 
 
 " Those sort o' men." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Slaves," replied Joseph, sharply, touching his hat with- 
 out knowing why. 
 
 " Slaves ! What the devil are you talking about?" 
 
 The man came a little nearer. 
 
 " Those forty men — leastwise thirty-four men — that 
 we brought from Msala — Mr. Durnovo's men that cultivate 
 this 'ere Simiacine, as they call it — they're different from 
 the rest, sir." 
 
 " Yes, of course they are. We do not hire them direct 
 — we hire them from Mr. Durnovo and pay their wages to 
 him. They are of a different tribe from. the others — not 
 fighting men, but agriculturists." 
 
 " Ah — " Joseph paused. " Strange thing, sir, but I've 
 not seen 'em handling any of their pay yet." 
 
 " Well, that is their affair." 
 
 " Yessir !" 
 
 Having unburdened himself of his suspicion, the servant 
 retired, shaking his head ominously. At any other time 
 the words just recorded would have aroused Jack Meredith's 
 attention, but the singular slothfulness that seemed to be 
 creeping over his intellect was already acting as a clog on 
 his mental energy.
 
 IN PERIL 191 
 
 The next morning he was unable to leave his bed, and 
 lay all day in a state of serai-somnolence. Joseph explained 
 to the men that the leader was so disgusted with their un- 
 grateful conduct that he would not leave the tent. In the 
 evening there was a slight attack made from the southern 
 side. This Joseph was able to repulse, chiefly by his own 
 long-range firing, assisted by a few picked rifles. But the 
 situation was extremely critical. The roll of the big war- 
 drum could be heard almost incessantly, rising with weird 
 melancholy from the forest land beneath them. 
 
 Despite difficulties, the new crop of Simiacine — the sec- 
 ond within twelve months — had been picked, dried, and 
 stored in cases. Without, on the Plateau, stood the bare 
 trees, affording no covert for savage warfare — no screen 
 against the deadly bullet. The camp was placed near one 
 edge of the table-land, and on this exposed side the stock- 
 ade was wisely constructed of double strength, The attacks 
 had hitherto been made only from this side, but Joseph 
 knew that anything in the nature of a combined assault 
 would carry his defence before it. In his rough-and-ready 
 way he doctored his master, making for him such soups 
 and strength -giving food as he could. Once, very late in 
 the night, when it almost seemed that the shadow of death 
 lay over the little tent, he pounded up some of the magic 
 Simiacine leaves and mixed them in the brandy which he 
 administered from time to time. 
 
 Before sunrise the next morning the alarm was given 
 again, and the little garrison was called to arms. 
 
 When Joseph left his masters tent he was convinced that 
 neither of them had long to live ; but he was of that hard 
 material which is found in its very best form in the ranks 
 and on the forecastle — men who die swearing. It may be 
 very reprehensible — no doubt it is — but it is very difficult 
 for a plain-going man to withhold his admiration for such 
 as these. It shows, at all events, that Thomas Atkins and 
 Jack are alike unafraid of meeting their Maker. It is their
 
 192 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 duty to fight either a living enemy or a cruel sea, and if a 
 little profanity helps them to do their duty, who are we 
 that we may condemn them ? 
 
 So Joseph went out with a rifle in each hand and a fine 
 selection of epithets on his tongue. 
 
 " Now, you devils," he said, " we're just going to fight 
 like hell." 
 
 And what else he said it booteth little. 
 
 He took his station on the roof of a hut in the centre of 
 the little stockade, and from there he directed the fire of his 
 men. Crouching beneath him he had a disabled native 
 who loaded each rifle in turn ; and just by way of encourag- 
 ing the others he picked off the prominent men outside the 
 stockade with a deadly steadiness. By way of relieving 
 the tension he indulged in an occasional pleasantry at the 
 expense of the enemy. 
 
 "Now," he would say, "there's a man lookin' over that 
 bush with a green feather on his nut. It's a mistake to wear 
 green feathers ; it makes a body so conspicuous." 
 
 And the wearer of the obnoxious feather would throw up 
 his arms and topple backward down the hill. 
 
 If Joseph detected anything like cowardice or careless- 
 ness, he pointed his rifle with a threatening frown towards 
 the culprit, with instant effect. Presently, however, things 
 began to get more serious. This was not the sudden as- 
 sault of a single chief, but an organized attack. Before 
 long Joseph ceased to smile. By sunrise he was off the 
 roof, running from one weak point to another, encouraging, 
 threatening, fighting, and swearing very hard. More than 
 once the enemy reached the stockade, and — ominous sign 
 — one or two of their dead lay inside the defence. 
 
 " Fight, yer devils — fight !" he cried in a hoarse whisper, 
 for his voice had given away. " Hell — give 'em hell !" 
 
 He was everywhere at once, urging on his men, kicking 
 them, pushing them, forcing them up to the stockade. But 
 he saw the end. Half dazed, the blacks fought on in sileuce.
 
 IN PERIL 193 
 
 The grim African sun leaped np above the distant line of 
 forest and shone upon one of the finest sights to be seen on 
 earth — a soldier wounded, driven desperate, and not afraid. 
 
 In the midst of it a hand was laid on Joseph's shoulder. 
 
 "There," cried a voice, " that corner. See to it." 
 
 Without looking round, Joseph obeyed, and the breached 
 corner was saved. He only knew that his master, who was 
 almost dead, had come to life again. There was no time 
 for anything else. 
 
 For half an hour it was a question of any moment. Mas- 
 ter and man were for the time being nothing better than 
 madmen, and the fighting frenzy is wildly infectious. 
 
 At last there was a pause. The enemy fell back, and in 
 the momentary silence the sound of distant firing reached 
 the ears of the little band of defenders. 
 
 "What's that?" asked Meredith, sharply. He looked 
 liked one risen from the dead. 
 
 " Fighting among themselves," replied Joseph, who was 
 wiping blood and grime from his eyes. 
 
 "Then one of them is fighting with an Express rifle." 
 
 Joseph listened. 
 
 "By God!" he shouted — "by God, Mer — sir, we're 
 saved 1" 
 
 The enemy had apparently heard the firing, too. Per- 
 haps they also recognized the peculiar sharp " smack " of 
 the Express rifle amid the others. There was a fresh at- 
 tack — an ugly rush of reckless men. But the news soon 
 spread that there was firing in the valley, and the sound of 
 a white man's rifle. The little garrison plucked up heart, 
 and the rifles, almost too hot to hold, dealt death around. 
 
 They held back the savages until the sound of the firing 
 behind them was quite audible even amid the heavy rattle 
 of the musketry. 
 
 Then suddenly the firing ceased — the enemy had divided 
 and fled. For a few moments there was a strange, tense 
 silence- Then a voice — an English voice — cried,
 
 194 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " Come on !" 
 
 The next moment Guy Oscard stood on the edge of the 
 Plateau. He held up both arms as a signal to those within 
 the stockade to cease firing, and then he came forward, fol- 
 lowed by a number of blacks and Durnovo. 
 
 The gate was rapidly disencumbered of its rough sup- 
 ports and thrown open. 
 
 Jack Meredith stood in the aperture, holding out his 
 hand. 
 
 " It's all right ; it's— all right," he said. 
 
 Oscard did not seem to take so cheerful a view of mat- 
 ters. He scrutinized Meredith's face with visible anxiety. 
 
 Then suddenly Jack lurched up against his rescuer, grab- 
 bing at him vaguely. 
 
 In a minute Oscard was supporting him back towards 
 his tent. 
 
 " It's all right, you know," explained Jack Meredith, very 
 gravely ; " I am a bit weak — that is all. I am hungry — 
 haven't had anything to eat for some time, you know." 
 
 " Oh yes," said Oscard, shortly ; " I know all about it." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 OFF DUTY 
 
 "Chacun de vous peut-etre en son coeur solitaire 
 Sous des ris passagers etouffe un long regret." 
 
 *' Good-bye to that damned old Platter — may it be for- 
 ever !" With this valedictory remark Joseph shook his fist 
 once more at the unmoved mountain and resumed his 
 march. 
 
 " William," he continued, gravely, to a native porter who 
 walked at his side and knew no word of English, " there is 
 some money that is not worth the making."
 
 OFF DUTT 195 
 
 Tho man grinned from car to ear and nodded with a 
 vast appreciation of what experience taught him to take as 
 a joke. 
 
 " Remember that, my black diamond, and just mind the 
 corner of your mouth don't get hitched over yer ear," said 
 Joseph, patting him with friendly cheerfulness. 
 
 Then he made his way forward to walk by the side ' of 
 his master's litter and encourage the carriers with that mixt- 
 ure of light badinage and heavy swearing which composed 
 his method of dealing with the natives. 
 
 Three days after the arrival of the rescuing force at the 
 Plateau, Guy Oscard had organized a retreating party, com- 
 manded by Joseph, to convey Jack Meredith down to the 
 coast. He knew enough of medicine to recognize the fact 
 that this was no passing indisposition, but a thorough break- 
 down in health. The work and anxiety of the last year, 
 added to the strange disquieting breath of the Simiacine 
 grove, had brought about a serious collapse in the system 
 which only months of rest and freedom from care could re- 
 pair. 
 
 Before the retreating column was ready to march it was 
 discovered that the hostile tribes had finally evacuated the 
 country; which deliverance was brought about not by Os- 
 card's blood - stained track through the forest, not by the 
 desperate defence of the Plateau, but by the whisper that 
 Victor Durnovo was with them. Truly a man's reputation 
 is a strange thing ! 
 
 And this man — the mighty warrior whose name was as 
 good as an army in Central Africa — went down on his 
 knees one night to Guy Oscard, imploring him to abandon 
 the Simiacine Plateau, or at all events to allow him to go 
 down to Loango with Meredith and Joseph. 
 
 " No," said Oscard ; " Meredith held this place for us 
 when he could have left it safely. He has held it for a 
 year. It is our turn now. We will hold it for him. I am 
 going to stay, and you have to stay with me."
 
 196 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 For Jack Meredith, life was at this time nothing but a 
 constant, never-ceasing fatigue. When Oscard helped him 
 into the rough litter they had constructed for his comfort, he 
 laid his head on the pillow, overcome with a dead sleep. 
 
 "Good-bye, old chap," said Oscard, patting him on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Gr'bye ;" and Jack Meredith turned over on his side as if 
 he were in bed, drew up the blanket, and closed his eyes. 
 He did not seem to know where he was, and, what was 
 worse, he did not seem to care. Oscard gave the signal to 
 the bearers, and the march began. There is something in the 
 spring of human muscles unlike any other motive power; 
 the power of thought may be felt even on the pole of a 
 litter, and one thing that modern invention can never equal 
 is the comfort of being carried on the human shoulder. The 
 slow swinging movement came to be a part of Jack Mere- 
 dith's life — indeed, life itself seemed to be nothing but a 
 huge journey thus peacefully accomplished. Through the 
 flapping curtains an endless procession of trees passed before 
 his half-closed eyes. The unintelligible gabble of the light- 
 hearted bearers of his litter was all that reached his ears. 
 And ever at his side was Joseph — cheerful, indefatigable, 
 resourceful. There was in his mind one of the greatest 
 happinesses of life — the sense of something satisfactorily 
 accomplished — the peacefulness that comes when the neces- 
 sity for effort is past and left behind — that lying down to 
 rest which must surely be something like Death in its 
 kindest form. 
 
 The awe inspired by Victor Durnovo's name went before 
 the little caravan like a moral convoy and cleared their path. 
 Thus, guarded by the name of a man whom he hated, Jack 
 Meredith was enabled to pass through a savage country 
 literally cast upon a bed of sickness. 
 
 In due course the river was reached, and the gentle swing 
 of the litter was changed for the smoother motion of the 
 canoe. And it was at this period of the journey — in the
 
 OFF DUTY" 197 
 
 forced restfulness of body entailed — that Joseph's mind 
 soared to higher things, and he determined to write a letter 
 to Sir John. 
 
 He was, he admitted even to himself, no great penman, 
 and his epistolary style tended, perhaps, more to the forcible 
 than to the finished. 
 
 " Somethin'," he reflected, " that'll just curl his back hair 
 for 'im ; that's what I'll write 'im." 
 
 Msala had been devastated, and it was within the roofless 
 walls of Durnovo's house that Joseph finally wrote out 
 laboriously the projected capillary invigorator." 
 
 " Honored Sir [he wrote], — Trusting you will excuse the liberty, 
 I take up ray pen to advise you respectfully " — while writing this word 
 Joseph closed his left eye — " that my master is taken seriously worse. 
 Having been on the sick-list now for a matter of five weeks, he just 
 lies on his bed as weak as a new-born babe, as the sayin' is, and 
 doesn't take no notice of nothing. I have succeeded in bringing him 
 down to the coast, which we hope to reach to-morrow, and when we 
 get to Loango — a poor sort of place — I shall at once obtain the best 
 advice obtainable — that is to be had. However, I may have to send 
 for it ; but money being no object to either master or me, respectfully 
 I beg to say that every care will be took. Master having kind friends 
 at Loango, I have no anxiety as to the future, but, honored sir, it has 
 been a near touch in the past — just touch and go, so to speak. Not 
 being in a position to form a estimate of what is the matter with mas- 
 ter, I can only respectfully mention that I take it to be a general 
 kerlapse of the system, brought on, no doubt, by too long a living in 
 the unhealthy platters of Central Africa. When I gets him to Loango 
 I shall go straight to the house of Mr. and Miss Gordon, where we 
 stayed before, and with no fear but what we will be received with 
 every kindness and the greatest hospitality. Thank God, honored 
 sir, I've kept my health and strength wonderful, and am therefore 
 more able to look after master. When we reach Loango I shall ask 
 Mi9s Gordon kindly to write to you, sir, seeing as I have no great 
 facility with my pen. I am, honored sir, your respectful servant to 
 command, "Joseph Atkinson, 
 
 "Late Corporal 217th Regt." 
 
 There were one or two round splashes on the paper sug- 
 gestive, perhaps, of tears, but not indicative of those useless
 
 198 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 tributes. The truth was that it was a hoi, evening, and 
 Joseph had, as he confessed, but little facility with the pen. 
 
 " There," said the scribe, with a smile of intense satisfac- 
 tion. " That will give the old un beans. Not that I don't 
 respect him — oh no." 
 
 He paused, and gazed thoughtfully at the evening-star. 
 
 " Strange thing — life," he muttered, " uncommon strange. 
 Perhaps the old un is right ; there's no knowin'. The 
 ways o' Providence are mysterious — onnecessarily mysteri- 
 ous, to my thinkin'." 
 
 And he shook his head at the evening-star, as if he were 
 not quite pleased with it. 
 
 With a feeling of considerable satisfaction Joseph ap- 
 proached the bungalow at Loango three days later. The 
 short sea voyage had somewhat revived Meredith, who had 
 been desirous of walking up from the beach, but after a 
 short attempt had been compelled to enter the spring-cart 
 which Joseph had secured. 
 
 Joseph walked by the side of this cart with an erect car- 
 riage, and a suppressed importance suggestive of ambulance 
 duty in the old days. 
 
 As the somewhat melancholy cortege approached the 
 house, Meredith drew back the dusky brown-holland cur- 
 tain and looked anxiously out. Nor were Joseph's eyes 
 devoid of expectation. He thought that Jocelyn would 
 presently emerge from the flower-hung trellis of the veranda ; 
 and he had rehearsed over and over again a neat, respectful 
 speech, explanatory of his action in bringing a sick man to 
 the house. 
 
 But the hanging fronds of flower and leaf remained mo- 
 tionless, and the cart drove, unchallenged, round to the 
 principal door. 
 
 A black servant — a stranger — held the handle, and stood 
 back invitingly. Supported by Joseph's arm, Jack Mere- 
 dith entered. The servant threw open the drawing-room 
 door ; they passed in. The room was empty. On the ta-
 
 OFF DUTY 199 
 
 ble lay two letters, one addressed to Guy Oscard, the other 
 to Jack Meredith. 
 
 Meredith felt suddenly how weak he was, and sat wearily 
 down on the sofa. 
 
 " Give me that letter," he said. 
 
 Joseph looked at him keenly. There was something 
 forlorn and cold about the room — about the whole house 
 — with the silent, smiling black servants and the shaded 
 windows. 
 
 Joseph handed the letter as desired, and then, with quick, 
 practised hands, he poured a small quantity of brandy into 
 the cup of his flask. " Drink this first, sir," he said. 
 
 Jack Meredith fumbled rather feebly at the letter. It 
 was distinctly an effort to him to tear the paper. 
 
 " My dear Meredith " [he read], — Just a line to tell you that the 
 bungalow and its contents are at your service. Jocelyn and I are off 
 home for two months' change of air. I have been a bit seedy. I 
 leave this at the bungalow, and we shall feel hurt if you do not make 
 the house your home whenever you happen to come down to Loango. 
 I have left a similar note for Oscard, in whose expedition to your re- 
 lief I have all faith. Yours ever, 
 
 " Maurice Gordon." 
 
 " Here," said Meredith to his servant, " you may as well 
 read it for yourself." 
 
 He handed the letter to Joseph and leaned back with a 
 strange rapidity of movement on the sofa. As he lay there 
 with his eyes closed he looked remarkably like a dead man. 
 
 While Joseph was reading the letter the sound of bare 
 feet on the cocoa-leaf matting made him turn round. 
 
 A small, rotund white figure of a child, clad in a cotton 
 garment, stood in the doorway, finger in mouth, gazing 
 gravely at the two occupants of the room. 
 
 " Nestorius !" exclaimed Joseph, " by all that's holy ! 
 Well, I am glad to see you, my son. Where's mammy, eh I" 
 
 Nestorius turned gravely round and pointed a small dusky 
 finger in the direction of the servants' quarters. Then he
 
 200 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 replaced the finger between his lips and came slowly forward 
 to examine Meredith, wbo had opened his eyes. 
 
 " Well, stout Nestorius ! This is a bad case, is it not ?" 
 said the sick man. 
 
 " Bad case," repeated Nestorius, mechanically. 
 
 At that moment Marie came into the room, dignified, 
 gentle, self-possessed. 
 
 " Ah, missis," said Joseph, " I'm glad to see you. You're 
 wanted badly, and that's the truth. Mr. Meredith's not at 
 all well." 
 
 Marie bowed gravely. She went to Meredith's side and 
 looked at him with a smile that was at once critical and en- 
 ■ couraging. Nestorius, holding on to her skirt, looked up to 
 her face, and, seeing the smile, smiled too. He went further. 
 He turned round and smiled at Joseph as if to make things 
 pleasant all round. 
 
 Marie stooped over the sofa, and her clever dusky fingers 
 moved the cushions. 
 
 " You will be better in bed," she said ; " I will get Mr. 
 Gordon's room made ready for you — yes?" 
 
 There are occasions when the mere presence of a woman 
 supplies a distinct want. She need not be clever, or very 
 capable; she need have no great learning or experience. 
 She merely has to be a woman — the more womanly the 
 better. There are times when a man may actually be afraid 
 for the want of a woman, but that is usually for the want of 
 one particular woman. There may be a distinct sense of 
 fear — a fear of life and its possibilities — which is nothing 
 else than a want — the want of a certain voice, the desire to 
 be touched by a certain hand, the carping necessity (which 
 takes the physical form of a pressure deep town in the 
 throat) for the sympathy of that one person whose pres- 
 ence is different from the presence of other people. And 
 failing that particular woman, another can in a certain 
 degree, by her mere womanliness, stay the pressure of the 
 want.
 
 OFF DUTY 201 
 
 This was what Marie did for Jack Meredith by coming 
 into the room and bending over him and touching his 
 cushions with a sort of deftness and savoir faire. He did 
 not define his feelings — he was too weak for that; but he 
 had been conscious, for the first time in his life, of a dis- 
 tinct sense of fear when he read Maurice Gordon's letter. 
 Of course he had thought of the possibility of death many 
 times during the last five weeks ; but he had no intention of 
 dying. He set the fact plainly before himself that with 
 care he might recover, but that at any moment some symp- 
 tom could declare itself which would mean death. 
 
 But he and Joseph had, without making mention of it 
 to each other, counted entirely on finding the Gordons at 
 home. It was more than a disappointment — very much 
 more for Jack Meredith. But in real life we do not analyze 
 our feelings as do men in books — more especially books of 
 the mawko-religious tenor written by ladies. Jack Meredith 
 only knew that he felt suddenly afraid of dying when he 
 read Maurice Gordon's letter, and that when the half-caste 
 woman came into the room and gently asserted her claim, 
 as it were, to supreme authority in this situation, the fear 
 seemed to be allayed. 
 
 Joseph, with something bright glistening in his keen, 
 quick eyes, stood watching her face as if for a verdict. 
 
 " You are tired," she said, " after your long journey." 
 
 Then she turned to Joseph with that soft, natural way 
 which seems to run through the negro blood, however much 
 it may be diluted. 
 
 " Help Mr. Meredith," she said, "to Mr. Gordon's room. 
 I will go at once and see that the bed is got ready."
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 A SLOW RECOVERY 
 
 "We dare not let our tears flow, lest, in truth, 
 They fall upon our work which must be done." 
 
 "They- was just in time," said Joseph pleasantly to Ma- 
 rie that same evening, when Jack Meredith had been made 
 comfortable for the night and there was time to spare for 
 supper. 
 
 " Ah !" replied the woman, who was busy with the sup- 
 per-table. 
 
 Joseph glanced at her keenly. The exclamation not only 
 displayed a due interest, but contained many questions. 
 He stretched out his legs and wagged his head sapiently. 
 
 "And no mistake!" he said. "They timed it almost to 
 the minute. We had sort of beaten them back for the 
 time bein\ Mr. Meredith had woke up sudden, as I told 
 you, and came into the thick of the melee, as we say in the 
 service. Then we heard the firin' in the distance and the 
 'splat' of Mr. Oscard's Express rifle. I just turns, like 
 this 'ere, my head over me shoulder, quite confidential, and 
 I says, ' Good Lord, I thank yer.' I'm no hand at tracts 
 and Bible - readin's, but I'm not such a blamed fool, Mis- 
 tress Marie, as to think that this 'ere rum-go of a world 
 made itself. No, not quite. So I just put in a word, quiet- 
 like, to the Creator." 
 
 Marie was setting before him such luxuries as she could 
 command. She nodded encouragingly. 
 
 " Go on," she said. " Tell me !" 
 
 " Cheddar cheese," he said, parenthetically, with an ap- 
 preciative sniff. "Haven't seen a bit o' that for a long
 
 A SLOW RECOVERY 203 
 
 time. Well, then, up comes Mr. Oscard as cool as a cow- 
 cumber, and Mr. Meredith he gives a sort of a little laugh 
 and says, ' Open that gate.' Quite quiet, yer know. No 
 high falutin' and potry and that. A few minutes before 
 he had been fightin' and cussin' and shoutin', just like any 
 Johnny in the ranks. Then he calms down and wipes the 
 blood off' n his hand on the side of his pants, and says, 
 ' Open that gate.' That's a nice piece of butter you've got 
 there, mistress. Lord ! it's strange I never missed all them 
 things." 
 
 "Bring your chair to the table," said Marie, " and begin. 
 You are hungry — 'yes?" 
 
 " Hungry ain't quite the word." 
 
 "You will have some mutton — yes? And Mr. Durnovo, 
 where was he ?" 
 
 Joseph bent over his plate, with elbows well out, wielding 
 his knife and fork with a more obvious sense of enjoyment 
 than usually obtains in the politer circles. 
 
 " Mr. Durnovo," he said, with one quick glance towards 
 her. " Oh, he was just behind Mr. Oscard. And he fol- 
 lows 'im, and we all shakes hands just as if we was meet- 
 ing in the Row, except that most of our hands was a bit 
 grimy and sticky-like with blood and the grease off'n the car- 
 tridges." 
 
 " And," said Marie, in an indirectly interrogative way, as 
 she helped him to a piece of sweet potato, " you were glad 
 to see them, Mr. Oscard and Mr. Durnovo — yes?" 
 
 " Glad ain't quite the word," replied Joseph, with his 
 mouth full. 
 
 " And they were not hurt or — ill ?" 
 
 " Oh no !" returned Joseph, with another quick glance. 
 "They were all right. But I don't like sitting here and 
 eatin' while you don't take bit or sup yourself. Won't 
 you chip in, Mistress Marie ? Come now, do." 
 
 With her deep, patient smile she obeyed him, eating 
 little and carelessly, like a woman in some distress.
 
 204 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " When will they come down to Loango ?" she asked 
 suddenly, without looking at him. 
 
 " Ah ! that I can't tell you. We left quite in a hurry, as 
 one may say, with nothin' arranged. Truth is, I think we 
 all feared that the guv'nor had got his route. He looked 
 very like peggin' out, and that's the truth. Howsomever, I 
 hope for the best now." 
 
 Marie said nothing, merely contenting herself with at- 
 tending to his wants, which were numerous and frequent. 
 
 " That God - forsaken place, Msala," said Joseph, present- 
 ly " has been rather crumbled up by the enemy." 
 They have destroyed it — yes ?" 
 
 " That is so. You're right, they 'ave destroyed it. 
 
 Marie gave a quick little sigh — one of those sighs which 
 the worldly-wise recognize at once. 
 
 " You don't seem over-pleased," said Joseph. 
 
 " I was very happy there," she answered. 
 
 Joseph leaned back in his chair, fingering reflectively his 
 beer-glass. 
 
 " I'm afraid, mistress," he said, half shyly, " that your life 
 can't have been a very happy one. There's some folk that 
 is like that — through no fault of their own, too, so far as 
 our mortal vision, so to speak, can reckon it up." 
 
 " I have my troubles, like other people," she answered, 
 softly. 
 
 Joseph inclined his head to one side and collected his 
 bread-crumbs thoughtfully. 
 
 " Always seems to me," he said, " that your married life 
 can't have been so happy-like as — well, as one might say you 
 deserved, missis. But then you've got them clever little 
 kids. I do like them little kids wonderful. Not bein' a 
 marrying man myself, I don't know much of such matters. 
 But I've always understood that little uns — especially cun- 
 ning little souls like yours — go a long way towards makin' 
 up a woman's happiness." 
 
 " Yes," she murmured, with her slow smile.
 
 A SLOW RECOVERY 205 
 
 " Been dead long — their pa ?" 
 
 " He is not dead." 
 
 " Oh— beg pardon." 
 
 And Joseph drowned a very proper confusion in bitter 
 beer. 
 
 " He has only ceased to care about me — or his children," 
 explained Marie. 
 
 Joseph shook his head ; but whether denial of such a 
 possibility was intended, or an expression of sympathy, he 
 did not explain. 
 
 " I hope," he said, with a somewhat labored change of 
 manner, " that the little ones are in good health." 
 
 " Yes, thank you." 
 
 Joseph pushed back his chair with considerable vigor, 
 and passed the back of his hand convivially across his 
 mustache. 
 
 " A square meal I call that," he said, with a pleasant 
 laugh, "and I thank you kindly." 
 
 With a tact which is sometimes found wanting inside a 
 better coat than he possessed, Joseph never again referred 
 to that part of Marie's life which seemed to hang like a 
 shadow over her being. Instead, he set himself the task of 
 driving away the dull sense of care which was hers, and he 
 succeeded so well that Jack Meredith, lying between sleep 
 and death in his bedroom, sometimes heard a new strange 
 laugh. 
 
 By daybreak next morning Joseph was at sea again, 
 steaming south in a coasting- boat towards St. Paul de 
 Loanda. He sent off a telegram to Maurice Gordon in 
 England, announcing the success of the Relief Expedition, 
 and then proceeded to secure the entire services of a medi- 
 cal man. With this youthful disciple of .zEsculapius he re- 
 turned forthwith to Loango, and settled down with char- 
 acteristic energy to nurse his master. 
 
 Meredith's progress was lamentably slow, but still it was 
 progress, and in the right direction. The doctor, who was
 
 206 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 wise in the strange maladies of the West Coast, stayed for 
 two days, and promised to return once a week. He left 
 full instructions, and particularly impressed upon tho two 
 nurses the fact that the recovery would necessarily be so 
 slow that their unpractised eyes could hardly expect to trace 
 its progress. 
 
 It is just possible that Meredith could at this time have 
 had no better nurse than Joseph. There was a military 
 discipline about the man's method which was worth more 
 than much feminine persuasion. 
 
 " Beef tea, sir," he would announce with a face of wood, 
 for the sixth time in one day. 
 
 " What, again ? No, hang it ! I can't." 
 
 " Them's my orders, sir," was Joseph's invariable reply, 
 and he was usually in a position to produce documentary 
 confirmation of his statement. The two men — master and 
 servant — had grown so accustomed to the military discipline 
 of a besieged garrison that it did not seem to occur to them 
 to question the doctor's orders. 
 
 Nestorius — small, stout, and silent — was a frequenter of 
 the sick-room, by desire of the invalid. After laboriously 
 toiling up the shallow stairs — a work entailing huge effort 
 of limbs and chin — he would stump gravely into the room 
 without any form of salutation. There are some great 
 minds above such trifles. His examination of the patient 
 was a matter of some minutes. Then he would say, " Bad 
 case," with the peculiar mechanical diction that was his — 
 the words that Meredith had taught him on the evening of 
 his arrival. After making his diagnosis Nestorius usually 
 proceeded to entertain the patient with a display of his treas- 
 ures for the time being. These were not in themselves of 
 great value : sundry pebbles, a trouser-button, two shells, and 
 a glass stopper formed, as it were, the basis of his collec- 
 tion, which was increased or diminished according to cir- 
 cumstances. Some of these he named; others were exhib- 
 ited with a single adjective, uttered curtly, as between men
 
 A SLOW RECOVERY 207 
 
 who required no great tale of words wherewith to under- 
 stand each other. A few were considered to be of sufficient 
 value and importance to tell their own story and make 
 their way in the world thereupon. He held these out with 
 a face of grave and contemplative patronage. 
 
 "Never, Nestorius," Meredith would say, gravely, "in the 
 course of along and varied experience, have I seen a Worces- 
 ter-sauce stopper of such transcendent beauty." 
 
 Sometimes Nestorius clambered onto the bed, when the 
 mosquito curtains were up, and rested from his labors — a 
 small, curled-up form, looking very comfortable. And then, 
 when his mother's soft voice called him, he was wont to 
 gather up his belongings and take his departure. On the 
 threshold he always paused, finger in mouth, to utter a val- 
 edictory " Bad case " before making his way down-stairs 
 with a shadowy, mystic smile. 
 
 Kind neighbors called, and well-meaning but mistaken 
 dissenting missionaries left religious works of a morbid 
 nature, eminently suitable to the sick-bed; but Joseph, 
 Marie, and Nestorius were the only three who had free ac- 
 cess to the quiet room. 
 
 And all the while the rain fell — night and day, morning, 
 noon, and evening — as if the floodgates had been left open 
 by mistake. 
 
 " Sloobrious, no doubt," said Joseph, " but blamed de- 
 pressing." 
 
 And he shook his head at the lowering sky with a tol- 
 erant smile, which was his way of taking Providence to 
 task. 
 
 "Do y' know what I would like, missis?" he asked, brisk- 
 ly, of Marie one evening. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, I'd like to clap my eyes on Miss Gordon, just 
 a -stepping in at that open door — that's what we want. 
 That sawbones feller is right when he says the progress will 
 be slow. Slow I Slow ain't quite the word. No more
 
 208 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 ain't progress the word — that's my opinion. He just lies 
 on that bed, and the most he can do is to skylark a bit with 
 Nestorius. He don't take no interest in nothin', least of all 
 in his victuals — and a man's in a bad way when he takes 
 no interest in his victuals. Yes, I'll take another pancake, 
 thankin' you kindly. You've got a rare light hand for pan- 
 cakes. Rare — rare ain't quite the word." 
 
 " But what could Miss Gordon do ?" asked Marie. 
 
 " Well, she could kinder interest him in things — don't 
 you see? Him and I we ain't got much in common — ex- 
 cept his clothes and that confounded beef-tea and slushin's. 
 And then there's Mr. Gordon — he's a good hearty sort, he 
 is — comes galamphin' into the room, kickin' a couple of 
 footstools and upsettin' things promiscuous. It cheers a 
 invalid up, that sort o' thing." 
 
 Marie laughed in an awkward, unwonted way. 
 
 "But it do, missis," pursued Joseph, "wonderful; and I 
 can't do it myself. I tried the other day, and master only 
 thought I'd been drinkin'." 
 
 " You are impatient," said Marie. " He is better, I know. 
 I can see it. You see it yourself — yes ?" 
 
 "A bit — just a bit. But he wants some one of his own 
 station in life, without offence, Mistress Marie. Some one 
 as will talk with him about books and evenin' parties and 
 things. And — " he paused reflectively, "and Miss Gordon 
 would do that." 
 
 There was a little silence, during which another pancake 
 met its fate. 
 
 " You know," said Joseph, with sudden confidence, " he's 
 goin' to marry a young lady at home, in London ; a 
 young lady of fashion, as they say — one of them that's 
 got one smile for men and another for women. Not his 
 sort, as I should have thought myself, knowin' him as 
 I do." 
 
 " Then why does he marry her ?" asked Marie. 
 
 " Ah !" Joseph rose, and stretched out his arms with a
 
 A CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE 209 
 
 freedom from restraint learned in the barrack-room. " There 
 you're asking me more than I can tell you. I suppose — it's 
 the old story — I suppose he thinks that she is his sort." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 A CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 "The pride that prompts the bitter jest." 
 
 A space had with some difficulty been cleared at the up- 
 per end of an aristocratic London drawing-room, and with 
 considerable enthusiasm Miss Fitzmannering pranced into 
 the middle of it. Miss Fitzmannering had kindly allowed 
 herself to be persuaded to do "only a few steps" of her 
 celebrated skirt dance. Miss Eline Fitzmannering officiated 
 at the piano, and later on, while they were brushing their 
 hair, they quarrelled because she took the time too quickly. 
 
 The aristocratic assembly looked on with mixed feelings, 
 and faces suitable to the same. The girls who could not 
 skirt-dance yawned behind their fans — gauze preferred, be- 
 cause the Fitzmannerings could see through gauze if they 
 could not see through anything else. The gifted products 
 of fashionable Brighton schools, who could in their own 
 way make exhibitions of themselves also, wondered who on 
 earth had taught Miss Fitzmannering ; and the servants at 
 the door felt ashamed of themselves without knowing why. 
 
 Miss Fitzmannering had practised that skirt-dance — those 
 few steps — religiously for the last month. She had been 
 taught those same contortions by a young lady in the pro- 
 fession, whom even Billy Fitzmannering raised his eyebrows 
 at. And every one knows that Billy is not particular. 
 The performance was not graceful, and the gentlemen pres- 
 ent who knew more about dancing — skirt or otherwise —
 
 210 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 than they cared to admit, pursed up the corners of their 
 mouths and looked straight in front of them — afraid to 
 meet the eye of some person or persons undefined. 
 
 But the best face there was that of Sir John Meredith. 
 He was not bored, as were many of his juniors — at least, he 
 did not look it. He was neither shocked nor disgusted, as 
 apparently were some of his contemporaries — at least, his 
 face betrayed neither of those emotions. He was keenly 
 interested — suavely attentive. He followed each spasmodic 
 movement with imperturbably pleasant eyes. 
 
 " My dear young lady," he said, with one of his courtliest 
 bows, when at last Miss Fitzmannering had had enough of 
 it, " you have given us a great treat — you have, indeed." 
 
 " A most unique performance," he continued, turning 
 gravely to Lady Cautourne, by whose side he had been 
 standing ; and, strange to say, her ladyship, made a reprov- 
 ing little movement of the lips, and tapped his elbow sur- 
 reptitiously, as if he were misbehaving himself. 
 
 He offered his arm with a murmur of refreshments, and 
 she accepted. 
 
 " Well," he said, when they were alone or nearly so, " do 
 you not admit that it was a most unique performance?" 
 
 "Hush !" replied the lady, either because she was a wom- 
 an or because she was a woman of the world. " The poor 
 girl cannot help it. She is forced into it by the exigencies 
 of society, and her mother. It is not entirely her fault." 
 
 " It will be entirely my fault," replied Sir John, " if I 
 see her do it again." 
 
 " It does not matter about a man," said Lady Cantourne, 
 after a little pause ; " but a woman cannot afford to make a 
 fool of herself. She ought never to run the risk of being 
 laughed at. And yet I am told that they teach that elegant 
 accomplishment at fashionable schools." 
 
 "Which proves that the school - mistress is a knave as 
 well as — the other thing." 
 
 They passed down the long room together — a pattern,
 
 A CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE 211 
 
 to the younger generation, of politeness and mutual respect. 
 And that which one or other did not see was not worth 
 comprehension. 
 
 " Who," asked Sir John, when they had passed into the 
 other room — " who is the tall fair girl who was sitting near 
 the fireplace?" 
 
 lie did not seem to think it necessary to ask Lady Can- 
 tourne whether she had noticed the object of his curiosity. 
 
 " I was just wondering," replied Lady Cantourne, stirring 
 her tea comfortably. " I will find out. She interests me. 
 She is different from the rest." 
 
 " And she does not let it be seen — that is what I like," 
 said Sir John. " The great secret of success in the world 
 is to be different from other people and conceal the fact." 
 He stood his full height, and looked round with blinking, 
 cynical eyes. "They are all very like each other, and they 
 fail to conceal that." 
 
 " I dislike a person," said Lady Cantourne, in her tolerant 
 way, "who looks out of place anywhere. That girl would 
 never look so." 
 
 Sir John was still looking round, seeing all that there 
 was to be seen, and much that was not intended for that 
 purpose. 
 
 " Some of them," he said, " will look self-conscious in 
 heaven." 
 
 " I hope so," said Lady Cantourne, quietly ; " that is the 
 least one may expect." 
 
 " I trust there will be no skirt — " Sir John broke off 
 suddenly with a quick smile. 
 
 " I was about to be profane," he said, taking her cup. 
 u But I know you do not like it." 
 
 She looked up at him with a wan little smile. She was 
 wondering whether he remembered as well as she did that 
 half an ordinary lifetime lay between that moment and the 
 occasion when she had reproved his profanity. 
 
 " Come," she said, rising, " take me back to the drawing-
 
 212 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 room, and I will make somebody introduce me to the 
 girl." 
 
 Jocelyn Gordon, sitting near the fire, talking to a vvhite- 
 mustached explorer, and listening good-naturedly to a 
 graphic account of travels which had been put in the back- 
 ground by more recent wanderers, was somewhat astounded 
 when the hostess came up to her a few minutes later, and 
 introduced a stout little lady with twinkling, kindly eyes 
 by the name of Lady Cantourne. She had heard vaguely 
 of Lady Cantourne as a society leader of the old school, 
 but had no clew to this obviously intentional introduction. 
 "You are wondering," said Lady Cantourne, when she 
 had sent the explorer on his travels elsewhere in order that 
 she might have his seat — " you are wondering why I asked 
 to know you." 
 
 She looked into the girl's face with bright, searching eyes. 
 " I am afraid I was," admitted Jocelyn. 
 " I have two reasons : one vulgar — the other sentimental. 
 The vulgar reason was curiosity. I like to know people 
 whose appearance prepossesses me. I am an old woman — 
 no, you need not shake your head, my dear ! not with me — 
 I am almost a very old woman, but not quite ; and all my 
 life I have trusted in appearances. And," she paused, study- 
 ing the lace of her fan, " I suppose I have not made more 
 mistakes than other people. I have always made a point 
 of trying to get to know people whose appearance I like. 
 That is my vulgar reason. You do not mind my saying so 
 —do you ?" 
 
 Jocelyn laughed with slightly heightened color, which 
 Lady Cantourne noted with an appreciative little nod. 
 
 " My other reason is that, years ago at school, I knew a 
 
 girl who was very like you. I loved her intensely — for a 
 
 short time — as girls do at school, you know. Her name 
 
 was Treseaton — the Honorable Julia Treseaton." 
 
 " My mother !" said Jocelyn, eagerly. 
 
 " I thought so. I did not think so at first, but when you
 
 A CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE 213 
 
 spoke I was certain of it. She had a way with her lips. 
 I am afraid she is dead." 
 
 " Yes ; she died nearly twenty-five years ago in Africa." 
 
 "Africa? Whereabouts in Africa?" 
 
 Then suddenly Jocelyn remembered where she had 
 heard Lady Cantourne's name. It had only been men- 
 tioned to her once. And this was the aunt with whom 
 Millicent Chyne lived. This cheery little lady knew Jack 
 Meredith and Guy Oscard ; and Millicent Chyne's daily life 
 was part of her existence. 
 
 "The West Coast," she answered, vaguely. She wanted 
 time to think — to arrange things in her mind. She was 
 afraid of the mention of Jack's name in the presence of 
 this woman of the world. She did not mind Maurice or 
 Guy Oscard — but it was different with a woman. She 
 could hardly have said a better thing, because it took Lady 
 Cantourne some seconds to work out in her mind where 
 the West Coast of Africa was. 
 
 " That is the unhealthy coast, is it not ?" asked her lady- 
 ship. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Jocelyn hardly heard the question. She was looking 
 round with a sudden breathless eagerness. It was probable 
 that Millicent Chyne was in the rooms ; and she never 
 doubted that she would know her face. 
 
 " And I suppose you know that part of the world very 
 well ?" said Lady Cantourne, who had detected a change in 
 her companion's manner. 
 
 " Oh yes." 
 
 " Have you ever heard of a place called Loango ?" 
 
 11 Oh yes. I live there." 
 
 " Indeed, how very interesting ! I am very much inter- 
 ested in Loango just now, I must tell you. But I did not 
 know that anybody lived there." 
 
 " No one does by choice," explained Jocelyn. " My fa- 
 ther was a judge on the Coast, and since his death my
 
 214 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 brother Maurice has held an appointment at Loango. We 
 are obliged to live there for eight months in the twelve." 
 
 She knew it was coming. But, as chance would have it, 
 it was easier than she could Lave hoped. For some reason 
 Lady Cantourne looked straight in front of her when she 
 asked the question. 
 
 " Then you have, no doubt, met a friend of mine, Mr. 
 Meredith ? Indeed, two friends; for I understand that Gruy 
 Oscard is associated with him in this wonderful discovery." 
 
 " Oh yes," replied Jocelyn, with a carefully modulated in- 
 terest. " I have met them both. Mr. Oscard lunched 
 with us shortly before we left Africa." 
 
 " Ah, that was when he disappeared so suddenly. We 
 never got quite to the base of that affair. He left at a 
 moment's notice on receipt of a telegram or something, 
 only leaving a short and somewhat vague note for my — 
 for us. He wrote from Africa, I believe, but I never heard 
 the details. I imagine Jack Meredith was in some difficulty. 
 But it is a wonderful scheme this, is it not ? They are 
 certain to make a fortune, I understand." 
 
 " So people say," replied Jocelyn. It was a choice to tell 
 all — to tell as much as she herself knew — or nothing. So 
 she told nothing. She could not say that she had been 
 forced by a sudden breakdown of her brother's health to 
 leave Loango while Jack Meredith's fate was still wrapped 
 in doubt. She could not tell Lady Cantourne that all her 
 world was in Africa — that she was counting the days until 
 she could go back there. She could not lift for a second 
 the veil that hid the aching, restless anxiety in ber heart, 
 the life-absorbing desire to know whether Guy Oscard had 
 reached the Plateau in time. Her heart was so sore that 
 she could not even speak of Jack Meredith's danger. 
 
 "How strange," said Lady Cantourne, " to think that you 
 are actually living in Loango, and that you are the last per- 
 son who has spoken to Jack Meredith ! There are two 
 people in this house to - night who would like to ask you
 
 A CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE 215 
 
 questions from now till morning, but neither of them will 
 do it. Did you see me go through the room just now with 
 a tall gentleman — rather old ?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Jocelyn. 
 
 "That was Sir John Meredith, Jack's father," said Lady 
 Cantourne, in a lowered voice. " They have quarrelled, you 
 know. People say that Sir John does not care — that he is 
 heartless, and all that sort of thing. The world never says 
 the other sort of thing, one finds. But — 'but I think I 
 know to the contrary. He feels it very deeply. He would 
 give worlds to hear some news of Jack ; but he won't ask 
 it, you know." 
 
 " Yes," said Jocelyn, " I understand." 
 
 She saw what was coming, and she desired it intensely, 
 while still feeling afraid — as if they were walking on some 
 sacred ground and might at any moment make a false 
 step. 
 
 " I should like Sir John to meet you," said Lady Can- 
 tourne, pleasantly. "Will you come to tea some after- 
 noon ? Strange to say, he asked who you were not half an 
 hour ago. It almost seems like instinct, does it not? I do 
 not believe in mystic things about spirits and souls going 
 out to each other, and all that nonsense ; but I believe in 
 instinct. Will you come to-morrow? You are here to- 
 night with Mrs. Sander, are you not? I know her. She 
 will let you come alone. Five o'clock. You will see my 
 niece, Millicent. She is engaged to be married to Jack 
 Meredith, you know. That is why they quarrelled — the 
 father and son. You will find a little difficulty with her, 
 too. She is a difficult girl. But I dare say you will man- 
 age to tell her what she wants to know." 
 
 " Yes," said Jocelyn, quietly — almost too quietly, " I 
 shall manage." 
 
 Lady Cantourne rose, and so did Jocelyn. 
 
 " You know," she said, looking up into the girl's face, 
 " it is a good action. That is why I ask you to do it. It
 
 216 "WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 is not often that one has the opportunity of doing a good 
 action, to which even one's dearest friend cannot attribute 
 an ulterior motive ! Who is that man over there ?" 
 
 "That is my brother." 
 
 " I should like to know him ; but do not bring him to- 
 morrow. We women are better alone — you understand ?" 
 
 With a confidential little nod, the great lady went away 
 to attend to other affairs ; possibly to carry through some 
 more good actions of a safe nature. 
 
 It was plain to Jocelyn that Maurice was looking for 
 some one. He had just come, and was making his way 
 through the crowd. Presently she managed to touch his 
 elbow. 
 
 " Ob, there you are !" he exclaimed ; " I want you. Come 
 out of this room." 
 
 He offered her his arm, and together they made their 
 way out of the crowded room into a smaller apartment 
 where an amateur reciter was hovering disconsolately, await- 
 ing an audience. 
 
 "Here," said Maurice, when they were alone, "I have 
 just had this telegram." 
 
 He handed her the thin white submarine telegraph-form 
 with its streaks of adhesive text. 
 
 "Relief entirely successful. Meredith — Joseph — returned — Loan- 
 go. Meredith bad health." 
 
 Jocelyn drew a deep breath. 
 
 "So that's all right — eh?" said Maurice, heartily. 
 
 " Yes," answered Jocelyn, " that is all right."
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 OLD BIRDS 
 
 "Angels call it heavenly joy; 
 Infernal tortures the devils say; 
 And men ? They call it — Love." 
 
 " By-the-way, dear," said Lady Cantourne to her niece 
 the next afternoon, " I have asked a Miss Gordon to come 
 to tea this afternoon. I met her last night at the Fitz- 
 mannerings'. She lives in Loango and knows Jack. I 
 thought you might like to know her. She is exceptionally 
 lady-like and rather pretty." 
 
 And straightway Miss Millicent Chyne went up-stairs to 
 put on her best dress. 
 
 We men cannot expect to understand these small matters 
 — these exigencies, as it were, of female life. But we may 
 be permitted to note feebly en passant through existence 
 that there are occasions when women put on their best 
 clothes without the desire to please. And, while Millicent 
 Chyne was actually attiring herself, Jocelyn Gordon, in an- 
 other house not so far away, was busy with that beauti- 
 ful hair of hers, patting here, drawing out there, piuuing, 
 poking, pressing with all the cunning that her fingers pos- 
 sessed. 
 
 When they met a little later in Lady Cantourne's un- 
 compromisingly solid and old-fashioned drawing-room, one 
 may be certain that nothing was lost. 
 
 " My aunt tells me," began Millicent at once, with that 
 degage treatment of certain topics hitherto held sacred 
 which obtains among young folks to-day, " that you know 
 Loango."
 
 218 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " Oh yes— I live there." 
 
 " And you know Mr. Meredith ?" 
 
 " Yes, and Mr. Oscard also." 
 
 There was a little pause while two politely smiling pairs 
 of eyes probed each other. 
 
 " She knows something — how much ?" was behind one 
 pair of eyes. 
 
 " She cannot find out — I am not afraid of her," behind 
 the other. 
 
 And Lady Cantourne, the proverbial looker-on, slowly 
 rubbed her white hands one over the other. 
 
 " Ab, yes," said Millicent, unblushingly — that was her 
 strong point, blushing in the right place, but not in the 
 wrong — " Mr. Oscard ; he is associated with Mr. Meredith, 
 is he not, in this hare-brained scheme?" 
 
 "I believe they are together in it — the Siraiacine, you 
 mean ?" said Jocelyn. 
 
 " What else could she mean ?" reflected the looker-on. 
 
 "Yes — the Siraiacine. Such a singular name, is it not? 
 I always say they will ruin themselves suddenly. People 
 always do, don't they? But what do you think of it? I 
 should like to know." 
 
 " I think they certainly will make a fortune," replied 
 Jocelyn — and she noted the light in Millicent's eyes with a 
 sudden feeliDg of dislike — " unless the risks prove too great 
 and they are forced to abandon it." 
 
 " What risks?" asked Millicent, quite forgetting to mod- 
 ulate her voice. 
 
 "Well, of course, the Ogowe River is most horribly un- 
 healthy, and there are other risks. The natives in the plains 
 surrounding the Simiacine Plateau are antagonistic. In- 
 deed, the Plateau was surrounded and quite besieged when 
 we left Africa." 
 
 It may have hurt Millicent, but it hurt Jocelyn more — 
 for the smile had left her hearer's face. She was off her 
 guard, as she had been once before when Sir John was near,
 
 OLD BIRDS 219 
 
 and Millicent' s face betrayed something which Jocelyn saw 
 at once with a sick heart — something that Sir John knew 
 from the morning when he had seen Millicent open two 
 letters — something that Lady Cantourne had known all 
 along. 
 
 "And was Mr. Meredith on the Plateau when it was be- 
 sieged ?" asked Millicent, with a drawn, crooked smile. 
 
 " Yes," answered Jocelyn. She could not help seizing 
 the poor little satisfaction of this punishment ; but she felt 
 all the while that it was nothing to the punishment she was 
 bearing and would bear all her life. There are few more 
 contradictory things than the heart of a women who really 
 loves. For one man it is very tender ; for the rest of the 
 world it is the hardest heart on earth if it is called upon to 
 defend the object of its love or the love itself. 
 
 " But," cried Millicent, " of course, something was done. 
 They could never leave Mr. Meredith unprotected." 
 
 " Yes," answered Jocelyn, quietly, " Mr. Oscard went up 
 and rescued him. My brother heard yesterday that the re- 
 lief had been effected." 
 
 Millicent smiled again in her light-hearted way. 
 
 " That is all right," she said. " What a good thing we 
 did not know ! Just think, auntie dear, what a lot of anx- 
 iety we have been spared !" 
 
 " In the height of the season, too !" said Jocelyn. 
 
 " Ye — es," replied Millicent, rather doubtfully. 
 
 Lady Cantourne was puzzled. There was something going 
 on which she did not understand. Within the sound of the 
 pleasant conversation there was the cliquetis of the foil ; be- 
 hind the polite smile there was the gleam of steel. She was 
 rather relieved to turn at this moment and see Sir John Mer- 
 edith entering the room with his usual courtly bow. He 
 always entered her drawing-room like that. Ah ! that lit- 
 tle secret of a mutual respect. Some people who are young 
 now will wish, before they have grown old, that they had 
 known it,
 
 220 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 He shook hands with Lady Cantourne and with Millicent. 
 Then he stood with a deferential half-bow, waiting for the 
 introduction to the girl who was young enough to be his 
 daughter — almost to be his granddaughter. There was 
 something pathetic and yet proud in this old man's uncom- 
 promising adherence to the lessons of his youth. 
 
 " Sir John Meredith— Miss Gordon." 
 
 The beginning — the thin end of the wedge, as the homely 
 saying has it — the end which we introduce almost every day 
 of our lives, little suspecting to what it may broaden out. 
 
 "I had the pleasure of seeing you last night," said Sir 
 John at once, "at Lady Fitzmannering's evening party, or 
 ' At Home,' I believe we call them nowadays. Some of the 
 guests read the invitation too much au pied de la lettre for 
 my taste. They were so much at home that I, fearing to 
 intrude, left rather early." 
 
 "I believe the skirt-dancing frightened you away, Sir 
 John," said Millicent, merrily. 
 
 "Even old birds, my dear young lady, may sometimes be 
 alarmed by a scarecrow." 
 
 " I missed you quite early in the evening," put in Lady 
 Cantourne, sternly refusing to laugh. She had not had an 
 opportunity of seeing him since her conversation with Joce- 
 lyn, and the dangers of the situation were fully appreciated 
 by such an experienced woman of the world. 
 
 " They began to clear the upper end of the room," he 
 explained, " and I assisted them in the most practical man- 
 ner in my power." 
 
 He was beginning to wonder why he had been invited — 
 nay, almost commanded — to come, by an imperious little 
 note. And of late, whenever Sir John began to wonder he 
 began also to feel old. Hb fingers strayed towards his un- 
 steady lips as if he were about to make one of those little 
 movements of senile helplessness to which he sometimes 
 gave way. 
 
 For a moment Lady Cantourne hesitated between two
 
 Old birds 221 
 
 strokes of social diplomacy — but only for a moment. She 
 had heard the bell ring, and trusted that at the other end 
 of the wire there might be one of those fatuous young men 
 who nibbled at that wire like foolish fish round a gilt spoon- 
 bait. Her ladyship decided to carry on the social farce a 
 few minutes longer, instead of offering the explanation which 
 all were awaiting. 
 
 " We women," she said, " were not so early deterred 
 from our social duties." 
 
 At that moment the door opened, and there entered a 
 complex odor of hair-wash and perfumery — a collar which 
 must have been nearly related to a cuff, and a pair of tight 
 patent-leather boots, all attached to and somewhat over- 
 powering a young man. 
 
 "Ah, my dear Mr. Grubb," said Lady Cantourne, "how 
 good of you to call so soon ! You will have some tea. Mil- 
 licent, give Mr. Grubb some tea." 
 
 "Not too strong," added Sir John, apparently to him- 
 self, under the cover of Mr. Grubb's somewhat scrappy 
 greeting. 
 
 Then Lady Cantourne went to the conservatory and left 
 Sir John and Jocelyn at the end of the long room together. 
 There is nothing like a woman's instinct. Jocelyn spoke at 
 once. 
 
 " Lady Cantourne," she said, " kindly asked me to meet 
 you to-day on purpose. I live at Loango ; I know your 
 son, Mr. Meredith, and we thought you might like to hear 
 about him and about Loango." 
 
 She knew that with a man like Sir John any indirect ap- 
 proach to the subject would be courting failure. His veiled 
 old eyes suddenly lighted up, and he turned to glance over 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " Yes," he said, with a strange hesitation, " yes — you are 
 kind. Of course I am interested. I wonder," he went on, 
 with a sudden change of manner — "I wonder how much you 
 know."
 
 222 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 His unsteady hand was resting on her gloved fingers, and 
 he blinked at it as if wondering how it got there. 
 
 Jocelyn did not seem to notice. 
 
 " I know," she answered, " that you have had a difference 
 of opinion — but no one else knows ! You must not think 
 that Mr. Meredith has spoken of his private affairs to any 
 one else. The circumstances were exceptional, and Mr. 
 Meredith thought that it was due to me to give me an ex- 
 planation." 
 
 Sir John looked a little puzzled, and Jocelyn went on 
 rather hastily to explain : 
 
 " My brother and Mr. Meredith were at Eton together. 
 They met somewhere up the Coast, and my brother asked 
 Mr. Meredith to come and stay. It happened that Maurice 
 was away when Mr. Meredith arrived, and I did not know 
 who he was, so he explained." 
 
 "I see," said Sir John. "And you and your brother 
 have been kind to my boy." 
 
 Somehow he seemed to have forgotten to be cynical. He 
 had never known what it is to have a daughter, and she was 
 ignorant of the pleasant, everyday amenities of a father's 
 love. As there is undoubtedly such a thing as love at first 
 sight, so must there be sympathy at first sight. For Jocelyn 
 it was comprehensible — nay, it was most natural. This was 
 Jack's father. In his manner, in everything about him, 
 there were suggestions of Jack. This seemed to be a 
 creature hewn, as it were, from the same material, moulded 
 on the same lines with slightly divergent tools. And for 
 him — who can tell ? The love that was in her heart may 
 have reached out to meet almost as great a love locked up 
 in his proud soul. It may have shown itself to him, openly, 
 fearlessly, recklessly, as love sometimes does when it is strong 
 and pure. 
 
 He had carefully selected a seat within the shadow of 
 the curtains ; but Jocelyn saw quite suddenly that he was 
 an older man than she had taken him to be the evening be-
 
 OLD BIRDS 223 
 
 fore. She saw through the deception of the piteous wig — ■ 
 the whole art that strove to conceal the sure decay of the 
 body, despite the desperate effort of a mind still fresh and 
 vigorous. 
 
 " And I dare say," he said, with a somewhat lame attempt 
 at cynicism, "that you have heard no good of me?" 
 
 But Jocelyn would have none of that. She was no child 
 to be abashed by sarcasm ; but a woman, completed and 
 perfected by her love. 
 
 " Excuse me," she said, sharply ; " but that is not the 
 truth, and you kuow it. You know as well as I do that 
 your son would never say a word against you." 
 
 Sir John looked hastily round. Lady Cantourne had 
 come into the room and was talking to the two young peo- 
 ple. Millicent was glancing uneasily over Mr. Grubb's brain- 
 less cranium towards them. Sir John's stiff, unsteady fin- 
 gers fumbled for a moment round his lips. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I was wrong." 
 
 "He has always spoken of you with the greatest love and 
 respect," said Jocelyn. " More than that, with admiration. 
 But he very rarely spoke of you at all, which I think means 
 more." 
 
 Sir John blinked, and suddenly pulled himself together 
 with a backward jerk of the arms which was habitual 
 with him. It almost seemed as if he said to himself, 
 as he squared his shoulders, " Come, no giving way to 
 old age !" 
 
 " Has his health been good ?" he asked, rather formally. 
 
 " I believe so, until quite lately. My brother heard yes- 
 terday by telegram that he was at Loango in broken health," 
 replied Jocelyn. 
 
 Sir John was looking at her keenly — his hard blue eyes 
 like steel between the lashless lids. 
 
 " You disquiet me," he said. " I have a sort of feeling 
 that you have bad news to tell me." 
 
 " No," she answered, " not exactly. But it seems to me
 
 224 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 that no one realizes what he is doing out in Africa — what 
 risks he is running." 
 
 " Tell rne," he said, drawing in his chair. " I will not 
 interrupt you. Tell me all you know from beginning to 
 end. I am naturally — somewhat interested." 
 
 So Jocelyn told him. And what she said was only a re- 
 capitulation of facts known to such as have followed these 
 pages to this point. But the story did not sound quite the 
 same as that related to Millicent. It was fuller, and there 
 were certain details touched upon lightly which had before 
 been emphasized — details of dangers run and risks incurred. 
 Also was it listened to in a different spirit, without shallow 
 comment, with a deeper insight. Suddenly he broke into 
 the narrative. He saw — keen old worldling that he was — 
 a discrepancy. 
 
 " But," he said, " there was no one in Loango connected 
 with the scheme who " — he paused, touching her sleeve 
 with a bony finger — "who sent the telegram home to 
 young Oscard — the telegram calling him out to Jack's re- 
 lief?" 
 
 " Oh," she explained, lightly, " I did. My brother was 
 away, so there was no one else to do it, you see !" 
 
 "Yes— I see." 
 
 And perhaps he did. 
 
 Lady Cantourne helped them skilfully. But there came 
 a time when Millicent would stand it no longer, and the 
 amiable Grubb wriggled out of the room, crushed by a too 
 obvious dismissal. 
 
 Sir John rose at once, and when Millicent reached them 
 they were talking of the previous evening's entertainment. 
 
 Sir John took his leave. He bowed over Jocelyn's hand, 
 and Millicent, watching them keenly, could see nothing — 
 no gleam of a mutual understanding in the politely smiling 
 eyes. 
 
 " Perhaps," he said, " I may have the pleasure of meet- 
 ing you again ?"
 
 SEED-TIME 225 
 
 11 1 am afraid it is doubtful," she answered, with some- 
 thing that sounded singularly like exultation in her voice. 
 " We are goinec back to Africa almost at once." 
 
 And she, also, took her leave of Lady Cantourne. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 SEED-TIME 
 
 " What Fate does, let Fate answer for." 
 
 One afternoon Joseph had his wish. Moreover, he had 
 it given to him even as he desired, which does not usually 
 happen. We are given a part, or the whole, so distorted 
 that we fail to recognize it. 
 
 Joseph looked up from his work and saw Jocelyn coming 
 into the bungalow garden. 
 
 He went out to meet her, putting on his coat as he went. 
 
 " How is Mr. Meredith ?" she asked at once. Her eyes 
 were very bright, and there was a sort of breathlessness in 
 her manner which Joseph did not understand. 
 
 " He is a bit better, miss, thank you kindly. But he 
 don't make the progress I should like. It's the weakness 
 that follows the malarial attack that the doctor has to fight 
 against." 
 
 " Where is he ?" asked Jocelyn. 
 
 " Well, miss, at the moment he is in the drawing-room. 
 We bring him down there for the change of air in the af- 
 ternoon. Likely as not, he's asleep." 
 
 And presently Jack Meredith, lying comfortably somno- 
 lent on the outskirts of life, heard light footsteps, but hard- 
 ly heeded them. He knew that some one came into the 
 room and stood silently by his couch for some seconds. He 
 lazily unclosed his eyelids for a moment, not in order to see
 
 226 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 who was there, but with a view of intimating that he was 
 not asleep. But he was not wholly conscious. To men ac- 
 customed to an active, energetic life, a long illness is noth- 
 ing but a period of complete rest. In his more active mo- 
 ments Jack Meredith sometimes thought that this rest of 
 his was extending into a dangerously long period, but he 
 was too weak to feel anxiety about anything. 
 
 Jocelyn moved away and busied herself noiselessly with 
 one or two of those small duties of the sick-room which 
 women see and men ignore. But she could not keep away. 
 She came back and stood over him with a silent sense of 
 possession which made that moment one of the happiest of 
 her life. She remembered it in after-years, and the com- 
 plex feelings of utter happiness and complete misery that 
 filled it. 
 
 At last a fluttering moth gave the excuse her heart longed 
 for, and her fingers rested for a moment, light as the moth 
 itself, on his hair. There was something in the touch which 
 made him open his eyes — uncomprehending at first, and 
 then filled with a sudden life. 
 
 " Ah !" he said, " you— you at last 1" 
 
 He took her hand in both of his. He was weakened by 
 illness and a great fatigue Perhaps he was off his guard, 
 or only half awake. 
 
 " I never should have got better if you had not come," he 
 said. Then, suddenly, he seemed to recall himself, and rose 
 with an effort from his recumbent position. 
 
 " I do not know," he said, with a return of his old half- 
 humorous manner, " whether to thank you first for your 
 hospitality or to beg your pardon for making such unscru- 
 pulous use of it." 
 
 She was looking at him closely as he stood before her, 
 and all her knowledge of human ills as explored on the 
 West Coast of Africa, all her experience, all her powers of 
 observation, were on the alert. He did not look very ill. 
 The brown of a year's sunburn such as he had gone through
 
 SEED-TIME 227 
 
 on the summit of an equatorial mountain, where there was 
 but little atmosphere between earth and sun, does not bleach 
 off in a couple of months. Physically regarded, he was 
 stronger, broader, heavier-limbed, more robust than when 
 she had last seen him — but her knowledge went deeper 
 than complexion, or the passing effort of a strong will. 
 
 "Sit down," she said, quietly. "You are not strong- 
 enough to stand about." 
 
 He obeyed her with a little laugh. 
 
 " You do not know," he said, " how pleasant it is to see 
 you — fresh and English-looking. It is like a tonic. Where 
 is Maurice?" 
 
 "He will be here soon," she replied; " he is attending to 
 the landing of the stores. We will soon make you strong 
 and well ; for we have come laden with cases of delicacies 
 for your special delectation. Your father chose them him- 
 self at Fortnum & Mason's." 
 
 He winced at the mention of his father's name, and drew 
 in his legs in a peculiar, decisive way. 
 
 " Then you knew I was ill ?" he said, almost suspiciously. 
 
 " Yes ; Joseph telegraphed." 
 
 "To whom?" sharply. 
 
 "To Maurice." 
 
 Jack Meredith nodded his head. It was perhaps just as 
 well that the communicative Joseph was not there at that 
 moment. 
 
 " We did not expect you for another ten days," said 
 Meredith after a little pause, as if anxious to change the 
 subject. " Marie said that your brother's leave was not up 
 until the week after next." 
 
 Jocelyn turned away, apparently to close the window. 
 She hesitated. She could not tell him what had brought 
 them back sooner — what had demanded of Maurice Gordon 
 the sacrifice of ten days of his holiday. 
 
 " We do not always take our full term," she said, vaguely. 
 
 And he never saw it. The vanity of man is a strange
 
 228 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 thing. It makes him see intentions that were never Con- 
 ceived ; and without vanity to guide his perception man is 
 as blind a creature as walks upon this earth. 
 
 " However," he said, as if to prove his own density, " I 
 am selfishly very glad that you had to come back sooner. 
 Not only on account of the delicacies — I must ask you to 
 believe that. Did my eye brighten at the mention of Fort- 
 num & Mason ? I am afraid it did." 
 
 She laughed softly. She did not pause to think that it 
 was to be her daily task to tend him and help to make him 
 stronger in order that he might go away without delay. 
 She only knew that every moment of the next few weeks 
 was going to be full of a greater happiness than she had 
 ever tasted. As we get deeper into the slough of life most 
 of us learn to be thankful that the future is hidden — some 
 of us recognize the wisdom and the mercy which decree that 
 even the present be only partly revealed. 
 
 " As a matter of fact," she said, lightly, " I suppose that 
 you loathe all food ?" 
 
 " Loathe it," he replied. He was still looking at her, as 
 if in enjoyment of the Englishness and freshness of which 
 he had spoken. " Simply loathe it. All Joseph's tact and 
 patience are required to make me eat even eleven meals in 
 the day. He would like thirteen." 
 
 At this moment Maurice came in — Maurice — hearty, 
 eager, full of life. He blustered in almost as Joseph had 
 prophesied, kicking the furniture, throwing his own vitality 
 into the atmosphere. Jocelyn knew that he liked Jack 
 Meredith — and she knew more. She knew, namely, that 
 Maurice Gordon was a different man when Jack Meredith 
 was in Loango. From Meredith's presence he seemed to 
 gather a sense of security and comfort even as she did — a 
 sense which in herself she understood (for women analyze 
 love), but which in her brother puzzled her. 
 
 " Well, old chap," said Maurice, " glad to see you. I am 
 glad to see you. Thank Heaven you were bowled over
 
 SEED -TIME 229 
 
 by that confounded malaria, for otherwise we should have 
 missed you." 
 
 " That is one way of looking at it," answered Meredith. 
 But he did not go so far as to say that it was a way which 
 had not previously suggested itself to him. 
 
 " Of course it is. The best way, I take it. Well — how 
 do you feel ? Come, you don't look so bad." 
 
 " Oh — much better, thanks. I have got on splendidly the 
 last week, and better still the last five minutes ! The worst 
 of it is that I shall be getting well too soon and shall have 
 to be off." 
 
 " Home ?" inquired Maurice, significantly. 
 
 Jocelyn moved uneasily. 
 
 " Yes, home." 
 
 " We don't often hear people say that they are sorry to 
 leave Loango," said Maurice. 
 
 "/ will oblige you whenever you are taken with the 
 desire," answered Jack, lightly ; " Loango has been a very 
 good friend to me. But I am afraid there is no choice. 
 The doctor speaks very plain words about it. Besides, I 
 am bound to go home." 
 
 " To sell the Simiacine ?" inquired Maurice. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Have you the second crop with you ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And the trees have improved under cultivation?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Jack, rather wonderingly. " You seem 
 to know a lot about it." 
 
 " Of course I do," replied Maurice, boisterously. 
 
 "From Durnovo?" 
 
 " Yes, he even offered to take me into partnership." 
 
 Jack turned on him in a flash. 
 
 " Did he indeed ? On what conditions?" 
 
 And then, when it was too late, Maurice saw his mistake. 
 It was not the first time that the exuberance of his nature 
 bad got him into a difficulty.
 
 230 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," he replied, vaguely. " It's a long 
 story. I'll tell you about it some day." 
 
 Jack would have left it there for the moment. Maurice 
 Gordon had made his meaning quite clear by glancing sig- 
 nificantly towards his sister. Her presence, he intimated, 
 debarred further explanation. 
 
 But Jocelyn would not have it thus. She shrewdly sus- 
 pected the nature of the bargain proposed by Durnovo, and 
 a sudden desire possessed her to have it all out — to drag 
 this skeleton forth and flaunt it in Jack Meredith's face. 
 The shame of it all would have a certain sweetness behind 
 its bitterness ; because, forsooth, Jack Meredith alone was 
 to witness the shame. She did not pause to define the feel- 
 ing that rose suddenly in her heart. She did not know that 
 it was merely the pride of her love — the desire that Jack 
 Meredith, though he would never love her, should know 
 once for all that such a man as Victor Durnovo could be 
 nothing but repugnant to her. 
 
 " If you mean," she said, " that you cannot tell Mr. 
 Meredith because I am here, you need not hesitate on that 
 account." 
 
 Maurice laughed awkwardly, and muttered something 
 about matters of business. He was not good at this sort 
 of thing. Besides, there was the initial handicapping knowl- 
 edge that Jocelyn was so much cleverer than himself. 
 
 " Whether it is a matter of business or not," she cried, 
 with glittering eyes, " I want you to tell Mr. Meredith now. 
 He has a right to know. Tell him upon what condition 
 Mr. Durnovo proposed to admit you into the Simiacine." 
 
 Maurice still hesitated, bewildered, at a loss — such as men 
 are when a seemingly secure secret is suddenly discovered 
 to the world. He would still have tried to fend it off; but 
 Jack Meredith, with his keener perception, saw that Jocelyn 
 was determined — that further delay would only make the 
 matter worse. 
 
 "If your sister wants it," he said ; "you, had better t«#
 
 SEED-TIME 231 
 
 me. I am not tbe sort of man to act rashly — on the im- 
 pulse of the moment." 
 
 Still Maurice tried to find some means of evasion. 
 
 " Then," cried Jocelyn, with flaming cheeks, " i" will tell 
 you. You were to be admitted into the Siraiacine scheme 
 by Mr. Durnovo if you could persuade or force me to marry 
 him." 
 
 None of them had foreseen this. It had come about so 
 strangely, and yet so easily, in the midst of their first greet- 
 ings. 
 
 " Yes," admitted Maurice, " that was it." 
 
 "And what answer did you give?" asked Jocelyn. 
 
 " Oh, I told him to go and hang himself — or words to 
 that effect," was the reply, delivered with a deprecating 
 laugh. 
 
 " Was that your final answer ?" pursued Jocelyn, inexo- 
 rable. Her persistence surprised Jack. Perhaps it surprised 
 herself. 
 
 " Yes, I think so." 
 
 " Are you sure?" 
 
 " Well, he cut up rough and threatened to make things 
 disagreeable ; so I think I said that it was no good his ask- 
 ing me to do anything in the matter, as I didn't know 
 your feelings." 
 
 "Well, you can tell him," cried Jocelyn, hotly, "that nev- 
 er, under any circumstances whatever, would I dream even 
 of the possibility of marrying him." 
 
 And the two men were alone. 
 
 Maurice Gordon gazed blankly at the closed door. 
 
 " How was I to know she'd take it like that?" he asked, 
 helplessly. 
 
 And for once the polished gentleman of the world for- 
 got himself — carried away by a sudden unreasoning anger 
 which surprised him almost as much as it did Maurice 
 Gordon. 
 
 " Why, you damned fool," said Jack, " any idiot would
 
 232 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 have known that she would take it like that. How could 
 she do otherwise ? You, her brother, ought to know that 
 to a girl like Miss Gordon the idea of marrying such a low 
 brute as Durnovo could only be repugnant. Durnovo — 
 why, he is not good enough to sweep the floor that she has 
 stood upon ! He's not fit to speak to her ; and you go on 
 letting him come to the house, sickening her with his beast- 
 ly attentions ! You're not capable of looking after a lady ! 
 I would have kicked Durnovo through that very window 
 myself, only " — he paused, recalling himself with a little 
 laugh — " only it was not my business." 
 
 Maurice Gordon sat down forlornly. He tapped his 
 boot with his cane. 
 
 " Oh, it's very well for you," he answered, " but I'm not 
 a free agent. / can't afford to make an enemy of Dur- 
 novo." 
 
 " You need not have made an enemy of him," said Jack, 
 and he saved Maurice Gordon by speaking quickly— saved 
 him from making a confession which could hardly have 
 failed to alter both their lives. 
 
 "It will not be very difficult," he went on ; all she wants 
 is your passive resistance. She does not want you to help 
 him — do you see? She can do the rest. Girls can manage 
 these things better than we think, if they want to. The 
 difficulty usually arises from the fact that they are not al- 
 ways quite sure that they do want to. Go and beg her par- 
 don. It will be all right." 
 
 So Maurice Gordon went away also, leaving Jack Mere- 
 dith alone in the drawing-room with his own thoughts.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 AN ENVOY 
 
 "What we love perfectly 
 For its own sake we love . . . 
 . . . That which is best for it is best for us." 
 
 " Feel like gettin' tip to breakfast, do you, sir?" said 
 Joseph to his master a few days later. " Well, I am glad. 
 Glad ain't quite the word, though !" 
 
 And he proceeded to perform the duties attendant on his 
 master's wardrobe with a wise, deep-seated shake of the 
 head. While setting the shaving necessaries in order on 
 the dressing-table, he went further — he winked gravely at 
 himself in the looking-glass. 
 
 " You've made wonderful progress the last few days, sir," 
 he remarked. " I always told Missis Marie that it would do 
 you a lot of good to have Mr. Gordon to heart you up with 
 his cheery ways — and Miss Gordon too, sir." 
 
 " Yes, but they would not have been much good without 
 all your care before they came. I had turned the corner a 
 week ago — I felt it myself." 
 
 Joseph grinned — an honest, open grin of self-satisfaction. 
 He was not one of those persons who like their praise be- 
 stowed with subtlety. 
 
 " Wonderful !" ho repeated to himself, as he went to the 
 well in the garden for his master's bath-water. " Wonder- 
 ful ! but I don't understand things — not bein' a marryin' 
 man." 
 
 During the last few days Jack's progress had been rapid 
 enough even to satisfy Joseph. The doctor expressed him- 
 self fully reassured, and even spoke of returning no more.
 
 234 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 But be repeated his wish that Jack should leave for Eng- 
 land without delay. 
 
 " He is quite strong enough to be moved now," be fin- 
 ished by saying. "There is no reason for further delay." 
 
 " No," answered Jocelyn, to whom the order was spoken. 
 " No — none. We will see that he goes by the next boat." 
 
 The doctor paused. He was a young man who took a 
 strong — perhaps too strong a personal interest in his pa- 
 tients. Jocelyn had walked with him as far as the gate, 
 with only a parasol to protect her from the evening sun. 
 They were old friends. The doctor's wife was one of Joce- 
 lyn's closest friends on the Coast. 
 
 "Do you know anything about Meredith's future move- 
 ments?" he asked. "Does he intend to come out here 
 again ?" 
 
 " I could not tell you. I do not think they have settled 
 yet. But I think that when he gets home he will probably 
 stay there." 
 
 "Best thing he can do — best thing he can do. It will 
 never do for him to risk getting another taste of malaria — 
 tell him so, will you ? Good-bye." 
 
 " Yes, I will tell him." 
 
 And Jocelyn Gordon walked slowly back to tell the man 
 she loved that he must go away from her and never come 
 back. The last few days had been days of complete happi- 
 ness. There is no doubt that women have the power of en- 
 joying the present to a greater degree than men. They can 
 live in the bliss of the present moment with eyes continually 
 averted from the curtain of the near future which falls 
 across that bliss and cuts it off. Men allow the presence of 
 the curtain to mar the brightness. 
 
 These days had been happier for Jocelyn than for Jack, 
 because she was conscious of the fulness of every moment, 
 while he was merely rejoicing in comfort after hardship, in 
 pleasant society after loneliness. Even with the knowledge 
 that it could not last, that beyond the near future lay a
 
 AN ENVOY 235 
 
 whole lifetime of complete solitude and that greatest of all 
 miseries, the desire of an obvious impossibility — even with 
 this she was happier than he ; because she loved him and 
 she saw him daily getting stronger ; because their relative 
 positions brought out the best and the least romantic part 
 of a woman's love — the subtle maternity of it. There is a 
 fine romance in carrying our lady's kerchief in an inner 
 pocket, but there is something higher and greater and much 
 more durable in the darning of a sock ; for within the hand- 
 kerchief there is chiefly gratified vanity, while within the 
 sock there is one of those small infantile boots which have 
 but little meaning for us. 
 
 Jocelyn entered the drawing-room with a smile. 
 
 " He is very pleased," she said. " He does not seem to 
 want to see you any more, and he told me to be inhospit- 
 able." 
 
 " As how ?" 
 
 " He told me to turn you out. You are to leave by the 
 next steamer." 
 
 He felt a sudden unaccountable pang of disappointment 
 at her smiling eyes. 
 
 " This is no joking matter," he said, half seriously. " Am 
 I really as well as that ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " The worst of it is that you seem rather pleased." 
 
 "I am — at the thought that you are so much better." 
 She paused and turned quite away, busying herself with a 
 pile of books and magazines. " The other," she went on 
 too indifferently, " was unfortunately to be foreseen. It is 
 the necessary drawback." 
 
 He rose suddenly and walked to the window. 
 
 "The grim old necessary drawback," he said, without 
 looking towards her. 
 
 There was a silence of some duration. Neither of them 
 seemed to be able to find a method of breaking it without 
 awkwardness. It was she who spoke at last.
 
 236 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " He also said," she observed in a practical way, " that 
 you must not come out to Africa again." 
 
 He turned as if he had been stung. 
 
 " Did he make use of that particular word ?" he asked. 
 
 "Which particular word?" 
 
 " Must." 
 
 Jocelyn had not foreseen the possibility that the doctor 
 was merely repeating to her what he had told Jack on a 
 previous visit. 
 
 " No," she answered. " I think he said, ' better not.' " 
 
 "And you make it into 'must.'" 
 
 She laughed, with a sudden light-heartedness which re- 
 mained unexplained. 
 
 " Because I know you both," she answered. " For him 
 ' better not ' stands for ' must.' With you ' better not ' 
 means ' doesn't matter.' " 
 
 "'Better not' is so weak that if one pits duty against it 
 it collapses. I cannot leave Oscard in the lurch, especially 
 after his prompt action in coming to my relief." 
 
 " Yes," she replied, guardedly. " I like Mr. Oscard's way 
 of doing things." 
 
 The matter of the telegram summoning Oscard had not 
 yet been explained. She did not want to explain it at that 
 moment; indeed, she hoped that the explanation would 
 never be needed. 
 
 " However," she added, " you will see when you get 
 home." 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " The least pleasant part of it is," he said, " your evident 
 desire to see the last of me. Could you not disguise that a 
 little — just for the sake of my feelings ?" 
 
 " Book your passage by the next boat and I will promptly 
 descend to the lowest depths of despair," she replied, lightly. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders with a short laugh. 
 
 "This is hospitality indeed," he said, moving towards the 
 door.
 
 AN ENVOY 237 
 
 Then suddenly he turned and looked at her gravely. 
 
 " I wonder," he said, slowly, " if you are doing this for a 
 purpose. You said that you met my father — " 
 
 " Your father is not the man to ask any one's assistance 
 in his own domestic affairs, and anything I attempted to do 
 could only be looked upon as the most unwarrantable inter- 
 ference." 
 
 " Yes," said Meredith, seriously. " I beg your pardon ; 
 you are right." 
 
 He went to his own room and summoned Joseph. 
 
 " When is the next boat home ?" he asked. 
 
 " Boat on Thursday, sir." 
 
 Meredith nodded. After a little pause he pointed to a 
 chair. 
 
 " Just sit down," he said ; " I want to talk over this 
 Simiacine business with you." 
 
 Joseph squared his shoulders, and sat down with a face 
 indicative of the gravest attention. Sitting thus he was no 
 longer a servant, but a partner in the Simiacine. He even 
 indulged in a sidelong jerk of the head, as if requesting the 
 attention of some absent friend in a humble sphere of life 
 to this glorious state of affairs. 
 
 "You know," said Meredith, "Mr. Durnovo is more or 
 less a blackguard." 
 
 Joseph drew in his feet, having previously drawn his 
 trousers up at the knees. 
 
 "Yes, sir," he said, glancing up. "A blackguard — a 
 damned blackguard," he added, unofficially under his breath. 
 
 " He wants continual watching and a special treatment. 
 He requires some one constantly at his heels." 
 
 "Yes, sir," admitted Joseph, with some fervor. 
 
 " Now I am ordered home by the doctor," went on Mere- 
 dith. "I must go by the next boat ; but I don't like to go 
 and leave Mr. Oscard in the lurch, with no one to fall back 
 upon but Durnovo — you understand." 
 
 Joseph's face had assumed the habitual look of servitude ;
 
 238 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 he was no longer a partner, but a mere retainer, with a half- 
 comic resignation in his eyes. 
 
 " Yes, sir," scratching the back of his neck. "I am afraid 
 I understand. You want me to go back to that Platter — - 
 that God-forsaken Platter, as I may say." 
 
 " Yes," said Meredith ; " that is about it. I would go 
 myself — " 
 
 "God bless you ! I know you would!" burst in Joseph. 
 "You'd go like winkin'. There's no one knows that better 
 nor me, sir; and what I says is, 'like master, like man.' 
 Game, sir — game it is ! I'll go. I'm not the man to turn 
 my back on a pal — a — a partner, sir, so to speak." 
 
 " You see," said Meredith, with the deep insight into men 
 that made command so easy to him — " you see there is no 
 one else. There is not another man in Africa who could 
 do it." 
 
 " That's true, sir." 
 
 " And I think that Mr. Oscard will be looking for you." 
 
 " And he won't need to look long, sir. But I should 
 like to see you safe on board the boat ; then I'm ready to 
 go." 
 
 " Right. "We can both leave by Thursday's boat, and 
 we'll get the captain to drop you and your men at Lopez. 
 We can get things ready by then, I think." 
 
 " Easy, sir." 
 
 The question thus settled, there seemed to be no necessity 
 to prolong the interview. But Joseph did not move. Mer- 
 edith waited patiently. 
 
 " I'll go up, sir, to the Platter," said the servant, at length, 
 " and I'll place myself under Mr. Oscard's orders ; but be- 
 fore I go I want to give you notice of resignation. I re- 
 signs my partnership in this 'ere Simiacine at six months 
 from to-day. It's a bit too hot, sir, that's the truth. It's all 
 very well for gentlemen like yourself and Mr. Oscard, with 
 fortunes and fine houses, and, as sayin' goes, a wife apiece 
 waiting for you at home — it's all very well for you to go
 
 AN ENVOY 239 
 
 about in this blamed country with ycr life in yer hand, and 
 not a tight grip at that. But for a poor soldier-man like 
 myself, what has smelt the regulation-powder all 'is life, and 
 hasn't got nothing to love and no gal waiting for him at 
 home — well, it isn't good enough. That's what I say, sir, 
 with respects." 
 
 He added the last two words by way of apology for hav- 
 ing banged a very solid fist on the table. 
 
 Meredith smiled. 
 
 "So you've had enough of it?" he said. 
 
 " Enough ain't quite the word, sir. Why, I'm wore to a 
 shadow with the trouble aud anxiety of getting you down 
 here." 
 
 " Fairly substantial shadow," commented Meredith. 
 
 "Maybe, sir. But I've had enough of money -makin'. 
 It's too dear at the price. And if you'll let an old servant 
 speak his mind, it ain't fit for you, this 'ere kind of work. 
 It's good enough for black scum and for chocolate-birds like 
 Durnovo; but this country's not built for honest white men 
 — least of all for born and bred gentlemen." 
 
 " Yes ; that's all very well in theory, Joseph, and I'm much 
 obliged to you for thinking of me ; but you must remember 
 that we live in an age when money sanctifies everything. 
 Your hands can't get dirty if there is money inside them." 
 
 Joseph laughed aloud. 
 
 " Ah, that's your way of speaking, sir, that's all. And 
 I'm glad to hear it. You have not spoken like that for 
 two months and more." 
 
 " No ; it is only my experience of the world." 
 
 " Well, sir, talkin' of experience, I've had about enough, 
 as I tell you, and I beg to place my resignation in your 
 hands. I shall do the same by Mr. Oscard if I reach that 
 Platter, God willin', as the sayin' is." 
 
 " All right, Joseph." 
 
 Still there was something left to say. Joseph paused and 
 scratched the back of his neck pensively with one finger.
 
 240 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " Will you be writin' to Mr. Oscard, sir, for me to take ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then I should be obliged if you would mention the fact 
 that I would rather not be left alone with that blackguard 
 Durnovo, either up at the Platter or travelling down. That 
 man's got on my nerves, sir, and I'm mortal afraid of doing 
 him a injury. He's got a long neck — you've noticed that, 
 perhaps. There was a little Gourkha man up in Cabul 
 taught me a trick ; it's as easy as killing a chicken, but you 
 want a man wi' a long neck — just such a neck as Durnovo's." 
 
 "But what harm has the man done you," asked Meredith, 
 " that you think so affectionately of his neck ?" 
 
 " No harm, sir, but we're just like two cats on a wall, 
 watchin' each other and hating each other like blue poison. 
 There's more villany at that man's back than you think for 
 — mark my words." 
 
 Joseph moved away towards the door. 
 
 " Do you know anything about him — anything shady ?" 
 cried Meredith after him. 
 
 " No, sir. I don't know anything. But I suspects a 
 whole boxful. One of these days I'll find him out, and 
 if I catch him fair there'll be a rough-and-tumble. It'll 
 be a pretty fight, sir, for them that's sittin' in the front 
 row." 
 
 Joseph rubbed his hands slowly together and departed, 
 leaving his master to begin a long letter to Guy Oscard. 
 
 And at the other end of the passage, in her room with 
 the door looked, Jocelyn Gordon was sobbing in a wild 
 burst of grief, because she had probably saved the life of 
 Jack Meredith, and in doing so had only succeeded in send- 
 ing him away from her.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 DARK DEALING 
 
 "Only an honest man doing his duty." 
 
 When Jack Meredith said that there was not another 
 man in Africa who could make his way from Loango to the 
 Simiacine Plateau he spoke no more than the truth. There 
 were only four men in all the world who knew the way, 
 and two of them were isolated on the summit of a lost 
 mountain in the interior. Meredith himself was unfit for 
 the journey. There remained Joseph. 
 
 True, there were several natives who had made the jour- 
 ney, hut they were as dumb and driven animals, fighting as 
 they were told, carrying what they were given to carry, 
 walking as many miles as they were considered able to walk. 
 They hired themselves out like animals, and as the beasts of 
 the field they did their work — patiently, without intelli- 
 gence. Half of them did not know where they were going 
 — what they were doing; the other half did not care. So 
 much work so much wage was their terse creed. They 
 neither noted their surroundings nor measured distance. At 
 the end of their journey they settled down to a life of ease 
 and leisure, which was to last until necessity drove them to 
 work again. Such is the African. Many of them came 
 from distant countries, a few were Zanzibaris, and went 
 home made men. 
 
 If any doubt the inability of such men to steer a course 
 through the wood, let him remember that three months' 
 growth in an African forest will obliterate the track left by 
 the passage of an army. If any hold that men are not
 
 242 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 created so dense and unambitious as has just been repre- 
 sented, let him look nearer home in our own merchant ser- 
 vice. The able-bodied seaman goes to sea all his life, but 
 he never gets any nearer navigating the ship — and he a 
 white man. 
 
 In coming down to Loango Joseph had had the recently- 
 made track of Oscard's rescuing party to guide him day by 
 day. He knew that this was now completely overgrown. 
 The Simiacine Plateau was once more lost to all human 
 knowledge. 
 
 And up there — alone amid the clouds — Guy Oscard 
 was, as he himself tersely put it, " sticking to it." He had 
 stuck to it to such good effect that the supply of fresh 
 young Simiacine was daily increasing in bulk. Again, 
 Victor Durnovo seemed to have regained his better self. 
 He was like a full-blooded horse — tractable enough if kept 
 hard at work. He was a different man up on the Plateau 
 to what he was down at Loango. There are some men who 
 deteriorate in the wilds, while others are better, stronger, 
 finer creatures away from the luxury of civilization and the 
 softening influence of female society. Of these latter was 
 Victor Durnovo. 
 
 Of one thing Guy Oscard soon became aware — namely, 
 that no one could make the men work as could Durnovo. 
 He had merely to walk to the door of bis tent to make 
 every picker on the little plateau bend over his tree with 
 renewed attention. And while above all was eagerness and 
 hurry, below, in the valley, this man's name insured peace. 
 
 The trees were now beginning to show the good result 
 of pruning and a regular irrigation. Never had the leaves 
 been so vigorous, never had the Simiacine-trees borne such 
 a bushy, luxuriant growth since the dim, dark days of the 
 Flood. 
 
 Oscard relapsed into his old hunting ways. Day after 
 day he tranquilly shouldered bis rifle, and alone, or followed 
 by one attendant only, he disappeared into the forest, only
 
 DARK DEALING 243 
 
 to emerge therefrom at sunset. What he saw there he never 
 spoke of. Sure it was that he must have seen strange things, 
 for no prying white man had set foot in these wilds before 
 him ; no book has ever been written of that country that 
 lies around the Simiacine Plateau. 
 
 He was not the man to worry himself over uncertainties. 
 He had an enormous faith in the natural toughness of an 
 Englishman, and while he crawled breathlessly in the track 
 of the forest monsters he hardly gave a thought to Jack 
 Meredith. Meredith, he argued to himself, had always risen 
 to the occasion : why should he not rise to this? He was not 
 the sort of man to die from want of staying power, which, 
 after all, is the cause of more deaths than we dream of. 
 And when he had recovered he would either return or send 
 back Joseph with a letter containing those suggestions of his 
 which were really orders. 
 
 Of Millicent Chyne he thought more often, with a certain 
 tranquil sense of a good time to come. In her also he 
 placed a perfect faith. A poet has found out that, if one 
 places faith in a man, it is probable that the man will rise 
 to trustworthiness — of woman he says nothing. But of 
 these things Guy Oscard knew little. He went his own tran- 
 quilly strong way, content to buy his own experience. 
 
 He was thinking of Millicent Chyne one misty morning 
 while he walked slowly backward and forward before his 
 tent. His knowledge of the country told him that the mist 
 was nothing but the night's accumulation of moisture round 
 the summit of the mountain ; that down in the valleys it 
 was clear, and that half an hour's sunshine would disperse 
 all. He was waiting for this result when he heard a rifle- 
 shot far away in the haze beneath him ; and he knew that 
 it was Joseph — probably making one of those marvel- 
 lous long shots of his which roused a sudden sigh of envy 
 in the heart of this mighty hunter whenever he witnessed 
 them. 
 
 Oscard immediately went to his tent and came out with
 
 244 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 his short-barrelled, evil-looking rifle on his arm. He fired 
 both barrels in quick succession and waited, standing grave- 
 ly on the edge of the Plateau. After a short silence two 
 answering reports rose up through the mist to his straining 
 ears. 
 
 He turned and found Victor Durnovo standing at his 
 side. 
 
 "What is that?" asked the half-breed. 
 
 " It must be Joseph," answered Guy, " or Meredith. It 
 can be nobody else." 
 
 " Let us hope that it is Meredith," said Durnovo, with a 
 forced laugh, " but I doubt it." 
 
 Oscard looked down in his sallow, powerful face. He 
 was not quick at such things, but at that moment he felt 
 strangely certain that Victor Durnovo was hoping that 
 Meredith was dead. 
 
 " I hope it isn't," he answered, and without another word 
 he strode away down the little pathway from the summit 
 into the clouds, loading his rifle as he went. 
 
 Durnovo and his men, working among the Simiacine 
 bushes, heard from time to time a signal shot as the two 
 Englishmen groped their way towards each other through 
 the everlasting night of the African forest. 
 
 It was mid-day before the new-comers were espied making 
 their way painfully up the slope, and Joseph's welcome was 
 not so much in Durnovo's hand-shake, in Guy Oscard's silent 
 approval, as in the row of grinning, good-natured black faces 
 behind Durnovo's back. 
 
 That night laughter was heard in the men's camp for the 
 first time for many weeks — nay, several months. According 
 to the account that Joseph gave to his dusky admirers, he 
 had been on terms of the closest familiarity with the wives 
 and families of all who had such at Loano-o or on the Coast. 
 He knew the mother of one, had met the sweetheart of 
 another, and confessed that it was only due to the fact that 
 he was not " a marryin' man " that he had not stayed at
 
 DARK DEALING 245 
 
 Loango for the rest of his life. It was somewhat singular 
 that he had nothing but good news to give. 
 
 Durnovo heard the clatter of tongues, and Guy Oscard, 
 smoking his contemplative pipe in a camp-chair before 
 his hut door, noticed that the sound did not seem very 
 welcome. 
 
 Joseph's arrival with ten new men seemed to give a fresh 
 zest to the work, and the carefully packed cases of Simiacine 
 began to fill Oscard's tent to some inconvenience. Thus 
 things went on for two tranquil weeks. 
 
 " First," Oscard had said, " let us get the crop in, and 
 then we can arrange what is to be done about the future." 
 
 So the crop received due attention ; but the two leaders of 
 the men — he who led by fear and he who commanded by 
 love — were watching each other. 
 
 One evening, when the work was done, Oscard's medita- 
 tions were disturbed by the sound of angry voices behind 
 the native camp. He turned naturally towards Durnovo's 
 tent, and saw that he was absent. The voices rose and fell ; 
 there was a singular accompanying roar of sound which Os- 
 card never remembered having heard before. It was the pro- 
 testing voice of a mass of men — and there is no sound like 
 it — none so disquieting. Oscard listened attentively, and 
 suddenly he was thrown upon his feet by a pistol-shot. 
 
 At the same moment Joseph emerged from behind the 
 tents, dragging some one by the collar. The victim of 
 Joseph's violence was off his feet, but still struggling and 
 kicking. 
 
 Guy Oscard saw the flash of a second shot, apparently with- 
 in a few inches of Joseph's face ; but he came on, dragging 
 the man with him, whom from his clothing Oscard saw to 
 be Durnovo. 
 
 Joseph was spitting out wadding and burnt powder. 
 
 "Shoot me, would yer — yer damned skulking chocolate- 
 bird? I'll teach you! I'll twist that, brown neck of 
 yours,"
 
 246 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 He shook him as a terrier shakes a rat, and seemed to 
 shake things off him — among others a revolver which de- 
 scribed a circle in the air, and fell heavily on the ground, 
 where the concussion discharged a cartridge. 
 
 "'Ere, sir," cried Joseph, literally throwing Durnovo 
 down on the ground at Oscard's feet, " that man has just shot 
 one o' them poor niggers, so 'elp me God !" 
 
 Durnovo rose slowly to his feet, as if the shaking had dis- 
 turbed his faculties. 
 
 " And the man hadn't done 'im no harm at all. He's got 
 a grudge against him. I've seen that this last week and 
 more. It's a man as was kinder fond o' me, and we under- 
 stood each other's lingo. That's it— he was afraid of my 
 'earing things that mightn't be wholesome for me to know. 
 The man hadn't done no harm. And Durnovo comes up 
 and begins abusing 'im, and then he strikes 'im, and he out 
 with his revolver and shoots 'im down." 
 
 Durnovo gave an ugly laugh. He had readjusted his 
 disordered dress and was brushing the dirt from his 
 knees. 
 
 " Oh, don't make a fool of yourself," he said, in a hiss- 
 ino- voice : " vou don't understand these natives at all. 
 The man raised his hand to me. He would have killed 
 me if he had had the chance. Shooting was the only thing 
 left to do. You can only hold these men by fear. They 
 expect, it." 
 
 " Of course they expect it," shouted Joseph in his face ; 
 " of course they expect it, Mr. Durnovo." 
 
 « Why ?" 
 
 "Because they're slaves. Think I don't know that?" 
 
 He turned to Oscard. 
 
 " This man, Mr. Oscard," he said, " is a slave-owner. 
 Them forty that joined at Msala was slaves. He's shot two 
 of 'em now : this is his second. And what does he care? 
 — they're his slaves. Oh, shame on yer !" turning again to 
 Durnovo ; " I wonder God lets yer stand there, I can only 
 
 •
 
 DARK DEALIXO 247 
 
 think tbat He doesn't want to dirty His hand by strikin' yer 
 
 own. 
 
 Oscard had taken his pipe from his lips. He looked 
 bigger, somehow, than ever. His brown face was turning 
 to an ashen color, and there was a dull, steel-like gleam in 
 his blue eyes. The terrible, slow -kindling anger of this 
 Northerner made Durnovo catch his breath. It was so dif- 
 ferent from the sudden passion of his own countrymen. 
 
 " Is this true ?" he asked. 
 
 " It's a lie, of course," answered Durnovo, with a shrug of 
 the shoulders. He moved away as if he were going to his 
 tent, but Oscard's arm reached out. His large brown hand 
 fell heavily on the half-breed's shoulder. 
 
 " Stay," he said; " we are going to get to the bottom of 
 
 this." 
 
 " Good," muttered Joseph, rubbing his hands slowly to- 
 gether ; " this is prime." 
 
 " Go on," said Oscard to him. 
 
 " Where's the wages you and Mr. Meredith has paid him 
 for those forty men?" pursued Joseph. "Where's the 
 advance you made him for those men at Msala ? Not one 
 ha'penny of it have they fingered. And why ? Cos they're 
 slaves! Fifteen months at fifty pounds — let them as can 
 reckon tot it up for theirselves. That's his first swindle — 
 and there's others, sir ! Ob, there's more behind. That 
 man's just a stinkin' hot-bed o' crime. But this 'ere slave- 
 owning is enough to settle his hash, I take it." 
 
 " Let us have these men here — we will hear what they 
 have to say," said Oscard, in the same dull tone that fright- 
 ened Victor Durnovo. 
 
 "Not you!" he went on, laying his hand on Durnovo's 
 shoulder again ; " Joseph will fetch them, thank you." 
 
 So the forty — or the thirty-seven survivors, for one had 
 died on the journey up and two had been murdered — were 
 brought. They were peaceful, timorous men, whose man- 
 hood seemed to have been crushed out of them ; and slowly,
 
 248 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 word by word, their grim story was got out of them. 
 Joseph knew a little of their language, and one of the head 
 fighting men knew a little more, and spoke a dialect known 
 to Oscard. They were slaves, they said at once, but only 
 on Oscard's promise that Durnovo should not be allowed to 
 shoot them. They had been brought from the north by a 
 victorious chief who in turn had banded them over to Victor 
 Durnovo in payment of an outstanding debt for ammuni- 
 tion supplied. 
 
 The great African moon rose in the heavens and shone 
 her yeHow light upon this group of men. Overhead all was 
 peace ; on earth there was no peace. And yet it was one 
 of Heaven's laws that Victor Durnovo had broken. 
 
 Guy Oscard went patiently through to the end of it. He 
 found out all that there was to find ; and he found out some- 
 thing which surprised him. No one seemed to be honor- 
 struck. The free men stood stolidly looking on, as did the 
 slaves. And this was Africa — the heart of Africa, where, 
 as Victor Durnovo said, no one knows what is going on. 
 Oscard knew that he could apply no law to Victor Durnovo 
 except the great law of humanity. There was nothing to 
 be done ; for one individual may not execute the laws of 
 humanity. All were assembled before him — the whole 
 of the great Simiacine Expedition except the leader, 
 whose influence lay over one and all only second to his 
 presence. 
 
 " I leave this place at sunrise to-morrow," said Guy Os- 
 card to them all. " I never want to see it again. I will 
 not touch one penny of the money that has been made. I 
 speak for Mr. Meredith and myself — " 
 
 " Likewise me — damn it !" put in Joseph. 
 
 " I speak as Mr. Meredith himself would have spoken. 
 There is the Simiacine — you can have it. I won't touch it. 
 And now who is going with me-— who leaves with me to- 
 morrow morning?" 
 
 He moved away from Durnovo.
 
 AMONG THORNS 249 
 
 "And who stays with me?" cried the half-breed, "to 
 share and share alike in the Simiacine?" 
 
 Joseph followed Oscard, and with him a certain number 
 of the blacks, but some stayed. Some went over to Dur- 
 novo and stood beside him. The slaves spoke among them- 
 selves, and then they all went over to Durnovo. 
 
 So that which the placid moon shone down upon was the 
 break-up of the great Simiacine scheme. Victor Durnovo 
 had not come off so badly. He had the larger half of the 
 men by his side. He had all the finest crop the trees had 
 yet yielded — but he had yet to reckon with high Heaven. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 AMONG THO RNS 
 
 "We shut our hearts up nowadays, 
 Like some old music-box that plays 
 Unfashionable airs." 
 
 Sir John Meredith was sitting stiffly in a straight-backed 
 chair by his library fire. In his young days men didn't 
 loll in deep chairs, with their knees higher than their heads. 
 There were no such chairs in this library, just as there was 
 no afternoon tea except for ladies. Sir John Meredith was 
 distressed to observe a great many signs of the degeneration 
 of manhood — which he attributed to the indulgence in after- 
 noon tea. Sir John had lately noticed another degeneration, 
 namely, in the quality of the London gas. So serious was 
 this falling off that he had taken to a lamp in the evening, 
 which lamp stood on the table at his elbow. 
 
 Some months earlier — that is to say, about six months 
 after Jack's departure — Sir John had called casually upon 
 an optician. He stood upright by the counter, and frowned
 
 '250 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 down on a mild-looking man who wore the strongest spec 
 tacles made, as if in advertisement of his own wares. 
 
 " They tell me," he said, " that you opticians make glasses 
 now which are calculated to save the sight in old age." 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the optician, with wriggling white 
 fingers. " We make a special study of that. We endeavor 
 to save the sight — to store it up, as it were, in — a middle 
 life, for use in old age. You see, sir, the pupil of the eye — " 
 
 Sir John held up a warning hand. 
 
 "The pupil of the eye is your business, as I understand 
 from the sign above your shop — at all events, it is not mine," 
 he said. " Just give me some glasses to suit my sight, and 
 don't worry me with the pupil of the eye." 
 
 He turned towards the door, threw back his shoulders, 
 and waited. 
 
 "Spectacles, sir?" inquired the man, meekly. 
 
 " Spectacles, sir ?" cried Sir John. " No, sir. Spectacles 
 be damned. I want a pair of eye-glasses." 
 
 And these eye-glasses were affixed to the bridge of Sir 
 John Meredith's nose, as he sat rather stiffly in the straight- 
 backed chair. 
 
 He was reading a scientific book which society had been 
 pleased to read, mark, and learn, without inwardly digest- 
 ing, as is the way of society with books. Sir John read a 
 good deal — he had read more lately, perhaps, since enter- 
 tainments and evening parties had fallen off so lamentably 
 — and he made a point of keeping up with the mental 
 progress of the age. 
 
 His eyebrows were drawn down, as if the process of stor- 
 ing up eyesight for his old age was somewhat laborious. 
 At times he turned and glanced over his shoulder impatient- 
 ly at the lamp. 
 
 The room was very still in its solid, old-fashioned luxury. 
 Although it was June, a small wood-fire burned in the grate, 
 and the hiss of a piece of damp bark was the only sound 
 within the four walls. From without, through the thick
 
 AMONG THORNS 251 
 
 curtains, came at intervals the rumble of distant wheels. 
 But it was just between times, and the fashionable world 
 was at its dinner. Sir John had finished his, not because 
 he dined earlier than the rest of the world — he could not 
 have done that — but because a man dining by himself, with 
 a butler and a footman to wait upon him, does not take 
 very long over his meals. 
 
 He was in full evening dress, of course, built up by his 
 tailor, bewigged, perfumed, and cunningly aided by toilet- 
 table deceptions. 
 
 At times his weary old eyes wandered from the printed 
 page to the smouldering fire, where a whole volume seemed 
 to be written — it took so long to read. Then he would 
 pull himself together, glance at the lamp, readjust the eye- 
 glasses, and plunge resolutely into the book. He did not 
 always read scientific books. He had a taste for travel and 
 adventure — the Arctic regions, Asia, Siberia, and Africa — 
 but Africa was all locked away in a lower drawer of the 
 writing-table. He did not care for the servants to meddle 
 with his books, he told himself. He did not tell anybody 
 that he did not care to let the servants see him reading his 
 books of travel in Africa. 
 
 There was nothing dismal or lonely about this old man, 
 sitting in evening dress in a high-backed chair, stiffly read- 
 ing a scientific book of the modern, cheap science tenor — 
 not written for scientists, but to step in when the brain is 
 wearv of novels and afraid of communing with itself. Oh 
 no ! A gentleman need never be dull. He has his neces- 
 sary occupations. If he is a man of intellect he need nev- 
 er be idle. It is an occupation to keep up with the times. 
 
 Sometimes after dinner, while drinking his perfectly- 
 made black coffee, Sir John would idly turn over the invi- 
 tation cards on the mantel-piece — the carriage was always in 
 readiness — but of late the invitations had not proved very 
 tempting. There was no doubt that society was not what 
 it used to be. The summer was not what it used to be,
 
 252 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 either. The evenings were so confoundedly cold. So he 
 often stayed at home and read a book. 
 
 He paused in the midst of a scientific definition, and 
 looked up with listening eyes. He had got into the way 
 of listening to the passing wheels. Lady Cantourne some- 
 times called for him on her way to a festivity, but it was 
 not that. 
 
 The wheels he heard had stopped — perhaps it was Lady 
 Cantourne. But he did not think so. She drove behind a 
 pair, and this was not a pair. It was wonderful how well he 
 could detect the difference, considering the age of his ears. 
 
 A few minutes later the butler silently threw open the 
 door, and Jack stood in the threshold. Sir John Meredith's 
 son had been given back to him from the gates of death. 
 
 The son, like the father, was in immaculate evening dress. 
 There was a very subtle cynicism in the thought of turning 
 aside on such a return as this to dress — to tie a careful 
 white tie and brush inperceptibly ruffled hair. 
 
 There was a little pause, and the two tall men stood, 
 half-bowing with a marvellous similarity of attitude, gazing 
 steadily into each other's eyes. And one cannot help won- 
 dering whether it was a mere accident that Jack Meredith 
 stood motionless on the threshold until his father said, 
 
 " Come in." 
 
 " Thomson," he continued to the butler, with that pride 
 of keeping up before all the world which was his, " bring 
 up coffee. You will take coffee?" to his son while they 
 shook hands. 
 
 " Thanks, yes." 
 
 The butler closed the door behind him. Sir John was 
 holding on to the back of his high chair in rather a con- 
 strained way — almost as if he were suffering pain. They 
 looked at each other again, and there was a resemblance in 
 the very manner of raising the eyelid. There was a strong- 
 er resemblance in the grim, waiting silence which neither 
 of them would break,
 
 AMONG THORNS 253 
 
 At last Jack spoke, approaching the fire and looking 
 into it. 
 
 " You must excuse ray taking you by surprise at this — 
 unusual hour." He turned ; saw the lamp, the book, and the 
 eye-glasses — more especially the eye-glasses, which seemed 
 to break the train of his thoughts. " I only landed at 
 Liverpool this afternoon," he went on, with hopeless polite- 
 ness. " I did not trouble you with a telegram, knowing 
 that you object to them." 
 
 The old man bowed gravely. 
 
 " I am always glad to see you," he said, suavely. "Will 
 you not sit down ?" 
 
 And they had begun wrong. It is probable that neither 
 of them had intended this. Both had probably dreamed 
 of a very different meeting. But both alike had counted 
 without that stubborn pride which will rise up at the wrong 
 time and in the wrong place — the pride which Jack Mere- 
 dith had inherited by blood and teaching from his father. 
 
 " I suppose you have dined," said Sir John, when they 
 were seated, " or may I offer you something?" 
 
 "Thanks, I dined on the way up — in atwilit refreshment- 
 room, with one waiter and a number of attendant black- 
 beetles." 
 
 Things were going worse and worse. 
 
 Sir John smiled, and he was still smiling when the man 
 brought in coffee. 
 
 " Yes," he said, conversationally, " for speed combined 
 with discomfort I suppose we can hold up heads against 
 any country. Seeing that you are dressed, I supposed that 
 you had dined in town." 
 
 " No. I drove straight to my rooms, and kept the cab 
 while I dressed." 
 
 What an important matter this dressing seemed to be ! 
 And there were fifteen months behind it — fifteen months 
 which had a^ed one of them and sobered the other. 
 
 Jack was sitting forward in his chair with his immaculate
 
 254 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 dress-shoes on the fender— his knees apart, his elbows rest- 
 ing on them, his eyes still fixed on the fire. Sir John 
 looked keenly at him beneath his frowning, lashless lids, 
 lie saw the few gray hairs over Jack's ears, the suggested 
 wrinkles, the drawn lines about his mouth. 
 ; ' " You have been ill ?" he said. 
 
 Joseph's letter was locked away in the top drawer of his 
 writing-table. 
 
 " Yes, I had rather a bad time — a serious illness. My 
 man nursed me through it, however, with marked success ; and 
 — the Gordons, with whom I was staying, were very kind." 
 
 " I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Gordon." 
 
 Jack's face was steady — suavely impenetrable. 
 
 Sir John moved a little, and set his empty cup upon the 
 table. 
 
 " A charming girl," he added. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 There was a little pause. 
 
 " You are fortunate in that man of yours," Sir John said. 
 " A first-class man." 
 
 " Yes — he saved my life." 
 
 Sir John blinked, and for the first time his fingers went 
 to his mouth, as if his lips had suddenly got beyond his 
 control. 
 
 "If I may suggest it," he said, rather indistinctly, "I 
 think it would be well if we signified our appreciation of 
 his devotion in some substantial way. We might well do 
 something between us." 
 
 He paused and threw back his shoulders. 
 
 " I should like to give him some substantial token of my 
 — gratitude." 
 
 Sir John was nothing if not just. 
 
 " Thank you," answered Jack, quietly. He turned his 
 head a little, and glanced, not at his father, but in his direc- 
 tion. " He will appreciate it, I know." 
 
 " I should like to see him to-morrow."
 
 AMONG THORNS 255 
 
 Jack winced, as if he had made a mistake. 
 
 " He is not in England," he explained. " I left him be- 
 hind me in Africa. He has gone back to the Simiacine 
 Plateau." 
 
 The old man's face dropped rather piteously. 
 
 " I am sorry," he said, with one of the sudden relapses 
 into old age that Lady Cantourne dreaded. "I may not 
 have a chance of seeing him to thank him personally. A 
 good servant is so rare nowadays. These modern democrats 
 seem to think that it is a nobler thing to be a bad servant 
 than a good one. As if we were not all servants !" 
 
 He was thirsting for details. There were a thousand 
 questions in his heart, but not one on his lips. 
 
 " Will you have the kindness to remember my desire," 
 he went on, suavely, "when you are settling up with your 
 man? 
 
 " Thank you," replied Jack, " I am much obliged to 
 you." 
 
 " And in the meantime, as you are without a servant, 
 you may as well make use of mine. One of my men — 
 Henry — who is too stupid to get into mischief — a great 
 recommendation by-the-way — understands his business. I 
 will ring and have him sent over to your rooms at once." 
 
 He did so, and they sat in silence until the butler had 
 come and gone. 
 
 " We have been very successful with the Simiacine — our 
 scheme," said Jack, suddenly. 
 
 " Ah !" 
 
 " I have brought home a consignment valued at seventy 
 thousand pounds." 
 i Sir John's face never changed. 
 
 " And," he asked, with veiled sarcasm, " do you carry out 
 the — er — commercial part of the scheme ?" 
 
 " I shall begin to arrange for the sale of the consignment 
 to-morrow. I shall have no difficulty — at least, I anticipate 
 none. Yes, I do the commercial part — as well as the other.
 
 256 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 I held the Plateau against two thousand natives for three 
 months, with fifty-five men. But I do the commercial part 
 as well." 
 
 As he was looking into the fire still, Sir John stole a long 
 comprehensive glance at his son's face. His old eyes lighted 
 up with pride and something else — possibly love. The 
 clock on the mantel-piece struck eleven. Jack looked at it 
 thoughtfully, then he rose. 
 
 " I must not keep you any longer," he said, somewhat 
 stiffly. 
 
 Sir John rose also. 
 
 " I dare say you are tired ; you need rest. In some ways 
 you look stronger, in others you look fagged and pulled 
 down." 
 
 " It is the result of my illness," said Jack. " I am really 
 quite strong." 
 
 He paused, standing on the hearth-rug, then suddenly he 
 held out his hand. 
 
 " Good-night," be said. 
 
 " Good-night." 
 
 Sir John allowed him to go to the door, to touch the 
 handle, before he spoke. 
 
 " Then — " he said, and Jack paused. " Then we are no 
 further on ?" 
 
 " In what way ?" 
 
 "In respect to the matter over which we unfortunately 
 disagreed before you went away?" 
 
 Jack turned, with his hand on the door. 
 
 " I have not changed my mind in any respect," he 
 said, gently. " Perhaps you are inclined to take my al- 
 tered circumstances into consideration — to modify your 
 views." 
 
 " I am getting rather old for modification," answered Sir 
 John, suavely. 
 
 " And you see no reason for altering your decision f ' 
 
 "None."
 
 ENGAGED 257 
 
 " Then I am afraid we are no further on," he paused. 
 " Good-night," he added, gently, as he opened the door. 
 "Good-night." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 ENGAGED 
 
 "Well, there's the game. I throw the stakes." 
 
 Lady Cantourne was sitting alone in her drawing-room, 
 and the expression of her usually bright and smiling face 
 betokened considerable perturbation. 
 
 Truth to tell, there were not many things in life that had 
 power to frighten her ladyship very much. Hers bad been 
 a prosperous life as prosperity is reckoned. She had mar- 
 ried a rich man who had retained his riches while he lived 
 and had left them to her when he died. And that was all 
 the world knew of Lady Cantourne. Like the majority of 
 us, she presented her character and not herself to her neigh- 
 bors ; and these held, as neighbors do, that the cheery, 
 capable little woman of the world whom they met every- 
 where was Lady Cantourne. Circumstances alter us less 
 than we think. If we are of a gay temperament — gay we 
 shall be through all. If sombre, no happiness can drive 
 that sombreness away. Lady Cantourne was meant for 
 happiness and a joyous motherhood. She had had neither ; 
 but she went on being "meant" until the end — that is to 
 say, she was still cheery and capable. She had thrown an 
 open letter on the little table at her side — a letter from 
 Jack Meredith announcing his return to England, and his 
 natural desire to call and pay his respects in the course of 
 the afternoon. 
 
 " So," she had said before she laid the letter aside, " he 
 is home again — and he means to carry it through ?"
 
 258 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Then she had settled down to think in her own comfort- 
 able chair (for if one may not be happy, comfort is at all 
 events within reach of some of us), and the troubled look 
 had supervened. 
 
 Each of our lives is like a book with one strong character 
 moving through its pages. The strong character in Lady 
 Cantourne's book had been Sir John Meredith. Her whole 
 life seemed to have been spent on the outskirts of his — 
 watching it. And what she had seen had not been con- 
 ducive to her own happiness. 
 
 She knew that the note she had just received meant a 
 great deal to Sir John Meredith. It meant that Jack had 
 come home with the full intention of fulfilling his engage- 
 ment to Millicent Chyne. At first she had rather resented 
 Sir John's outspoken objection to her niece as his son's wife, 
 but during the last months she had gradually come round 
 to his way of thinking ; not, perhaps, for the first time in 
 her life. She had watched Millicent. She had studied her 
 own niece dispassionately, as much from Sir John Mere- 
 dith's point of view as was possible under the circumstances. 
 And she had made several discoveries. The first of these 
 had been precisely that discovery which one would expect 
 from a woman — namely, the state of Millicent's own feel- 
 ings. 
 
 Lady Cantourne had known for the last twelve months — 
 almost as long as Sir John Meredith had known — that Mil- 
 licent loved Jack. Upon this knowledge came the humilia- 
 tion — the degradation — of one flirtation after another ; and 
 not even after, but interlaced. Guy Oscard in particular, 
 and others in a minor degree had passed that way. It was 
 a shameless record of that which might have been good in 
 a man prostituted and trampled under foot by the vanity 
 of a woman. .Lady Cantourne was of the world worldly ; 
 and because of that, because the finest material has a seamy 
 side, and the highest walks in life have the hardiest weeds, 
 she knew what love should be. Here was a love — it mav
 
 ENGAGED 259 
 
 be modern, advanced, chic, fin-dc-siccle, up to date, or any- 
 thing the coming generation may choose to call it — but it 
 was eminently cheap and ephemeral because it could not 
 make a little sacrifice of vanity. For the sake of the man 
 she loved — mark that ! — not only the man to whom she was 
 engaged, but whom she loved — Millicent Chyne could not 
 forbear pandering to her own vanity by the sacrifice of her 
 own modesty and purity of thought. There was the sting 
 for Lady Cantourne. 
 
 She was tolerant and eminently wise, this old lady who 
 had made one huge mistake long ago, and she knew that 
 the danger, the harm, the low vulgarity lay in the little fact 
 that Millicent Chyne loved Jack Meredith according to her 
 lights. 
 
 While she still sat there the bell rang, and quite suddenly 
 she chased away the troubled look from her eyes, leaving 
 there the keen, kindly gaze to which the world of London 
 society was well accustomed. When Jack Meredith came 
 into the room she rose to greet him with a smile of wel- 
 come. 
 
 " Before I shake hands," she said, " tell me if you have 
 been to see your father." 
 
 "I went last night — almost straight from the station. 
 The first person I spoke to in London, except a cabman." 
 
 So she shook hands. 
 
 " You know," she said, without looking at him — indeed, 
 carefully avoiding doing so — " life is too short to quarrel 
 with one's father. At least, it may prove too short to make 
 it up again — that is the danger." 
 
 She sat down with a graceful swing of her silken skirt 
 which was habitual with her — the remnant of a past day. 
 
 Jack Meredith winced. He had seen a difference in his 
 father, and Lady Cantourne was corroborating it. 
 
 " The quarrel was not mine," he said. " I admit that 1 
 ought to have known him better. I ought to have spoket 
 to him before asking Millicent. It was a mistake."
 
 260 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Lady Cantoume looked up suddenly. 
 
 " What was a mistake ?" 
 
 " Not asking his — opinion first." 
 
 She turned to the table where his letter lay, and fingered 
 the paper pensively. 
 
 " I thought, perhaps, that you had found that the other 
 was a mistake — the engagement." 
 
 " No," he answered. 
 
 Lady Cantourne's face betrayed nothing. There was no 
 sigh, of relief or disappointment. She merely looked at 
 the clock. 
 
 "Millicent will be in presently," she said; "she is out 
 riding." 
 
 She did not think it necessary to add that her niece was 
 riding with a very youthful officer in the Guards. Lady 
 Cantourne never made mischief from a sense of duty, or 
 any mistaken motive of that sort. Some people argue that 
 there is very little that is worth keeping secret ; to which 
 one may reply that there is still less worth disclosing. 
 
 They talked of other things — of his life in Africa, of his 
 success with the Simiacine, of which discovery the news- 
 papers were not yet weary — until the bell was heard in the 
 basement, and thereafter Millicent's voice in the hall. 
 
 Lady Cantourne rose deliberately and went down-stairs 
 to tell her niece that he was in the drawing-room, leaving 
 him there, waiting, alone. 
 
 Presently the door opened and Millicent hurried in. She 
 threw her gloves and whip — anywhere — on the floor, and 
 ran to him. 
 
 " Oh, Jack !" she cried. 
 
 It was very prettily done. In its way it was a poem. But 
 while his arms were still round her she looked towards the 
 window, wondering whether he had seen her ride up to the 
 door accompanied by the very youthful officer in the 
 Guards. 
 
 " And, Jack — do you know," she went on, " all the news-
 
 ENGAGED 261 
 
 papers have been full of you. You are quite a celebrity. 
 And are you really as rich as they say ?" 
 
 Jack Meredith was conscious of a very slight check — it 
 was not exactly a jar. His feeling was rather that of a 
 man who thinks that he is swimming in deep water, and 
 finds suddenly that he can touch the bottom. 
 
 " I think I can safely say that I am not," he answered. 
 
 And it was from that eminently practical point that they 
 departed into the future — arranging that same, and filling 
 up its blanks with all the wisdom of lovers and the rest of us. 
 
 Lady Cantourne left them there for nearly an hour, in 
 which space of time she probably reflected they could build 
 up as rosy a future as was good for them to contemplate. 
 Then she returned to the drawing-room, followed by a fnll- 
 sized footman bearing tea. 
 
 She was too discreet a woman — too deeply versed in the 
 sudden changes of the human mind and heart — to say any- 
 thing until one of them should give her a distinct lead. 
 They were not shy and awkward children. Perhaps she 
 reflected that the generation to which they belonged is not 
 one heavily handicapped by too subtle a delicacy of feeling. 
 
 Jack Meredith gave her the lead before long. 
 
 "Millicent," he said, without a vestige of embarrassment, 
 "has consented to be openly engaged now." 
 
 Lady Cantourne nodded comprehensively. 
 
 " I think she is very wise," she said. 
 
 There was a little pause. 
 
 " I know she is very wise," she added, turning and laying 
 her hand on Jack's arm. The two phrases had quite a dif- 
 ferent meaning. " She will have a good husband." 
 
 "So you can tell everybody now," chimed in Millicent in 
 her silvery way. She was blushing and looking very pretty 
 with her hair blown about her ears by her last canter with 
 the youthful officer, who was at that momeut riding pen- 
 sively home with a bunch of violets in his coat which had 
 not been there when he started from the stable.
 
 262 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 She had found out casually from Jack that Guy Oscard 
 was exiled vaguely to the middle of Africa for an indefinite 
 period. The rest — the youthful officer and the others — did 
 not give her much anxiety. They, she argued to herself, 
 had nothing to bring against her. They may have thought 
 things — but who can prevent people from thinking things ? 
 Besides, " I thought " is always a poor position. 
 
 There were, it was true, a good many men whom she 
 would rather not tell herself. But this difficulty was obvi- 
 ated by requesting Lady Cantourne to tell everybody. Ev- 
 erybody would tell everybody else, and would, of course, 
 ask if these particular persons in question had been told ; if 
 not, they would have to be told at once. Indeed, there 
 would be quite a competition to relieve Millicent of her lit- 
 tle difficulty. Besides, she could not marry more than one 
 person. Besides — besides — besides — the last word of Mil- 
 licent and her kind. 
 
 Lady Cantourne was not very communicative during that 
 refined little tea a trois, but she listened smilingly to Jack's 
 optimistic views and Millicent's somewhat valueless com- 
 ments. 
 
 " I am certain," said Millicent, at length boldly attacking 
 the question that was in all their minds, " that Sir John will 
 be all right now. Of course, it is only natural that he 
 should not like Jack to — to get engaged yet. Especially 
 before, when it would have made a difference to him — in 
 money I mean. But now that Jack is independent — you 
 know, auntie, that Jack is richer than Sir John — is it not 
 nice ?" 
 
 " Very," answered Lady Cantourne, in a voice rather sug- 
 gestive of humoring a child's admiration of a new toy; 
 " very nice indeed." 
 
 " And all so quickly 1" pursued Millicent. " Only a 
 few months — not two years, you know. Of course, at 
 first the time went horribly slowly ; but afterwards, when 
 one got accustomed to it, life became tolerable. You
 
 ENGAGED 263 
 
 did not expect me to sit and mope all day, did you, 
 Jack ?" 
 
 " No, of course not," replied Jack ; and quite suddenly, 
 as in a flash, he saw his former self, and wondered vaguely 
 whether he would get back to that self. 
 
 Lady Cantourne was rather thoughtful at that moment. 
 She could not help coming back and back to Sir John. 
 
 " Of course," she said to Jack, " we must let your father 
 know at once. The news must not reach him from an out- 
 side sourcv. 
 
 Jack nodded. 
 
 " If it did," he said, " I do not think the 'outside source' 
 would get much satisfaction out of him." 
 
 " Probably not ; but I was not thinking of the ' outside 
 source' or the outside effect. I was thinking of his feel- 
 ings," replied Lady Cantourne, rather sharply. She had 
 lately fallen into the habit of not sparing Millicent very 
 much; and that young lady, bright and sweet and good- 
 natured, had not failed to notice it. Indeed, she had spoken 
 of it to several people — to partners at dances and others. 
 She attributed it to approaching old age. 
 
 " I will write and tell him," said Jack, quietly. 
 
 Lady Cantourne raised her eyebrows slightly, but made 
 no spoken comment. 
 
 " I think," she said, after a little pause, " that Millicent 
 ought to write, too." 
 
 Millicent shuddered prettily. She was dimly conscious 
 that ber handwriting — of an exaggerated size, executed with 
 a special broad-pointed pen purchasable in only one shop in 
 Regent Street — was not quite likely to meet with his ap- 
 proval. A letter written thus — two words to a line — on 
 note-paper that would have been vulgar had it not been so 
 very novel, was sure to incur prejudice before it was fully 
 unfolded by a stuffy, old-fashioned person. 
 
 "I will try," she said; "but you know, auntie dear, I 
 cannot write a long explanatory letter. There never seems
 
 264 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 to be time, does there? Besides, I am afraid Sir John dis- 
 approves of me. I don't know why; I'm sure I have tried" 
 — which was perfectly true. 
 
 Even funerals and lovers must bow to meal-times, and 
 Jack Meredith was not the man to outstay his welcome. 
 He saw Lady Cantourne glance at the clock. Clever 
 as she was, she could not do it without being seen by 
 him. 
 
 So he took his leave, and Millicent went to the head of 
 the stairs with him. 
 
 He refused the pressing invitation of a hansom-cabman, 
 and proceeded to walk leisurely home to his rooms. Per- 
 haps he was wondering why his heart was not brimming 
 over with joy. The human heart has a singular way of see- 
 ing further than its astute friend and coadjutor, the brain. 
 It sometimes refuses to be filled with glee when outward 
 circumstances most distinctly demand that state. And at 
 other times, when outward things are strong, not to say 
 opaque, the heart is joyful, and we know not why. 
 
 Jack Meredith knew that he was the luckiest man in Lon- 
 don. He was rich, in good health, and he was engaged to 
 be married to Millicent Chyne, the acknowledged belle of 
 his circle. She had in no way changed. She was just as 
 pretty, as fascinating, as gay as ever; and something told 
 him that she loved him — something which had not been 
 there before he went away, something that had come when 
 the overweening vanity of youth went. And it was just 
 this knowledge to which he clung with a nervous mental 
 grip. He did not feel elated as he should ; he was aware 
 of that, and he could not account for it. But Millicent 
 loved him, so it must be all right. He had always cared 
 for Millicent. Everything had been done in order that he 
 might marry her — the quarrel with his father, the finding 
 of the Simiacine, the determination to get well which had 
 saved his life — all this so that he might marry Millicent. 
 And now he was going to marry her, and it must be all
 
 NO COMPROMISE 265 
 
 right. Perhaps, as men get older, the effervescent elation 
 of youth leaves them ; but they are none the less happy. 
 That must be it. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 NO COMPROMISE 
 
 "Where he fixed his heart he set his hand 
 To do the thing he willed." 
 
 "My dear Sir John, — It is useless my pretending to ignore your 
 views respecting Jack's marriage to Millicent; and I therefore take 
 up my pen with regret to inform you that the two young people have 
 now decided to make public their engagement. Moreover, I imagine 
 it is their intention to get married very soon. You and I have been 
 friends through a longer spell of years than many lives and most 
 friendships extend, and at the risk of being considered inconsequent I 
 must pause to thank you — well — to thank you for having been so true 
 a friend to me all through my life. If that life were given to me to 
 begin again, I should like to retrace the years back to a point when — 
 little more than a child — I yielded to influence and made a great mis- 
 take. I should like to begin my life over again from there. When you 
 first signified your disapproval of Millicent as a wife for Jack, I con- 
 fess I was a little nettled; but on the strength of the friendship to 
 which I have referred I must ask you to believe that never from the 
 moment that I learned your opinion have I by thought or action gone 
 counter to it. This marriage is none of my doing. Jack is too good 
 for her — I see that now. You are wiser than I — you always have 
 been. If any word of mine can alleviate your distress at this unwel- 
 come event, let it be that I am certain that Millicent has the right feel- 
 ing for your boy ; and from this knowledge I cannot but gather great 
 hopes. All may yet come to your satisfaction. Millicent is young, and 
 perhaps a little volatile, but Jack inherits your strength of character ; 
 he may mould her to better things than either you or I dream of. I 
 hope sincerely that it may be so. If I have appeared passive in this 
 matter it is not because I have been indifferent ; but I know that my 
 yea or nay could carry no weight. 
 
 " Your old friend, 
 
 " Caroline Cantourne."
 
 266 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 This letter reached Sir John Meredith while he was wait- 
 ing for the announcement that dinner was ready. The an- 
 nouncement arrived immediately afterwards, but ho did not 
 go down to dinner until he had read the letter. He fumbled 
 for his newly-purchased eye-glasses, because Lady Can- 
 tourne's handwriting was somewhat thin and spidery, as be- 
 hooved a lady of standing; also the gas was so damned bad. 
 He used this expression somewhat freely, and usually put a 
 " Sir " after it as his father had done before him. 
 
 His eyes grew rather fierce as he read ; then they sudden- 
 ly softened, and he threw back his shoulders as he had done 
 a thousand times on the threshold of Lady Cantourne's 
 drawing-room. He read the whole letter very carefully and 
 gravely, as if all that the writer had to say was worthy of 
 his most respectful attention. Then he folded the paper 
 and placed it in the breast-pocket of his coat. He looked a 
 little bowed and strangely old as he stood for a moment on 
 the hearth-rug thinking. It was his practice to stand thus 
 on the hearth-rug from the time that he entered the drawing- 
 room, dressed, until the announcement of dinner; and the 
 cook far below in the basement was conscious of the atti- 
 tude of the master as the pointer of the clock approached 
 the hour. 
 
 Of late Sir John had felt a singular desire to sit down 
 whenever opportunity should offer; but he had always been 
 found standing on the hearth-rug by the butler, and, hard old 
 aristocrat that he was, he would not yield to the somewhat 
 angular blandishments of the stiff-backed chair. 
 
 He stood for a few moments with his back to the 
 smouldering fire, and, being quite alone, he perhaps forgot 
 to stiffen his neck; for his head drooped, his lips were un- 
 steady. He was a very old man. 
 
 A few minutes later, when he strode into the dining- 
 room where butler and footman awaited him, he was erect, 
 imperturbable, impenetrable. 
 
 At dinner it was evident that his keen brain was hard at
 
 NO COMPROMISE 267 
 
 work. He forgot one or two of the formalities which were 
 religiously observed at that solitary table. He hastened 
 over his wine, and then he went to the library. There he 
 wrote a telegram, slowly, in his firm, ornamental hand- 
 writing. 
 
 It was addressed to " Gordon, Loango," and the gist of 
 it was — " Wire whereabouts of Oscard — when he may be 
 expected home." 
 
 The footman was despatched in a hansom-cab, with in- 
 structions to take the telegram to the head office of the 
 Submarine Telegraph Company, and there to arrange pre- 
 payment of the reply. 
 
 " I rather expect Mr. Meredith," said Sir John to the 
 butler, who was trimming the library lamp while the foot- 
 man received his instructions. " Do not bring coffee until 
 he comes." 
 
 And Sir John was right. At half-past eight Jack arrived. 
 Sir John was awaiting him in the library, grimly sitting in 
 his high-backed chair, as carefully dressed as for a great re- 
 ception. 
 
 He rose when his son entered the room, and they shook 
 hands. There was a certain air of concentration about 
 both, as if they each intended to say more than they had 
 ever said before. The coffee was duly brought. This was 
 a revival of an old custom. In by-gone days Jack had fre- 
 quently come in thus, and they had taken coffee before 
 going together in Sir John's carriage to one of the great 
 social functions at which their presence was almost a ne- 
 cessity. Jack had always poured out the coffee — to-night 
 he did not offer to do so. 
 
 " I came," he said, suddenly, " to give you a piece of 
 news which I am afraid will not be very welcome." 
 
 Sir John bowed his head gravely. 
 
 " You need not temper it," he said, " to me." 
 
 " Millicent and I have decided to make our engagement 
 known," retorted Jack at once.
 
 268 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Sir John bowed again. To any one but his son his suave 
 acquiescence would have been maddening. 
 
 " I should have liked," continued Jack, " to have done it 
 with your consent." 
 
 ' Sir John winced. He sat upright in his chair and threw 
 back his shoulders. If Jack intended to continue in this 
 way, there would be difficulties to face. Father and son 
 were equally determined. Jack had proved too cunning a 
 pupil. The old aristocrat's own lessons were being turned 
 against him, and the younger man has, as it were, the light 
 of the future shining upon his game in such a case as this, 
 while the elder plays in the gathering gloom. 
 
 "You know," said Sir John, gravely, "that I am not 
 much given to altering my opinions. I do not say that 
 they are of any value ; but, such as they are, I usually hold 
 to them. When you did me the honor of mentioning this 
 matter to me last year, I gave you my opinion." 
 
 " And it has in no way altered ?" 
 
 " In no way. I have found no reason to alter it." 
 
 " Can you modify it ?" asked Jack, gently. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Not in any degree ?" 
 
 Jack drew a deep breath. 
 
 " No." 
 
 He emitted the breath slowly, making an effort so that it 
 did not take the form of a sigh. 
 
 "Will you, at all events, give me your reasons?" he 
 asked. " I am not a child." 
 
 Sir John fumbled at his lips — he glanced sharply at his 
 son. 
 
 " I think," he said, " that it would be advisable not to 
 ask them." 
 
 " I should like to know why you object to my marrying 
 Millicent," persisted Jack. 
 
 " Simply because I know a bad woman when I see her," 
 retorted Sir John, deliberately.
 
 NO COMPROMISE 269 
 
 Jack raised his eyebrows. He glanced towards the door, 
 as if contemplating leaving the room without further ado. 
 But he sat quite still. It was wonderful how little it hurt 
 him. It was more — it was significant. Sir John, who was 
 watching, saw the glance and guessed the meaning of it. 
 An iron self-control had been the first thing he had taught 
 Jack — years before, when he was in his first knickerbockers. 
 The lesson had not been forgotten. 
 
 " I am sorry you have said that," said the son. 
 
 " Just," continued the father, " as I know a good one." 
 
 He paused, and they were both thinking of the same 
 woman — Jocelyn Gordon. 
 
 Sir John had said his say about Millicent Chyne ; and his 
 son knew that that was the last word. She was a bad 
 woman. From that point he would never move. 
 
 " I think," said Jack, " that it is useless discussing that 
 point any longer." 
 
 " Quite. When do you intend getting married ?" 
 
 " As soon as possible." 
 
 "A mere question for the dress-maker ?" suggested Sir 
 John, suavely. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Sir John nodded gravely. 
 
 " Well," he said, " you are, as you say, no longer a child : 
 perhaps I forget that sometimes. If I do, I must ask you 
 to forgive me. I will not attempt to dissuade you. You 
 probably know your own affairs best — " 
 
 He paused, drawing his two hands slowly back on his 
 knees, looking into the fire as if his life were written there. 
 
 "At all events," he continued, "it has the initial recom- 
 mendation of a good motive. I imagine it is what is called 
 a love - match. I don't know much about such matters. 
 Your mother, my lamented wife, was an excellent woman — 
 too excellent, I take it, to be able to inspire the feeling in a 
 mere human being — perhaps the angels . . . she never in- 
 spired it in me, at all events. My own life has not been
 
 270 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 quite a success within this room ; outside it has been brill- 
 iant, active, full of excitement. Engineers know of machines 
 which will stay upright so long as the pace is kept* up ; some 
 of us are like that. I am not complaining. I have had no 
 worse a time than my neighbors, except that it has lasted 
 longer," 
 
 He leaned back suddenly in his chair with a strange little 
 laugh. Jack was leaning forward, listening with that respect 
 which he always accorded to his father. 
 
 " I imagine," went on Sir John, " that the novelists and 
 poets are not very far wrong. It seems that there is such a 
 thing as a humdrum happiness in marriage. I have seen 
 quite elderly people who seem still to take pleasure in each 
 other's society. With the example of my own life before 
 me, I wanted yours to be different. My motive was not en- 
 tirely bad. But perhaps you know your own affairs best. 
 What money have you ?" 
 
 Jack moved uneasily in his chair. 
 
 " I have completed the sale of the last consignment of 
 Simiacine," he began, categorically. " The demand for it 
 has increased. We have now sold two hundred thousand 
 pounds' worth in England and America. My share is about 
 sixty thousand pounds. I have invested most of that sum, 
 and my present income is a little over two thousand a year." 
 
 Sir John nodded gravely. 
 
 "I congratulate you," he said; "you have done wonder- 
 fully well. It is satisfactory in one way, in that it shows 
 that if a gentleman chooses to go into these commercial af- 
 fairs he can do as well as the bourgeoisie. It leads one to be- 
 lieve that English gentlemen are not degenerating so rapidly 
 as I am told the evening Radical newspapers demonstrate 
 for the trifling consideration of one half-penny. But " — he 
 paused with an expressive gesture of the hand — " I should 
 have preferred that this interesting truth had been proved 
 by the son of some one else." 
 
 "I think," replied Jack, "that our speculation hardly
 
 NO COMPROMISE 271 
 
 comes under the category of commerce. It was not money 
 that was at risk, but our own lives." 
 
 Sir John's eyes hardened. 
 
 "Adventure," he suggested, rather indistinctly, "travel 
 and adventure. There is a class of men one meets fre- 
 quently who do a little exploring and a great deal of talk- 
 ing. Faute de mieux, they do not hesitate to interest one 
 in the special pill to which they resort when indisposed, and 
 they are not above advertising a soap. You are not going 
 to write a book, I trust ?" 
 
 " No. It would hardly serve our purpose to write a 
 book." 
 
 " In what way ?" inquired Sir John. 
 
 " Our purpose is to conceal the whereabouts of the Simia- 
 cine Plateau." 
 
 " But you are not going back there?" exclaimed Sir John, 
 unguardedly. 
 
 " We certainly do not intend to abandon it." 
 
 Sir John leaned forward again, with his two hands open 
 on his knees, thinking deeply. 
 
 "A married man," he said, "could hardly reconcile it 
 with his conscience to undertake such a perilous expedition." 
 
 "No," replied Jack, with quiet significance. 
 
 Sir John gave a forced laugh. 
 
 " I see," he said, " that you have outwitted me. If I do 
 not give my consent to your marriage without further de- 
 lay, you will go back to Africa." 
 
 Jack bowed his head gravely. 
 
 There was a long silence, while the two men sat side by 
 side, gazing into the fire. 
 
 " I cannot afford to do that," said the father, at length ; 
 " I am getting too old to indulge in the luxury of pride. I 
 will attend your marriage. I will smile and say pretty 
 things to the bridesmaids. Before the world I will consent 
 under the condition that the ceremony does not take place 
 before two months from this date."
 
 272 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " I agree to that," put in Jack. 
 
 Sir John rose and stood on the hearth-rug, looking down 
 from his great height upon his son. 
 
 " But," he continued, " between us let it he understood 
 that I move in no degree from my original position. I 
 object to Millicent Cbyne as your wife. But I bow to the 
 force of circumstances. I admit that you have a perfect 
 right to marry whom you choose — in two months' time." 
 
 So Jack took his leave. 
 
 " In two months' time," repeated Sir John, when he was 
 alone, with one of his twisted, cynic smiles — " in two months' 
 time — qui vivra verra" 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 FOUL PLAY 
 
 "Oh, fairest of creation, last and best 
 Of all God's works!" 
 
 For one or two days after the public announcement of 
 her engagement Millicent was not quite free from care. 
 She rather dreaded the posts. It was not that she feared 
 one letter in particular, but the postman's disquietingly ur- 
 gent rap caused her a vague uneasiness many times a day. 
 
 Sir John's reply to her appealing little letter came short 
 and sharp. She showed it to no one. 
 
 " My dear Miss Chyne, — I hasten to reply to your kind letter of 
 to-day announcing your approaching marriage with my son. There 
 are a certain number of trinkets which have always been handed on 
 from generation to generation. I will at once have these cleaned by 
 the jeweller, in order that they may be presented to you immediately 
 after the ceremony. Allow me to urge upon you the advisability of 
 drawing up and signing a pre-nuptial marriage settlement. 
 
 " Yours sincerely, John Meredith."
 
 FOUL PLAY 273 
 
 Millicent bit her pretty lip when she perused this note. 
 She made two comments, at a considerable interval of time. 
 
 " Stupid old thing !" was the first ; and then, after a pause, 
 " I hope they are all diamonds." 
 
 Close upon the heels of this letter followed a host of oth- 
 ers. There was the gushing, fervent letter of the friend 
 whose joy was not marred by the knowledge that a wed- 
 ding present must necessarily follow. Those >among one's 
 friends who are not called upon to offer a more substantial 
 token of joy than a letter are always the most keenly pleased 
 to hear the news of an engagement. There was the sober 
 sheet (crossed) from the elderly relative living in the coun- 
 try, who, never having been married herself, takes the op- 
 portunity of giving four pages of advice to one about to 
 enter that parlous state. There was the fatherly letter from 
 the country rector who christened Millicent, and thinks that 
 he may be asked to marry her in a fashionable London church 
 — and so to a bishopric. On heavily-crested stationery fol- 
 low the missives of the ladies whose daughters would make 
 sweet bridesmaids. Also the hearty congratulations of the 
 slight acquaintance, who is going to Egypt for the winter, 
 and being desirous of letting her house without having to 
 pay one of those horrid agents, "sees no harm in mention- 
 ing it." The house being most singularly suitable for a 
 young married couple. Besides these, the thousand and 
 one who wished to be invited to the wedding; in order to 
 taste cake and champagne at the time, and thereafter the 
 sweeter glory of seeing their names in the fashionable news. 
 
 All these Millicent read with little interest, and answered 
 in that conveniently large caligraphy which made three lines 
 look like a note and magnified a note into a four-page letter. 
 The dress-makers' circulars — the tradesmen's illustrated cat- 
 alogues of things she could not possibly want, and the jew- 
 ellers' delicate photographs interested her a thousand times 
 more. But even these did not satisfy her. All these people 
 were glad — most of them were delighted. Millicent wanted
 
 274 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 to hear from those who were not delighted, nor even pleased, 
 but in despair. She wanted to hear more of the broken- 
 hearts. But somehow the broken-hearts were silent. Could 
 it be that they did not care? Could it be that they were 
 only flirting? She dismissed these silly questions with the 
 promptness which they deserved. It was useless to think 
 of it in that way — more useless, perhaps, than she suspect- 
 ed ; for she was not deep enough nor observant enough to 
 know that the broken-hearts in question had been much 
 more influenced by the suspicion that she cared for them 
 than by the thought that they cared for her. She did not 
 know the lamentable, vulgar fact that any woman can be a 
 flirt if she only degrade her womanhood to flattery. Men 
 do not want to love so much as to be loved. Such is, more- 
 over, their sublime vanity that they are ready to believe any 
 one who tells them, however subtly — mesdames, you cannot 
 be too subtle for a man's vanity to find your meaning — that 
 they are not as other men. 
 
 To the commonplace observer it would, therefore, appear 
 (erroneously, no doubt) that the broken-hearts, having been 
 practically assured that Millicent Chyne did not care for 
 them, promptly made the discovery that the lack of feeling 
 was reciprocal. But Millicent did not, of course, adopt this 
 theory. She knew better. She only wondered why several 
 young men did not communicate, and she was slightly un- 
 easy lest in their anger they should do or say something 
 indiscreet. 
 
 There was no reason why the young people should wait. 
 And when there is no reason why the young people should 
 wait, there is every reason why they should not do so. 
 Thus it came about that in a week or so Millicent was en- 
 gaged in the happiest pursuit of her life. She was buying 
 clothes without a thought of money. The full joy of the 
 trousseau was hers. The wives of her guardians having 
 been morally bought, dirt cheap, at the price of an antici- 
 patory invitation to the wedding, those elderly gentlemen
 
 FOUL PLAY 275 
 
 were with little difficulty won over to a pretty little fem- 
 ininely vague scheme of withdrawing just a little of the cap- 
 ital — said capital to be spent in the purchase of a really good 
 trousseau, you know. The word " good " emanating from 
 such a source must, of course, be read as " novel," which in 
 some circles means the same thing. 
 
 Millicent entered into the thing in the right spirit. What- 
 ever the future might hold for her — and she trusted that it 
 might be full of millinery — she was determined to enjoy the 
 living present to its utmost. Her life at this time was a 
 whirl of excitement — excitement of the keenest order 1 — 
 namely, trying on. 
 
 " You do not know what it is," she said, with a happy 
 little sigh, to those among her friends who probably never 
 would, "to stand the whole day long being pinned into 
 linings by Madame Videpoche." 
 
 And, despite the sigh, she did it with an angelic sweetness 
 of temper which quite touched the heart of Madame Vide- 
 poche, while making no difference in the bill. 
 
 Lady Cantourne would not have been human had she as- 
 sumed the neutral in this important matter. She frankly 
 enjoyed it all immensely. 
 
 "You know, Sir John," she said in confidence to him one 
 day at Hurlingham, "I have always dressed Millicent." 
 
 " You need not tell me that," he interrupted, gracefully. 
 " On ne peut s'y tromper." 
 
 "And," she went on, almost apologetically, "whatever 
 my own feelings on the subject may be, I cannot abandon 
 her now. The world expects much from Millicent Chyne. 
 I have taught it to do so. It will expect more from Milli- 
 cent — Meredith." 
 
 The old gentleman bowed in his formal way. 
 
 " And the world must not be disappointed," he suggest- 
 ed, cynically. 
 
 " No," she answered, with an energetic little nod, " it 
 must not. That is the way to manage the world. Give it
 
 276 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 what it expects; and just a little more, to keep its attention 
 fixed." 
 
 Sir John tapped with his gloved finger pensively on the 
 knob of his silver-mounted cane. 
 
 " And may I ask your ladyship," he inquired, suavely, 
 " what the world expects of me ?" 
 
 He knew her well enough to know that she never made 
 use of the method epigrammatic without good reason. 
 
 " A diamond crescent," she answered, stoutly. " The 
 fashion-papers must be able to write about the gift of the 
 bridegroom's father." 
 
 " Ah — and they prefer a diamond crescent ?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Lady Cantourne. " That always seems 
 to satisfy them." 
 
 He bowed gravely, and continued to watch the polo with 
 that marvellously youthful interest which was his. 
 
 "Does the world expect anything else?" he asked, pres- 
 ently. 
 
 " No, I think not," replied Lady Cantourne, with a bright 
 little absent smile. " Not just now." 
 
 " Will you tell me if it does ?" 
 
 He had risen ; for there were other great ladies on the 
 ground to whom he must pay his old-fashioned respects. 
 
 "Certainly," she answered, looking up at him. 
 
 "I should deem it a favor," he continued. " If the world 
 does not get what it expects, I imagine it will begin to in- 
 quire why ; and if it cannot find reasons it will make them." 
 
 In due course the diamond crescent arrived. 
 
 "It is rather nice of the old thing," was Millicent's com- 
 ment. She held the jewel, at various angles in various 
 lights. There was no doubt that this was the handsomest 
 present she had received — sent direct from the jeweller's 
 shop with an uncompromising card inside the case. She 
 never saw the irony of it ; but Sir John had probably not 
 expected that she would. He enjoyed it alone — as he en' 
 joyed or endured most things.
 
 FOUL PLAY 277 
 
 Lady Cantourne examined it with some curiosity. 
 
 " I have never seen such beautiful diamonds," she said, 
 simply. 
 
 There were other presents to be opened and examined. 
 For the invitations had not been sent out, and many were 
 willing to pay handsomely for the privilege of being men- 
 tioned among the guests. It is, one finds, after the invita- 
 tions have been issued that the presents begin to fall off. 
 
 But on this particular morning the other presents fell on 
 barren ground. Millicent only half -heeded them. She 
 could not lay the diamond crescent finally aside. Some 
 people have the power of imparting a little piece of their 
 individuality to their letters, and even to a commonplace 
 gift. Sir John was beginning to have this power over Mil- 
 licent. She was rapidly falling into a stupid habit of feel- 
 ing uneasy whenever she thought of him. She was vaguely 
 alarmed at his uncompromising adherence to the position 
 he had assumed. She had never failed yet to work her will 
 with men — young and old — by a pretty persistence, a steady 
 flattery, a subtle pleading manner. But Sir John had met 
 all her wiles with his adamantine smile. He would not 
 openly declare himself an enemy — which she argued to her- 
 self would have been much nicer of him. He was merely 
 a friend of her aunt's, and from that contemplative posi- 
 tion he never stepped down. She could not quite make out 
 what he was " driving at," as she herself put it. He never 
 found fault, but she knew that his disapproval of her was 
 the result of long and careful study. Perhaps in her heart 
 — despite all her contradictory arguments — she knew that 
 he was right. 
 
 " I wonder," she said, half aloud, taking up the crescent 
 again, " why he sent it to me?" 
 
 Lady Cantourne, who was writing letters at a terrible 
 rate, glanced sharply up. She was beginning to be aware 
 of Millicent's unspoken fear of Sir John. Moreover, she 
 was clever enough to connect it with her niece's daily in-
 
 278 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 creasing love for the man who was soon to be her hus- 
 band. 
 
 " Well," she answered, " I should be rather surprised if 
 he gave you nothing." 
 
 There was a little pause, only broken by the scratching 
 of Lady Cantourne's quill pen. 
 
 " Auntie !" exclaimed the girl, suddenly, " why does he 
 hate me ? You have known him all your life — you must 
 know why he hates me so." 
 
 Lady Cantourne shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " I suppose," went on Millicent, with singular heat, " that 
 some one has been telling him things about me — horrid 
 things — false things — that I am a flirt, or something like 
 that. I am sure I'm not." 
 
 Lady Cantourne was addressing an envelope, and did not 
 make any reply. 
 
 "Has he said anything to you, Aunt Caroline?" asked 
 Millicent, in an aggrieved voice. 
 
 Lady Cantourne laid aside her letter. 
 
 "No," she answered, slowly; "but I suppose there are 
 things which he does not understand." 
 
 "Things?" 
 
 Her ladyship looked up steadily. 
 
 " Guy Oscard, for instance," she said ; " I don't quite un- 
 derstand Guy Oscard, Millicent." 
 
 The girl turned away impatiently. She was keenly alive 
 to the advantage of turning her face away. For in her 
 pocket she had at that moment a letter from Guy Oscard — 
 the last relic of the old excitement which was so dear to 
 her, and which she was already beginning to miss. Joseph 
 had posted this letter in Msala nearly two months before. 
 It had travelled down from the Simiacine Plateau with 
 others, in a parcel beneath the mattress of Jack Meredith's 
 iitter. It was a letter written in good faith by an honest, 
 devoted man to the woman whom he looked upon already 
 as almost his wife — a letter which no man need have been
 
 THE ACCURSED CAMP 279 
 
 ashamed of writing, but which a woman ought not to have 
 read unless she intended to be the writer's wife. 
 
 Milliceut had read this letter more than once. She liked 
 it because it was evidently sincere. The man's heart could 
 be heard beating in every line of it. Moreover, she had 
 made inquiries that very morning at the post-office about 
 the African mail. She wanted the excitement of another 
 letter like that. 
 
 " Oh, Guy Oscard I" she replied, innocently, to Lady Can- 
 tourne ; "that was nothing." 
 
 Lady Cantourne kept silence, and presently she returned 
 to her letters. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 THE ACCURSED CAMP 
 
 " Here — judge if hell, with all its power to damn, 
 Can add one curse to tbe foul thing I am." 
 
 There are some places in the world where a curse seems 
 to brood in the atmosphere. Msala was one of these. Per- 
 haps these places are accursed by the deeds that have been 
 done there. Who can tell ? 
 
 Could the trees — the two gigantic palms that stood by 
 the river's edge — could these have spoken, they might per- 
 haps have told the tale of this little inland station in that 
 country where, as the founder of the hamlet was in the 
 habit of saying, no one knows what is going on. 
 
 All went well with the retreating column until they were 
 almost in sight of Msala, when the flotilla was attacked by 
 no less than three hippopotamuses. One canoe was sunk, 
 and four others were so badly damaged that they could not 
 be kept afloat with their proper complement of men. There
 
 280 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 was nothing for it but to establish a camp at Msala, and 
 wait there until the builders had repaired the damaged 
 canoes. 
 
 The walls of Durnovo's house were still standing, and 
 here Guy Oscard established himself with as much comfort 
 as circumstances allowed. He caused a temporary roof of 
 palm-leaves to be laid on the charred beams, and within 
 the principal room — the very room where the three organiz- 
 ers of the great Simiacine scheme had first laid their plans 
 — he set up his simple camp furniture. 
 
 Oscard was too great a traveller, too experienced a wan- 
 derer, to be put out of temper by this enforced rest. The 
 men had worked very well hitherto. It had, in its way, 
 been a great feat of generalship, this leading through a 
 wild country of men uuprepared for travel, scantily pro- 
 visioned, disorganized by recent events. No accident had 
 happened, no serious delay had been incurred, although the 
 rate of progress had necessarily been very slow. Nearly six 
 weeks had elapsed since Oscard with his little following had 
 turned their backs forever on the Simiacine Plateau. But 
 now the period of acute danger had passed away. They 
 had almost reached civilization. Oscard was content. 
 
 "When Oscard was content he smoked a slower pipe than 
 usual — watching each cloud of smoke vanish into thin air. 
 He was smoking very slowly, this, the third evening of 
 their encampment at Msala. There had been heavy rain 
 during the day, and the whole lifeless forest was dripping 
 with a continuous, ceaseless clatter of heavy drops- on tropic 
 foliage, with an amalgamated sound like a wide-spread whis- 
 per. 
 
 Oscard was sitting in the windowless room without a 
 light, for a light only attracted a myriad of heavy-winged 
 moths. He was seated before the long French window, 
 which, since the sash had gone, had been used as a door. 
 Before him in the glimmering light of the mystic Southern 
 Cross the great river crept unctuously, silently to the sea.
 
 THE ACCDRSED CAMP 281 
 
 It seemed to be stealing away surreptitiously while the 
 forest whispered of it. In its surface the reflection of the 
 great stars of the southern hemisphere ran into little streaks 
 of silver, shimmering awav into darkness. 
 
 All sound of human life was still. The natives were 
 asleep. In the next room, Joseph in his hammock was just 
 on the barrier between the waking and the sleeping life — as 
 soldiers learn to be. Oscard would not have needed to raise 
 his voice to call him to his side. 
 
 The leader of this hurried retreat bad been sitting there 
 for two hours. The slimy moving surface of the river had 
 entered into his brain ; the restless silence of the African 
 forest alone kept him awake. He hardly realized that the 
 sound momentarily gaining strength within his ears was 
 that of a paddle — a single, weakly irregular paddle. It 
 was not a sound to wake a sleeping man. It came so slow- 
 ly, so gently through the whisper of the dripping leaves 
 that it would enter into bis slumbers and make itself part 
 of them. 
 
 Guy Oscard only realized the meaning of that sound 
 when a black shadow crept on to the smooth evenness of 
 the river's breast. Oscard was eminently a man of action. 
 In a moment he was on his feet, and in the darkness of the 
 room there was the gleam of a rifle-barrel. He came back 
 to the window — watching. 
 
 He saw the canoe approach the bank. He heard the 
 thud of the paddle as it was thrown upon the ground. In 
 the gloom, to which his eyes were accustomed, he saw a 
 man step from the boat to the shore and draw the canoe up. 
 The silent midnight visitor then turned and walked up tow- 
 ards the house. There was something familiar in the gait 
 — the legs were slightly bowed. The man was walking 
 with great difficulty, staggering a little at each step. He 
 seemed to be in great pain. 
 
 Guy Oscard laid aside the rifle. He stepped forward to 
 the open window.
 
 282 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 "Is that you, Durnovo?" he said, without raising his 
 voice. 
 
 "Yes," replied the other. His voice was muffled, as if 
 his tongue were swollen, and there was a startling break 
 in it. 
 
 Oscard stepped aside, and Durnovo passed into his own 
 house. 
 
 "Got a light?" he said, in the same muffled way. 
 
 In the next room Joseph could be heard striking a match, 
 and a moment later he entered the room, throwing a flood 
 of light before him. 
 
 " Good God /" cried Guy Oscard. He stepped back as if 
 he had been struck, with his hand shielding his eyes. 
 
 " Save us !" ejaculated Joseph in the same breath. 
 
 The thing that stood there — sickening their gaze — was 
 not a human being at all. Take a man's eyelids away, 
 leaving the round balls staring, blood-streaked ; cut away his 
 lips, leaving the grinning teeth and red gums; shear off his 
 ears — that which is left is not a man at all. This bad been 
 done to Victor Durnovo. Truly the vengeance of man is 
 crueller than the vengeance of God ! 
 
 Could he have seen himself, Victor Durnovo would never 
 have shown that face — or what remained of it — to a human 
 being. He could only have killed himself. Who can tell 
 what cruelties had been paid for, piece by piece, in this 
 loathsome mutilation? The slaves had wreaked their ter- 
 rible vengeance ; but the greatest, the deepest, the most in- 
 human cruelty was in letting him go. 
 
 "They've made a pretty mess of me," said Durnovo, in a 
 sickening, lifeless voice — and he stood there, with a terrible 
 caricature of a grin. 
 
 Joseph set down the lamp with a groan, and went back 
 into the dark room beyond, where he cast himself upon the 
 ground and buried his face in his hands. 
 
 " O Lord !" he muttered. " O God in heaven— kill it, 
 kill it 1"
 
 THE ACCURSED CAMP 283 
 
 Guy Oscard never attempted to run away from it. He stood 
 slowly gulping down his nauseating horror. His teeth were 
 clinched ; his face, through the sunburn, livid ; the blue of 
 his eyes seemed to have faded into an ashen gray. The 
 sight he was looking on would have sent three men out of 
 five into gibbering idiocy. 
 
 Then at last he moved forward. With averted eyes he 
 took Durnovo by the arm. 
 
 " Come," he said, " lie down upon my bed. I will try 
 and help you. Can you take some food ?" 
 
 Durnovo threw himself down heavily on the bed. There 
 was a punishment sufficient to expiate all his sins in the 
 effort he saw that Guy Oscard had had to make before he 
 touched him. He turned his face away. 
 
 " I haven't eaten anything for twenty-four hours," he 
 said, with a whistling intonation. 
 
 "Joseph," said Oscard, returning to the door of the inner 
 room — his voice sounded different, there was a metallic ring 
 in it — " get something for Mr. Durnovo — some soup or 
 something." 
 
 Joseph obeyed, shaking as if ague were in his bones. 
 
 Oscard administered the soup. He tended Durnovo with 
 all the gentleness of a woman, and a fortitude that was 
 above the fortitude of men. Despite himself his hands 
 trembled — big and strong as they were ; his whole being 
 was contracted with horror and pain. Whatever Victor 
 Durnovo had been, he was now an object of such pity that 
 before it all possible human sins faded into spotlessness. 
 There was no crime in all that human nature has found to 
 commit for which such cruelty as this would be justly meted 
 out in punishment. 
 
 Durnovo spoke from time to time, but he could see the 
 effect that his hissing speech had upon his companion, and 
 in time he gave it up. He told haltingly of the horrors of 
 the Simiacine Plateau — of the last grim tragedy acted there 
 •■— how at last, blinded with his blood, maimed, stupefied by
 
 284 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 agony, he had been hounded down the slope by a yelling, 
 laughing horde of torturers. 
 
 There was not much to be done, and presently Guy 
 Oscard moved away to his camp-chair, where he sat staring 
 into the night. Sleep was impossible. Strong, hardened, 
 weather-beaten man that he was, his nerves were all a-tingle, 
 his flesh creeping and jumping with horror. Gradually he 
 collected his faculties enough to begin to think about the 
 future. What was be to do with this man ? He could not 
 take him to Loango. He could not risk that Jocelyn or 
 even Maurice Gordon should look upon this horror. 
 
 Joseph had crept back into the inner room, where he had 
 no light, and could be heard breathing hard, wide awake in 
 his hammock. 
 
 Suddenly the silence was broken by a loud cry : 
 
 "Oscard! Oscard!" 
 
 In a moment Joseph and Oscard were at the bedside. 
 
 Durnovo was sitting up, and he grabbed at Oscard's 
 arms. 
 
 " For God's sake !" he cried. " For God's sake, man, 
 don't let me go to sleep !" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" asked Oscard. They both thought 
 that he had gone mad. Sleep had nothing more to do with 
 Durnovo's eyes — protruding, staring, terrible to look at. 
 
 "Don't let me go to sleep," he repeated. "Don't! 
 Don't!" 
 
 " All right," said Oscard, soothingly — " all right. We'll 
 look after you." 
 
 He fell back on the bed. In the flickering light his eye- 
 balls gleamed. 
 
 Then, quite suddenly, he rose to a sitting position again 
 with a wild effort. 
 
 " I've got it ! I've got it !" he cried. 
 
 "Got what?" 
 
 " The sleeping sickness I" 
 
 The two listeners knew of this strange disease. Oscard
 
 THE ACCURSED CAMP 285 
 
 had seen a whole village devastated bv it, the habitants 
 lying about their own doors, stricken down by a deadly 
 sleep, from which they never woke. It is known on the 
 West Coast of Africa, and the cure for it is unknown. 
 
 " Hold me !" cried Durnovo. " Don't let me sleep!" 
 
 His head fell forward even as he spoke, and the staring, 
 wide-open eyes that could uot sleep made a horror of him. 
 
 Oscard took him by the arms, and held hira in a sitting 
 position. Durnovo's fingers were clutching at his sleeve. 
 
 " Shake me ! God ! shake me !" 
 
 Then Oscard took him in his strong arms and set him on 
 his feet. He shook him gently at first, but as the dread 
 somnolence crept on he shook harder, until the mutilated 
 inhuman head rolled upon the shoulders. 
 
 " It's a sin to let that man live," exclaimed Joseph, turn- 
 ing away in horror. 
 
 " It's a sin to let any man die," replied Oscard, and with 
 his great strength he shook Durnovo like a garment. 
 
 And so Victor Durnovo died. His stained soul left his 
 body in Guy Oscard's hands, and the big Englishman shook 
 the corpse, trying to awake it from that sleep which knows 
 no earthly waking. 
 
 So, after all, Heaven stepped in and laid its softening 
 hand on the judgment of men. But there was a strange 
 irony in the mode of death. It was strange that this man, 
 who never could have closed his eyes again, should have 
 been stricken down by the sleeping jickness. 
 
 They laid the body on the floor, and covered the face, 
 which was less grewsome in death, for the pity of the eyes 
 had given place to peace. 
 
 The morning light, bursting suddenly through the trees as 
 it does in Equatorial Africa, showed the room set in order 
 and Guy Oscard sleeping in his camp-chair. Behind him, 
 on the floor, lay the form of Victor Durnovo. Joseph, less 
 iron-nerved than the great big-game hunter, was awake and 
 sstir with the dawn. He, too, was calmer now. He had
 
 286 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 seen death face to face too often to be appalled by it in 
 broad daylight. 
 
 So they buried Victor Durnovo between the two giant 
 palms at Msala, with his feet turned towards the river 
 which he had made his, as if ready to arise when the call 
 comes and undertake one of those marvellous journeys of 
 his which are yet a household word on the West Coast. 
 
 The cloth fluttered as they lowered him into his narrow 
 resting-place, and the face they covered had a strange mystic 
 grin, as if he saw something that they could not perceive. 
 Perhaps he did. Perhaps he saw the Simiacine Plateau, and 
 knew that, after all, he had won the last throw ; for up 
 there, far above the table-lands of Central Africa, there lay 
 beneath high heaven a charnel-house. Hounded down the 
 slope by his tormentors, he had left a memento behind him 
 surer than their torturing knives, keener than their sharpest 
 steel — he had left the sleeping sickness behind him. 
 
 His last journey had been worthy of his reputation. In 
 twenty days he had covered the distance between the 
 Plateau and Msala, stumbling on alone, blinded, wounded, 
 sore-stricken, through a thousand daily valleys of death. 
 With wonderful endurance he had paddled night and day 
 down the sleek river without rest, with the dread microbe 
 of the sleeping sickness slowly creeping through his veins. 
 
 He had lived in dread of this disease, as men do of a 
 sickness which clutches them at last; but when it came he 
 did not recognize it. He was so racked by pain that he 
 never recognized the symptoms', he was so panic-stricken, 
 so paralyzed by the nameless fear that lay behind him, that 
 he could only think of pressing forward. In the night 
 hours he would suddenly rise from his precarious bed under 
 the shadow of a fallen tree and stagger on, haunted by a 
 picture of his ruthless foes pressing through the jungle in 
 pursuit. Thus he accomplished his wonderful journey alone 
 through trackless forests; thus he fended off the sickness 
 which gripped him the moment that he laid him down to rest.
 
 THE EXTENUATING CIRCUMSTANCE 287 
 
 He had left it — a grim legacy — to his torturers, and be- 
 fore he reached the river all was still on the Simiaciue 
 Plateau. 
 
 And so we leave Victor Durnovo. His sins are buried 
 with him, and beneath the giant palms at Msala lies Maurice 
 Gordon's secret. 
 
 And so we leave Msala, the accursed camp. Far up the 
 Ogowe River, on the left bank, the giant palms still stand 
 sentry, and beneath their shade the crumbling walls of a 
 cursed house are slowly disappearing beneath luxuriant 
 growths of grass and brushwood. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 THE EXTENUATING CIRCUMSTANCE 
 
 "Yet I think at God's tribunal 
 Some large answer you shall hear." 
 
 In a dimly-lighted room in the bungalow at Loango two 
 women had been astir all night. Now, as dawn approached, 
 one of them, worn out with watching, wearied with that 
 blessed fatigue of anxiety which dulls the senses, had laid 
 her down on the curtain-covered bed to sleep. 
 
 While Marie slept Jocelyn Gordon walked softly back- 
 ward and forward with Nestorius in her arms. Nestorius 
 was probably dying. He lay in the Englishwoman's gentle 
 arms — a little brown bundle of flexible limbs and cotton 
 night-shirt. It was terribly hot. All day the rain had been 
 pending; all night it had held off until the whole earth 
 seemed to pulsate with the desire for relief. Jocelyn kept 
 moving so that the changing air wafted over the little bare 
 limbs might allay the fever. She was in evening dress, 
 having, indeed, been called from the drawing-room by
 
 288 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Marie; and the child's woolly black head was pressed 
 against her breast as if to seek relief from the inward press- 
 ure on the awakening brain. 
 
 A missionary possessing some small knowledge of medi- 
 cine had been with them until midnight, and, having done 
 his best, had gone away leaving the child to the two women. 
 Maurice had been in twice, clumsily, on tiptoe, to look 
 with ill-concealed awe at the child, and to whisper hopes to 
 Marie which displayed a ludicrous, if lamentable, ignorance 
 of what he was talking about. 
 
 " Little chap's better," he said ; " I'm sure of it. See, 
 Marie, his eyes are brighter. Devilish hot, though, isn't he 
 — poor little soul ?" 
 
 Then he stood about, awkwardly sympathetic. 
 
 "Anything I can do for you, Jocelyn ?" he asked, and 
 then departed, only too pleased to get away from the impend- 
 ing calamity. 
 
 Marie was not emotional. She seemed to have left all 
 emotion behind, in some other phase of her life which was 
 shut off from the present by a thick curtain. She was 
 patient and calm, but she was not so clever with the child 
 as was Jocelyn. Perhaps her greater experience acted as a 
 handicap in her execution of those small offices to the sick 
 which may be rendered useless at any moment. Perhaps 
 she knew that Nestorius was wanted elsewhere. Or it may 
 only have been that Jocelyn was able to soothe him sooner, 
 because there is an unwritten law that those who love us 
 best are not always the best nurses for us. 
 
 When, at last, sleep came to the child, it was in Jocelyn's 
 arms that he lay with that utter abandonment of pose 
 which makes a sleeping infant and a sleeping kitten more 
 graceful than any living thing. Marie leaned over Nesto- 
 rius until her dusky cheek almost touched Jocelyn's fair 
 English one. 
 
 " He is asleep," she whispered. 
 
 And her great dark eyes probed Jocelyn's face as if
 
 THE EXTENUATING CIRCUMSTANCE 289 
 
 wondering whether her arms, bearing that burden, told her 
 that this was the last sleep. 
 
 Jocelyn nodded gravely, and continued the gentle sway- 
 ing motion affected by women under such circumstances. 
 
 Nestorius continued to sleep, and at last Marie, overcome 
 by sleep herself, lay down on her bed. 
 
 Thus it came about that the dawn found Jocelyn moving 
 softly in the room, with Nestorius asleep in her arms. A 
 pink light came creeping through the trees, presently turn- 
 ing to a golden yellow, and, behold ! it was light. It was a 
 little cooler, for the sea-breeze had set in. The cool air 
 from the surface of the water was rushing inland to supply 
 the place of the heated atmosphere rising towards the sun. 
 With the breeze came the increased murmur of the distant 
 surf. The dull continuous sound seemed to live amid the 
 summits of the trees far above the low-built house. It rose 
 and fell with a long-drawn, rhythmic swing. Already the 
 sounds of life were mingling with it — the low of a cow, 
 the crowing of the cocks, the hum of the noisier daylight 
 insect-life. 
 
 Jocelyn moved to the window, and her heart suddenly 
 leaped to her throat. 
 
 On the brown turf in front of the house were two men, 
 stretched side by side, as if other hands had laid them 
 there dead. One man was much bigger than the other. 
 He was of exceptional stature. Jocelyn recognized them al- 
 most immediately — Guy Oscard and Joseph. They had ar- 
 rived during the night, and, not wishing to disturb the 
 sleeping household, had lain them down in the front garden 
 to sleep with a quiet conscience beneath the stars. The 
 action was so startlingly characteristic, so suggestive of the 
 primeval, simple man whom Oscard represented as one born 
 out of time, that Jocelyn laughed suddenly. 
 
 While she was still at the window, Marie rose and came 
 to her side. Nestorius was still sleeping. Following the di- 
 rection of her mistress's eyes, Marie saw the two men. Jo-
 
 290 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 seph was sleeping on his face, after the manner of Thomas 
 Atkins all the world over. Guy Oscard lay on his side, with 
 his head on his arm. 
 
 " That is so like Guy Oscard," said Marie, with her pa- 
 tient smile, " so like — so like. It could be no other man — 
 to do a thing like that." 
 
 Jocelyn gave Nestorius back to his mother, and the two 
 women stood for a moment looking out at the sleepers, 
 little knowing what the advent of these two men brought 
 with it for one of them. Then the Englishwoman went to 
 change her dress, awaking her brother as she passed his 
 room. 
 
 It was not long before Maurice Gordon bad hospitably 
 awakened the travellers and brought them in to change 
 their torn and ragged clothes for something more presenta- 
 ble. It would appear that Nestorius was not particular. 
 He did not mind dying on the kitchen table if need were. 
 His mother deposited him on this table on a pillow, while 
 she prepared the breakfast with that patient resignation 
 which seemed to emanate from having tasted of the worst 
 that the world has to give. 
 
 Joseph was ready the first, and he promptly repaired to 
 the kitchen, where he set to work to help Marie, with his 
 customary energy. 
 
 It was Marie who first perceived a difference in Nestorius. 
 His dusky little face was shining with a sudden, weakening 
 perspiration, his limbs lay lifelessly, with a lack of their 
 usual comfortable-looking grace. 
 
 " Go !" she said, quickly. " Fetch Miss Gordon !" 
 
 Jocelyn came, and Maurice and Guy Oscard ; for they 
 had been together in the dining-room when Joseph delivered 
 Marie's message. 
 
 Nestorius was wide awake now. When he saw Oscard 
 his small face suddenly expanded into a brilliant grin. 
 
 " Bad case !" he said. 
 
 It was rather startling, until Marie spoke.
 
 THE EXTENUATING CIRCUMSTANCE 291 
 
 " He thinks you are Mr. Meredith," she said. " Mr. 
 Meredith taught him to say ' bad case.' " 
 
 Nestorius looked from one to the other with gravely 
 speculative eyes, which presently closed. 
 
 " He is dying — yes !" said the mother, looking at 
 Jocelyn. 
 
 Oscard knew more of this matter that any of them. He 
 went forward and leaned over the table. Marie removed a 
 piece of salted bacon that was lying on the table near to 
 the pillow. With the unconsciousness of long habit she 
 swept some crumbs away with her apron. Oscard was trying 
 to find the pulse in the tiny wrist, but there was not much 
 to find. 
 
 " I am afraid he is very ill," he said. 
 
 At this moment the kettle boiled over, and Marie had to 
 turn away to attend to her duties. 
 
 When she came back Oscard was looking, not at Nes- 
 torius, but at her. 
 
 " We spent four days at Msala," he said, in a tone that 
 meant that he had more to tell her. 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " The place is in ruins, as you know." 
 
 She nodded with a peculiar little twist of the lips as if 
 he were hurting her. 
 
 " And I am afraid I have some bad news for you. Victor 
 Durnovo, your master — " 
 
 " Yes— tell quickly !" 
 
 "He is dead. We buried him at Msala. He died — in 
 my arms." 
 
 At this moment Joseph gave a little gasp and turned 
 away to the window, where he stood with his broad back 
 turned towards them. Maurice Gordon, as white as death, 
 was leaning against the table. He quite forgot himself. 
 His lips were apart, his jaw had dropped ; he was hanging 
 breathlessly on Guy Oscard's next word. 
 
 " He died of the sleeping sickness," said Oscard. " We
 
 292 With edged tools 
 
 had come down to Msala before him — Joseph and I. I 
 broke up the partnership, and we left him in possession of 
 the Simiacine Plateau. But his men turned against him. 
 For some reason his authority over them failed. He was 
 obliged to make a dash for Msala, and he reached it, but 
 the sickness was upon him." 
 
 Maurice Gordon drew a sharp sigh of relief which was 
 almost a sob. Marie was standing with her two hands on 
 the pillow where Nestorius lay. Her deep eyes were fixed 
 on the Englishman's sunburnt, strongly gentle face. 
 
 " Did he send a message for me — yes ?" she said, softly. 
 
 " No," answered Oscard. " He — there was no time." 
 
 Joseph at the window had turned half round. 
 
 " He was my husband," said Marie, in her clear, deep 
 tones: "the father of this little one, which you call Nes- 
 torius." 
 
 Oscard bowed his head without surprise. Jocelyn was 
 standing still as a statue, with her hand on the dying in- 
 fant's cheek. No one dared to look at her. 
 
 " It is all right," said Marie, bluntly. " We were married 
 at Sierra Leone by the English chaplain. My father, who 
 is dead, kept a hotel at Sierra Leone, and he knew the ways 
 of the — half-castes. He said that the Protestant Church 
 at Sierra Leone was good enough for him, and we were 
 married there. And then Victor brought me away from 
 my people to this place and to Msala. Then he got tired 
 of me — he cared no more. He said I was ugly." 
 
 She pronounced it "ogly," and seemed to think that 
 the story finished there. At all events, she added nothing 
 to it. But Joseph thought fit to contribute a. post scriptum. 
 
 " You'd better tell 'em, mistress," he said, " that he tried 
 to starve yer and them kids — that he wanted to leave yer 
 at Msala to be massacred by the tribes, only Mr. Oscard 
 sent yer down 'ere. You'd better tell 'em that." 
 
 "No," she replied, with a faint smile. "No, because he 
 was my husband."
 
 THE EXTENUATING CIRCUMSTANCE 293 
 
 Guy Oscard was looking very hard at Joseph, and, catch- 
 ing his eye, made a little gesture commanding silence. He 
 did not want him to say too much. 
 
 Joseph turned away again to the window, and stood tbus, 
 apart, till the end. 
 
 " I have no doubt," said Oscard to Marie, " that he would 
 have sent some message to you had he been able ; but he 
 was very ill — he was dying — when he reached Msala. It 
 was wonderful that he got there at all. "We did what we 
 could for him, but it was hopeless." 
 
 Marie raised her shoulders with a pathetic gesture of res- 
 ignation. 
 
 "The sleeping sickness," she said, "what will you? 
 There is no remedy. He always said he would die of that. 
 He feared it." 
 
 In the greater sorrow she seemed to have forgotten her 
 cbild, who was staring open-eyed at the ceiling. The two 
 others — the boy and girl — were playing on the door-step 
 with some unconsidered trifles from the dust-heap — after 
 the manner of children all the world over. 
 
 " He was not a good man," said Marie, turning to Joce- 
 lyn, as if she alone of all present would understand. " He 
 was not a good husband, but" — she shrugged her shoulders 
 with one of her patient, shadowy smiles — "it makes so 
 little difference — yes 2" 
 
 Jocelyn said nothing. None of them had aught to say to 
 her ; for each in that room could lay a separate sin at 
 Victor Durnovo's door. He was gone beyond the reach of 
 human justice to the Higher Court where the Extenuating 
 Circumstance is fully understood. The generosity of that 
 silence was infectious, and they told her nothing. Had 
 they spoken she would perforce have believed them ; but 
 then, as she herself said, it would have made "so little 
 difference." So Victor Durnovo leaves these pages, and 
 all we can do is to remember the writing on the ground. 
 Who among us dares to withhold the Extenuating Circunv
 
 294 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 stance? Who is ready to leave this world without that 
 crutch to lean upon ? Given a mixed blood— evil black 
 with evil white — and what can the result be but evil ? 
 Given the climate of Western Africa and the mental irrita- 
 tion thereof, added to a lack of education and the natural 
 vice inherent in man, and you have — Victor Durnovo. 
 
 Nestorius — the shameless — -stretched out his little bare 
 limbs and turned half over on his side. He looked from 
 one face to the other with the grave wonder that was his. 
 He had never been taken much notice of. His short walk 
 in life had been very near the ground, where trifles look 
 very large, and from whence those larger stumbling-blocks 
 which occupy our attention are quite invisible. He had been 
 the third — the solitary third child who usually makes his own 
 interest in life, and is left by or leaves the rest of his family. 
 
 It was not quite clear to him why he was the centre of 
 so much attention. His mind did not run to the compre- 
 hension of the fact that he was the wearer of borrowed 
 plumes — the sable plumes of King Death. 
 
 He had always wanted to get on to the kitchen-table — ■ 
 there was much there that interested him, and supplied him 
 with food for thought. He had risked his life on more 
 than one occasion in attempts to scale that height with the 
 assistance of a saucepan that turned over and poured culi- 
 nary delicacies on his toes, or perhaps a sleeping cat that 
 got up and walked away much annoyed. And now that he 
 was at last at this dizzy height, he was sorry to find that he 
 was too tired to crawl about and explore the vast possibili- 
 ties of it. He was rather too tired to convey his forefinger 
 to his mouth, and was forced to work out mental problems 
 without that aid to thought. 
 
 Presently his eyes fell on Guy Oscard's face, and again 
 his own small features expanded into a smile. 
 
 "Bad case!" he said, and, turning over, he nestled down 
 into the pillow, and he had the answer to the many ques* 
 tions that puzzled his small brain.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 sir John's last card 
 
 " 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp 
 Than with an old one dying." 
 
 As through an opera runs the rhythm of one dominant 
 air, so through men's lives there rings a dominant note, soft 
 in youth, strong in manhood, and soft again in old age. 
 But it is always there; and whether soft in the gentler pe- 
 riods, or strong amid the noise and clang of the perihelion, 
 it dominates always and gives its tone to the whole life. 
 
 The dominant tone of Sir John Meredith's existence had 
 been the high, clear note of battle. He had always found 
 something or some one to fight from the very beginning, and 
 now, in his old age, he was fighting still. His had never 
 been the din and crash of warfare by sword and cannon, but 
 the subtler, deeper combat of the pen. In his active days 
 he had got through a vast amount of work — that unchron- 
 icled work of the Foreign Office which never comes, through 
 the cheap newspapers, to the voracious maw of a chattering 
 public. His name was better known on the banks of the 
 Neva, the Seine, the Bosporus, or the swift -rolling Iser, 
 than by the Thames ; and grim Sir John was content to 
 have it so. 
 
 His face had never been public property ; the comic pa- 
 pers had never used his personality as a peg upon which to 
 hang their ever-changing political principles. But he had 
 always been " there," as he himself vaguely put it. That is 
 to say, he had always been at the back — one of those invisi- 
 ble powers of the stage by whose command the scene is 
 shifted, the lights are lowered for the tragedj', or the gay
 
 296 "WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 music plays on the buffoon. Sir John had no sympathy 
 with a generation of men and women who would rather be 
 laughed at and despised than unnoticed. He belonged to 
 an age wherein it was held better to be a gentleman than 
 the object of a cheap and evanescent notoriety ; and he was 
 at once the despair and the dread of newspaper interview- 
 ers, enterprising publishers, and tuft-hunters. 
 
 He was so little known out of his own select circle that 
 the porters in Euston Station asked each other in vain who 
 the old swell waiting for the four o'clock "up" from Liver- 
 pool could be. The four o'clock was, moreover, not the first 
 express which Sir John had met that day. His stately car- 
 riage-and-pair had pushed its way into the crowd of smaller 
 and humbler vehicular fry earlier in the afternoon, and on 
 that occasion also the old gentleman had indulged in a grave 
 promenade upon the platform. 
 
 He was walking up and down there now, with his hand 
 in the small of his back, where of late he had been aware of 
 a constant aching pain. He was very upright, however, and 
 supremely unconscious of the curiosity aroused by his pres- 
 ence in the mind of the station " canaille." His lips were 
 rather more troublesome than usual, and his keen eyes 
 twinkled with a suppressed excitement. 
 
 In former days there had been no one equal to him in 
 certain diplomatic crises, where it was a question of brow- 
 beating suavely the uppish representative of some foreign 
 State. No man could then rival him in the insolently aris- 
 tocratic school of diplomacy which England has made her 
 own. But in his most dangerous crisis he had never been 
 restless, apprehensive, pessimistic, as he was at this moment. 
 And, after all, it was a very simple matter that had brought 
 him here. It was merely the question of meeting a man as 
 if by accident, and then afterwards making that man do cer- 
 tain things required of him. Moreover, the man was only 
 Guy Oscard — learned, if you will, in forest craft, but a mere 
 child in the hands of so old a diplomatist as Sir John Meredith.
 
 sir john's last card 297 
 
 That which made Sir John so uneasy was the abiding 
 knowledge that Jack's wedding-day would dawn in twelve 
 hours. The margin was much too small, through, however, 
 no fault of Sir John's. The West African steamer had 
 been delayed, unaccountably, two days. A third day lost 
 in the Atlantic would have overthrown Sir John Meredith's 
 plan. He had often cut things fine before, but somehow 
 now — not that he was getting old, oh no ! — but somehow 
 the suspense was too much for his nerves. He soon be- 
 came irritated and distrustful. Besides, the pain in his back 
 wearied him and interfered with the clear sequence of his 
 thoughts. 
 
 The owners of the West African steamer had telegraphed 
 that the passengers had left for London in two separate 
 trains. Guy Oscard was not in the first — there was no pos- 
 itive reason why he should be in the second. More depend- 
 ed upon his being in this second express than Sir John 
 cared to contemplate. 
 
 The course of his peregrinations brought him into the 
 vicinity of an inspector whose attitude betokened respect 
 while his presence raised hope. 
 
 " Is there any reason to suppose that your train is com- 
 ing?" he inquired of the official. 
 
 " Signalled now, my lord," replied the inspector, touching 
 his cap. 
 
 " And what does that mean ?" uncompromisingly ignorant 
 of technical parlance. 
 
 " It will be in in one minute, my lord." 
 
 Sir John's hand was over his lips as he walked back to 
 the carriage, casting as it were the commander's eye over 
 the field. 
 
 " When the crowd is round the train you come and look 
 for me," he said to the footman, who touched his cockaded 
 hat in silence. 
 
 At that moment the train lumbered in, the engine wear- 
 ing that inanely self-important air affected by locomotives
 
 298 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 of the larger build. From all quarters an army of porters 
 besieged the platform, and in a few seconds Sir John was 
 in the centre of an agitated crowd. There was one other 
 calm man on that platform — another man with no parcels, 
 whom no one sought to embrace. His brown face and 
 close-cropped head towered above a sea of agitated bonnets. 
 Sir John, whose walk in life had been through crowds, el- 
 bowed his way forward and deliberately walked against Guy 
 Oscard. 
 
 " Damn it !" he exclaimed, turning round. " Ah ! — Mr. 
 Oscard — how d'ye do i" 
 
 " How are you?" replied Guy Oscard, really glad to see 
 him. 
 
 " You are a good man for a crowd ; I think I will follow 
 in your wake," said Sir John. " A number of people — of 
 the baser sort. Got my carriage here somewhere. Fool of 
 a man looking for me in the wrong place, no doubt. Where 
 are you going? May I offer you a lift? This way. Here, 
 John, take Mr. Oscard's parcels." 
 
 He could not have done it better in his keenest day. 
 Guy Oscard was seated in the huge, roomy carriage before 
 he had realized what had happened to him. 
 
 " Your man will look after your traps, I suppose ?" said 
 Sir John, hospitably drawing the fur rug from the opposite 
 seat. 
 
 " Yes," replied Guy, " although he is not my man. He 
 is Jack's man Joseph." 
 
 " Ah, of course ; excellent servant, too. Jack told me he 
 had left him with you." 
 
 Sir John leaned out of the window and asked the foot- 
 man whether he knew his colleague Joseph, and upon re- 
 ceiving an answer in the affirmative he gave orders — acting 
 as Guy's mouth-piece — that the luggage was to be conveyed 
 to Russell Square. While these orders were being executed 
 the two men sat waiting in the carriage, and Sir John lost 
 no time.
 
 SIR JOHN'S LAST CARD 299 
 
 " I am glad," he said, " to have this opportunity of 
 thanking you for all your kindness to my son in this wild 
 expedition of yours." 
 
 " Yes," replied Oscard, with a transparent reserve which 
 rather puzzled Sir John. 
 
 " You must excuse me," said the old gentleman, sitting 
 rather stiffly, " if I appear to take a somewhat limited in- 
 terest in this great Simiacine discovery, of which there has 
 been considerable talk in some circles. The limit to my in- 
 terest is drawn by a lamentable ignorance. I am afraid the 
 business details are rather unintelligible to me. My son has 
 endeavored, somewhat cursorily perhaps, to explain the 
 matter to me, but I have never mastered the — er — commer- 
 cial technicalities. However, I understand that you have 
 made quite a mint of money, which is the chief considera- 
 tion — nowadays." 
 
 He drew the rug more closely round his knees and looked 
 out of the window, deeply interested in a dispute between 
 two cabmen. 
 
 " Yes — we have been very successful," said Oscard. 
 " How is vour son now ? When I last saw him he was in a 
 very bad way. Indeed, I hardly expected to see him again." 
 
 Sir John was still interested in the dispute which was not 
 yet settled. 
 
 " He is well, thank you. You know that he is going to 
 be married." 
 
 " He told me that he was engaged," replied Oscard ; 
 " but I did not know that anything definite was fixed." 
 
 " The most definite thing of all is fixed — the date. It is 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow ?" 
 
 "Yes. You have not much time to prepare your wed- 
 ding garments." 
 
 " Oh," replied Oscard, with a laugh, " I have not been 
 bidden." 
 
 "I expect the invitation is awaiting you at your house
 
 300 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 No doubt my son will want yon to be present — tbey would 
 botb like you to be there no doubt. But come with me 
 now : we will call and see Jack. I know where to find him. 
 In fact, I have an appointment with him at a quarter to 
 five." 
 
 It may seem strange that Guy Oscard should not have 
 asked the name of his friend's prospective bride, but Sir 
 John was ready for that. He gave his companion no time. 
 Whenever he opened his lips Sir John turned Oscard's 
 thoughts aside. 
 
 What he had told him was strictly true. He had an ap- 
 pointment with Jack — an appointment of his own making. 
 
 " Yes," he said, in pursuance of his policy of choking 
 questions, " he is wonderfully well, as you will see for your- 
 self." 
 
 Oscard submitted silently to this high-handed arrange- 
 ment. He had not known Sir John well. Indeed, all his 
 intercourse with him has been noted in these pages. He 
 was rather surprised to find him so talkative and so very 
 friendly. But Guy Oscard was not a very deep person. 
 He was sublimely indifferent to the Longdrawn Motive. 
 He presumed that Sir John made friends of his son's 
 friends ; and in his straightforward acceptance of facts he 
 was perfectly well aware that by his timely rescue he had 
 saved Jack Meredith from the hands of the tribes. The 
 presumption was that Sir John knew of this, and it was 
 only natural that he should be somewhat exceptionally 
 gracious to the man who had saved his son's life. 
 
 It would seem that Sir John divined these thoughts, for 
 he presently spoke of them. 
 
 "Owing to an unfortunate difference of opinion with my 
 son we have not been very communicative lately," he said, 
 with that deliberation which he knew how to assume when 
 he desired to be heard without interruption. " I am there- 
 fore almost entirely ignorant of your African affairs, but I 
 imagine Jack owes more to your pluck and promptness
 
 sir john's last card 301 
 
 than has yet transpired. I gathered as much from one or 
 two conversations I had with Miss Gordon when she was in 
 England. I am one of Miss Gordon's many admirers." 
 
 " And I am another," said Oscard, frankly. 
 
 " Ah ! Then you are happy enough to be the object of 
 a reciprocal feeling which for myself I could scarcely ex- 
 pect. She spoke of you in no measured language. I gath- 
 ered from her that if you had not acted with great prompti- 
 tude the — er — happy event of to-morrow could not have 
 taken place." 
 
 The old man paused, and Guy Oscard, who looked some- 
 what distressed and distinctly uncomfortable, could find no 
 graceful way of changing the conversation. 
 
 " In a word," went on Sir John, in a very severe tone, " I 
 owe you a great debt. You saved my boy's life." 
 
 " Yes, but you see," argued Oscard, finding his tongue at 
 last, "out there things like that don't count for so much." 
 
 " Oh — don't they ?" There was the suggestion of a 
 smile beneath Sir John's grim eyebrows. 
 
 " No," returned Oscard, rather lamely, " it is a sort of 
 thing that happens every day out there." 
 
 Sir John turned suddenly, and with the courtliness that 
 was ever his he indulged in a rare exhibition of feeling. 
 He laid his hand on Guy Oscard's stalwart knee. 
 
 "My dear Oscard," he said, and when he chose he could 
 render his voice very soft and affectionate, " none of those 
 arguments apply to me because I am not out there. I like 
 you for trying to make little of your exploit. Such conduct 
 is worthy of you — worthy of a gentleman — but you cannot 
 disguise the fact that Jack owes his life to you and I owe 
 you the same, which, between you and me I may mention, 
 is more valuable to me than my own. I want you to re- 
 member always that I am your debtor, and if — if circum- 
 stances should ever seem to indicate that the feeling I have 
 for you is anything but friendly and kind, do me the honor 
 of disbelieving those indications — you understand?"
 
 302 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " Yes," replied Oscard, untruthfully. 
 
 " Here we are at Lady Cantourne's," continued Sir John, 
 " where, as it happens, I expect to meet Jack. Her lady- 
 ship is naturally interested in the affair of to-morrow, and 
 has kindly undertaken to keep us up to date in our be- 
 havior. You will come in with me?" 
 
 Oscard remembered afterwards that he was rather puzzled 
 — that there was perhaps in his simple mind the faintest 
 tinge of a suspicion. At the moment, however, there was 
 no time to do anything but follow. The man had already 
 rung the bell, and Lady Cantourne's butler was holding the 
 door open. There was something in his attitude vaguely 
 suggestive of expectation. He never took his eyes from Sir 
 John Meredith's face, as if on the alert for an unspoken 
 order. 
 
 Guy Oscard followed his companion into the hall, and 
 the very scent of the house — for each house speaks to more 
 senses than one — made his heart leap in his broad breast. 
 It seemed as if Millicent's presence was in the very air. 
 This was more than he could have hoped. He had not in- 
 tended to call this afternoon, although the visit was only to 
 have been postponed for twenty-four hours. 
 
 Sir John Meredith's face was a marvel to see. It was 
 quite steady. He was upright and alert, with all the in- 
 trepidity of his mind up in arms. There was a light in his 
 eyes — a gleam of light from other days, not yet burned out. 
 
 He laid aside his gold-headed cane and threw back his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Is Mr. Meredith up-stairs ?" he said to the butler. 
 
 " Yes— sir." 
 
 The man moved towards the stairs. 
 
 " You need not come !" said Sir John, holding up his 
 hand. 
 
 The butler stood aside and Sir John led the way up to 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 At the door he paused for a moment. Guy Oscard was
 
 A TROIS 303 
 
 at his heels. Then he opened the door rather slowly, and 
 motioned gracefully with his left hand to Oscard to pass in 
 before hiin. 
 
 Oscard stepped forward. When he had crossed the 
 threshold Sir John closed the door sharply behind him and 
 turned to go down-stairs. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 A TROIS 
 
 " Men serve women kneeling : when they get on their feet they go 
 away." 
 
 Guy Oscard stood for a moment on the threshold. He 
 heard the door closed behind him, and he took two steps 
 farther forward. 
 
 Jack Meredith and Millicent were at the fireplace. There 
 was a heap of disordered paper and string upon the table, 
 and a few wedding presents standing in the midst of their 
 packing. 
 
 Millicent's pretty face was quite white. She looked from 
 Meredith to Oscard with a sudden horror in her eyes. For 
 the first time in her life she was at a loss — quite taken 
 aback. 
 
 " Oh — h I" she whispered, and that was all. 
 
 The silence that followed was tense, as if something in 
 the atmosphere was about to snap ; and in the midst of it 
 the wheels of Sir John's retreating carriage came to the cars 
 of the three persons in the drawing-room. 
 
 It was only for a moment, but in that moment the two 
 men saw clearly. It was as if the veil from the girl's mind 
 had fallen — leaving- her thoughts confessed, bare before 
 them. In the same instant they both saw — they both sped
 
 304 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 back in thought to their first meeting, to the hundred links 
 of the chain that brought them to the present moment — 
 they knew ; and Millicent felt that they knew. 
 
 " Are you going to be married to-morrow ?" asked Guy 
 Oscard, deliberately. He never was a man to whom a suc- 
 cessful appeal for the slightest mitigation of justice could 
 have been made. His dealings had ever been with men, 
 from whom he had exacted as scrupulous an honor as he 
 had given. He did not know that women are different — 
 that honor is not their strong point. 
 
 Millicent did not answer. She looked to Meredith to 
 answer for her ; but Meredith was looking at Oscard, and 
 in his lazy eyes there glowed the singular affection and ad- 
 miration which he had bestowed long time before on this 
 simple gentleman — his mental inferior. 
 
 " Are you going to be married to-morrow ?" repeated Os- 
 card, standing quite still, with a calmness that frightened her. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, rather feebly. 
 
 She knew that she could explain it all. She could have 
 explained it to either of them separately, but to both to- 
 gether, somehow it was difficult. Her mind was filled with 
 clamoring arguments and explanations and plausible ex- 
 cuses ; but she did not know which to select first. None 
 of them seemed quite equal to this occasion. These men 
 required something deeper, and stronger, and simpler than 
 she had to offer them. 
 
 Moreover, she was paralyzed by a feeling that was quite 
 new to her — a horrid feeling that something had gone from 
 her. She had lost her strongest, her single arm : her beauty. 
 This seemed to have fallen from her. It seemed to count 
 for nothing at this time. There is a time that comes as 
 surely as death will come in the life of every beautiful 
 woman — a time wherein she suddenly realizes how trivial a 
 thing her beauty is — how limited, how useless, how in- 
 effectual ! 
 
 Millicent Chyne made a little appealing movement tow-
 
 A TROIS 305 
 
 ards Meredith, who relentlessly stepped back. It was the 
 magic of the love that filled his heart for Oscard. Had 
 she wronged any man in the world but Guy Oscard, that 
 little movement — full of love and tenderness and sweet con- 
 trition — might have saved her. But it was Oscard's heart 
 that she had broken ; for broken they both knew it to be, 
 and Jack Meredith stepped back from her touch as from 
 pollution. His superficial, imagined love for her had been 
 killed at a single blow. Her beauty was no more to him 
 at that moment than the beauty of a picture. 
 
 " Oh, Jack !" she gasped ; and had there been another 
 woman in the room that woman would have known that 
 Millicent loved him with the love that comes once only. 
 But men are not very acute in such matters — they either 
 read wrong or not at all. 
 
 "It is all a mistake," she said, breathlessly, looking from 
 one to the other. 
 
 "A most awkward mistake," suggested Meredith, with a 
 cruel smile that made her wince. 
 
 " Mr. Oscard must have mistaken me altogether," the 
 girl went on, volubly addressing herself to Meredith — she 
 wanted nothing from Oscard. " I may have been silly, per- 
 haps, or merely ignorant and blind. How was I to know 
 that he meant what he said?" 
 
 "How, indeed?" agreed Meredith, with a grave bow. 
 
 "Besides, he has no business to come here bringing false 
 accusations against me. He has no right — it is cruel and 
 ungentlemanly. He cannot prove anything ; he cannot say 
 that I ever distinctly gave him to understand — er, anything 
 — that I ever promised to be engaged, or anything like that." 
 
 She turned upon Oscard, whose demeanor was stolid, al- 
 most dense. He looked very large and somewhat difficult 
 to move. 
 
 '" He has not attempted to do so yet," suggested Jack, 
 suavely, looking at his friend. 
 
 " I do not see that it is quite a question of proofs," said
 
 306 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Oscard quietly, in a voice that did not sound like his at all. 
 " We are not in a court of justice, where ladies like to settle 
 these questions now. If we were I could challenge you to pro- 
 duce ray letters. There is no doubt of my meaning in them." 
 
 " There are also my poor contributions to — your collec- 
 tion," chimed in Jack Meredith. " A comparison must have 
 been interesting to you, by the same mail presumably, un- 
 der the same postmark." 
 
 " I made no comparison," the girl cried, defiantly ; " there 
 was no question of comparison." 
 
 She said it shamelessly, and it hurt Meredith more than 
 it hurt Guy Oscard, for whom the sting was intended. 
 
 " Comparison or no comparison," said Jack Meredith, 
 quickly, with the keenness of a good fencer who has been 
 touched, " there can be no doubt of the fact that you were 
 engaged to us both at the same time. You told us both to go 
 out and make a fortune wherewith to buy — your affections. 
 One can only presume that the highest bidder — the owner 
 of the largest fortune — was to be the happy man. Unfort- 
 unately we became partners, and — such was the power of 
 your fascination — we made the fortune, but we share and 
 share alike in that. "We are equal, so far as the — price is 
 concerned. The situation is interesting and rather — amus- 
 ing. It is your turn to move. We await your further in- 
 structions in considerable suspense." 
 
 She stared at him with bloodless lips. She did not seem 
 to understand what he was saying. At last she spoke, ig- 
 noring Guy Oscard's presence altogether. 
 
 " Considering that we are to be married to-morrow, I do 
 not think that you should speak to me like that," she said, 
 with a strange, concentrated eagerness. 
 
 " Pardon me, we are not going to be married to-morrow." 
 
 Her brilliant teeth closed on her lower lip with a snap, 
 and she stood looking at him, breathing so hard that the 
 sound was almost a sob. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" she whispered, hoarsely.
 
 A TR0I8 307 
 
 He raised his shoulders in polite surprise at her dulness 
 of comprehension. 
 
 " In the unfortunate circumstances in which you are 
 placed," he explained, " it seems to me that the least one 
 can do is to offer every assistance in one's power. Please 
 consider me hors de concours. In a word — I scratch." 
 
 She gasped like a swimmer swimming for life. She was 
 fio-htinec for that which some deem dearer than life — name- 
 ly, her love. For it is not only the good women who 
 love, though these understand it best and see further into it. 
 
 " Then you can never have cared for me," she cried ; " all 
 that you have told me " — and her eyes flashed triumphantly 
 across Oscard — " all that you promised and vowed was utter- 
 ly false, if you turn against me at the first word of a man 
 who was carried away by his own vanity into thinking 
 things that he had no business to think." 
 
 If Guy Oscard was no great adept at wordy warfare, he 
 was at all events strong in his reception of punishment. 
 He stood upright and quiescent, betraying by neither sign 
 nor movement that her words could hurt him. 
 
 " I beg to suggest again," said Jack, composedly, " that 
 Oscard has not yet brought any accusations against you. 
 You have brought them all yourself." 
 
 " You are both cruel and cowardly," she exclaimed, sud- 
 denly descending to vituperation. " Two to one. Two 
 men — gentlemen — against <one defenceless girl. Of course I 
 am not able to argue with you. Of course you can get the 
 best of me. It is so easy to be sarcastic." 
 
 " I do not imagine," retorted Jack, " that anything that 
 we can say or do will have much permanent power of hurt- 
 ing you. For the last two years you have been engaged in 
 an — intrigue such as a thin-skinned or sensitive person 
 would hardly of her own free will undertake. You may be 
 able to explain it to yourself — no doubt you are — but to 
 our more limited comprehensions it must remain inexplicable. 
 We can only judge from appearances."
 
 308 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " And, of course, appearances go against me — they always 
 do against a woman," she cried, rather brokenly. 
 
 " You would have been wise to have taken that peculiarity 
 into consideration sooner," replied Jack Meredith, coldly. 
 " I admit that I am puzzled ; I cannot quite get at your 
 motive. Presumably it is one of those — sweet feminine in- 
 consistencies which are so charming in books." 
 
 There was a little pause. Jack Meredith waited politely 
 to hear if she had anything further to say. His clean-cut 
 face was quite pallid ; the suppressed anger in his eyes was 
 perhaps more difficult to meet than open fury. The man 
 who never forgets himself before a woman is likely to be 
 an absolute master of women. 
 
 " I think," he added, " that there is nothing more to be 
 said." 
 
 There was a dead silence. Millicent Chyne glanced tow- 
 ards Guy Oscard. He could have saved her yet — by a sim- 
 ple lie. Had he been an impossibly magnanimous man, 
 such as one meets in books only, he could have explained 
 that the mistake was all his, that she was quite right, that 
 his own vanity had blinded him into a great and unwar- 
 ranted presumption. But, unfortunately, he was only a hu- 
 man being — a man who was ready to give as full a measure 
 as he exacted. The unfortunate mistake to which he cluno- 
 was that the same sense of justice, the same code of honor, 
 must serve for men and women alike. So Millicent Chyne 
 looked in vain for that indulgence which is so inconsistently 
 offered to women, merely because they are women — the in- 
 dulgence which is sometimes given and sometimes withheld, 
 according to the softness of the masculine heart and the 
 beauty of the suppliant feminine form. Guy Oscard was 
 quite sure of his own impressions. This girl had allowed 
 him to begin loving her, had encouraged him to go on, had 
 led him to believe that his love was returned. And in his 
 simple ignorance of the world he did not see why these 
 matters should be locked up in his own breast from a mis'
 
 A trois 309 
 
 taken sense of chivalry to be accorded where no chivalry 
 was due. 
 
 " No," he answered. " There is nothing more to be said." 
 
 Without looking towards her, Jack Meredith made a few 
 steps towards the door — quietly, self-composedly, with that 
 perfect savoir /aire of the social expert that made him dif- 
 ferent from other men. Millicent Chyne felt a sudden ple- 
 beian desire to scream. It was all so heartlessly well-bred. 
 He turned on his heel with a little half-cynical bow. 
 
 " I leave my name with you," he said. " It is probable 
 that you will be put to some inconvenience. I can only re- 
 gret that this — denouement did not come some months ago. 
 You are likely to suffer more than I, because I do not care 
 what the world thinks of me. Therefore you may tell the 
 world what you choose about me — that I drink, that I 
 gamble, that I am lacking in — honor ! Anything that sug- 
 gests itself to you, in fact. You need not go away ; / will 
 do that." 
 
 She listened with compressed lips and heaving shoulders ; 
 and the bitterest drop in her cup was the knowledge that 
 he despised her. During the last few minutes he had said 
 and done nothing that lowered him in her estimation — that 
 touched in any way her love for him. He had not lowered 
 himself in any way, but he had suavely trodden her under 
 foot. His last words — the inexorable intention of going 
 away — sapped her last lingering hope. She could never re- 
 gain even a tithe of his affection. 
 
 " I think," he went on, " that you will agree with me in 
 thinking that Guy Oscard's name must be kept out of this 
 entirely. I give you carte blanche except that." 
 
 With a slight inclination of the head he walked to the 
 door. It was characteristic of him that although he walked 
 slowly he never turned his head nor paused. 
 
 Oscard followed him with the patient apathy of the 
 large and mystified. 
 
 And so they left her — amid the disorder of the half-
 
 310 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 unpacked wedding presents — amid the ruin of her own 
 life. Perhaps, after all, she was not wholly bad. Few 
 people are ; they are only bad enough to be wholly unsat- 
 isfactory and quite incomprehensible. She must have 
 known the risk she was running, and yet she could not 
 stay her hand. She must have known long before that she 
 really loved Jack Meredith, and that she was playing fast 
 and loose with the happiness of her whole life. She knew 
 that hundreds of girls around her were doing the same, and, 
 with all shame be it mentioned, not a few married women. 
 But they seemed to be able to carry it through without ac- 
 cident or hinderance. And illogically, thoughtlessly, she 
 blamed her own ill-fortune. 
 
 She stood looking blankly at the door which had closed 
 behind three men — one old and two young — and perhaps 
 she realized the fact that such creatures may be led blindly, 
 helplessly, with a single hair, but that that hair may snap 
 at any moment. 
 
 She was not thinking of Guy Oscard. Him she had 
 never loved. He had only been one of her experiments, 
 and by his very simplicity — above all, by his uncompro> 
 mising honesty — he had outwitted her. 
 
 It was characteristic of her that at that moment she 
 scarcely knew the weight of her own remorse. It sat light- 
 ly on her shoulders then, and it was only later on, when 
 her beauty began to fade, when years came and brought no 
 joy for the middle-aged unmarried woman, that she began 
 to realize what it was that she had to carry through life 
 with her. At that moment a thousand other thoughts filled 
 her mind—such thoughts as one would expect to find there. 
 How was the world to be deceived? The guests would 
 have to be put off — the wedding countermanded — the pres- 
 ents returned. And the world — her world — would laugh 
 in its sleeve ; there lay the sting.
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 A STRONG FRIENDSHIP 
 
 "Still must the man move sadlier for the dreams 
 That mocked the boy" 
 
 "Where are you going?" asked Meredith, when they 
 were in the street. 
 
 " Home." 
 
 They walked on a few paces together. 
 
 " May I come with you ?" asked Meredith, again. 
 
 " Certainly ; I have a good deal to tell you." 
 
 They called a cab, and singularly enough they drove all 
 the way to Russell Square without speaking. These two 
 men had worked together for many months, and men who 
 have a daily task in common usually learn to perform it 
 without much interchange of observation. When one man 
 gets to know the mind of another, conversation assumes 
 a place of secondary importance. These two had been 
 through more incidents together than usually fall to the lot 
 of man — each knew how the other would act and think 
 under given circumstances ; each knew what the other was 
 thinking now. 
 
 The house in Russell Square, the quiet house in the cor- 
 ner where the cabs do not pass, was lighted up and astir 
 when they reached it. The old butler held open the door 
 with a smile of welcome and a faint aroma of whiskey. 
 The luggage had been discreetly removed. Joseph had 
 gone to Mr. Meredith's chambers. Guy Oscard led the wa} T 
 to the smoking-room at the back of the house — the room 
 wherein the eccentric Oscard had written his great history
 
 312 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 — the room in which Victor Durnov-" had first suggested 
 the Simiacine scheme to the historian's son. 
 
 The two survivors of the originating trio passed into 
 this room together, and closed the door behind them. 
 
 " The worst of one's own private tragedies is that they 
 are usually only comedies in disguise," said Jack Meredith, 
 oracularly. 
 
 Guy Oscard grunted. He was looking for his pipe. 
 
 " If we heard this of any two fellows except ourselves 
 we should think it an excellent joke," went on Meredith. 
 
 Oscard nodded. He lighted his pipe, and still he said 
 nothing. 
 
 " Hang it !" exclaimed Jack Meredith, suddenly throwing 
 himself back in his chair, " it is a good joke." 
 
 He laughed softly, and all the while his eyes, watchful, 
 wise, anxious, were studying Guy Oscard's face. 
 
 " He is harder hit than I am," he was reflecting. " Poor 
 old Oscard !" 
 
 The habit of self-suppression was so strong upon him — 
 acquired as a mere social duty — that it was only natural for 
 him to think less of himself than of the expediency of the 
 moment. The social discipline is as powerful an agent as 
 that military discipline that makes a man throw away his 
 own life for the good of the many. 
 
 Oscard laughed, too, in a strangely staccato manner. 
 
 "It is rather a sudden change," observed Meredith; "and 
 all brought about by your coming into that room at that 
 particular moment — by accident." 
 
 "Not by accident," corrected Oscard, speaking at last. 
 " I was brought there and pushed into the room." 
 
 " By whom ?" 
 
 " By your father." 
 
 Jack Meredith sat upright. He drew his curved hand 
 slowly down over his face — keen and delicate as was his 
 mind — his eyes deep with thought. 
 
 " The guv'nor," he said, slowly. " The guv'nor— by God f
 
 A STRONG FRIENDSHIP 313 
 
 He reflected for some seconds. 
 
 " Tell me how be did it," he said, curtly. 
 
 Oscard told him, rather incoherently, between the puffs. 
 lie did not attempt to make a story of it, but merely re- 
 lated the facts as they had happened to him. It is proba- 
 ble that to him the act was veiled which Jack saw quite dis- 
 tinctly. 
 
 " That is the sort of thing" was Meredith's comment 
 when the story was finished, " that takes the conceit out of 
 a fellow. I suppose I have more than my share. I sup- 
 pose it is good for me to find that I am not so clever as I 
 thought I was — that there are plenty of cleverer fellows 
 about, and that one of them is an old man of seventy-nine. 
 The worst of it is that he was right all along. He saw 
 clearly where you and I were — damnably blind." 
 
 He rubbed his slim brown hands together, and looked 
 across at his companion with a smile wherein the youthful 
 self-confidence was less discernible than of yore. The 
 smile faded as he looked at Oscard. He was thinking that 
 he looked older and graver — more of a middle-aged man 
 who has left something behind him in life — and the sights 
 reminded him of the few gray hairs that were above his 
 own temples. 
 
 " Come," he said, more cheerfully, " tell me your news. 
 Let us change the subject. Let us throw aside light dal- 
 liance and return to questions of money. More important — 
 much more satisfactory. I suppose you have left Durnovo 
 in charge? Has Joseph come home with you?" 
 
 " Yes, Joseph has come home with me. Durnovo i3 
 dead." 
 
 " Dead !" 
 
 Guy Oscard took his pipe from his lips. 
 
 " He died at Msala of the sleeping sickness. He was a 
 bigger blackguard than we thought. He was a slave-dealer 
 and a slave-owner. Those forty men we picked up at Msala 
 were slaves belonging to him."
 
 314 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " Ach !" It was a strange exclamation, as if he had 
 burned his fingers. " Who knows of this ?" he asked, im- 
 mediately. The expediency of the moment had presented 
 itself to his mind again. 
 
 " Only ourselves," returned Oscard. " You, Joseph, and I." 
 
 "That is all right, and the sooner we forget that the 
 better. It would be a dangerous story to tell." 
 
 " So I concluded," said Oscard, in his slow, thoughtful 
 way. "Joseph swears he won't breathe a word of it." 
 
 Jack Meredith nodded. He looked rather pale beneath 
 the light of the gas. 
 
 " Joseph is all right," he said. " Go on." 
 
 " It was Joseph who found it out," continued Oscard, 
 "up at the Plateau. I paraded the whole crowd, told them 
 what I had found out, and chucked up the whole concern in 
 your name and mine. Next morning I abandoned the Pla- 
 teau with such men as cared to come. Nearly half of them 
 stayed with Durnovo. I thought it was in order that they 
 might share in the Simiacine — I told them they could have 
 the whole confounded lot of the stuff. But it was not 
 that; they tricked Durnovo there. They wanted to get 
 him to themselves. In going down the river we had an ac- 
 cident with two of the boats, which necessitated staying at 
 Msala. While we were waiting there, one night after ten 
 o'clock the poor devil came, alone, in a canoe. They had 
 simply cut him in slices — a most beastly sight. I wake up 
 sometimes even now dreaming of it, and I am not a fanciful 
 sort of fellow. Joseph went into his room and was simply 
 sick; I didn't know that you could be made sick by any- 
 thing you saw. The sleeping sickness was on Durnovo 
 then ; he had brought it with him from the Plateau. He 
 died before morning." 
 
 Oscard ceased speaking and returned to his pipe. Jack 
 Meredith, looking haggard and worn, was leaning back in 
 his chair. 
 
 " Poor devil !" he exclaimed. " There was always some-
 
 A STRONG FRIENDSHIP 315 
 
 thing tragic about Durnovo. I did hate that man, Oscard ! 
 I hated him and all his works." 
 
 " Well, he's gone to his account now. 
 
 " Yes, but that does not make him any better a man 
 while he was alive. Don't let us cant about him now. 
 The man was an unmitigated scoundrel — perhaps he de- 
 served all he got. 
 
 "Perhaps he did. He was Marie's husband." 
 
 " The devil he was !" 
 
 Meredith fell into a long reverie. He was thinking of 
 Jocelyn and her dislike for Durnovo, of the scene in the 
 drawing-room, of the bungalow at Loango ; of a thousand 
 incidents all connected with Jocelyn. 
 
 " How I hate that man !" he exclaimed, at length. " Thank 
 God — he is dead — because I should have killed him." 
 
 Guy Oscard looked at him with a slow, pensive wonder. 
 Perhaps he knew more than Jack Meredith knew himself of 
 the thoughts that conceived those words — so out of place in 
 that quiet room from those suave and courtly lips. 
 
 All the emotions of his life seemed to be concentrated 
 into this one day of Jack Meredith's existence. Oscard's 
 presence was a comfort to him — the presence of a calm, 
 strong man is better than many words. 
 
 " So this," he said, " is the end of the Simiacine. It did 
 not look like a tragedy when we went into it." 
 
 " So far as I am concerned," replied Oscard, with quiet 
 determination, " it certainly is the end of the Simiacine ! I 
 have had enough of it. I, for one, am not going to look 
 for that Plateau aorain." 
 
 " Nor I. I suppose it will be started as a limited liability 
 company by a German in six months. Some of the natives 
 will leave landmarks as they come down so as to find their 
 way back." 
 
 " I don't think so !" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Oscard took his pipe from his lips,
 
 316 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " When Durnovo came down to Msala," he explained, 
 " he had the sleeping sickness on him. Where did he get 
 it from ?" 
 
 " By God !" ejaculated Jack Meredith, " I never thought 
 of that. He got it up at the Plateau. He left it behind 
 him. They have got it up there now." 
 
 " Not now— " ' 
 
 " What do you mean, Oscard ?" 
 
 " Merely that all those fellows up there are dead. There 
 is ninety thousand pounds' worth of Simiacine packed ready 
 for carrying to the coast, standing in a pile on the Plateau, 
 and there are thirty-four dead men keeping watch over it." 
 
 " Is it as infectious as that ?" 
 
 " When it first shows itself, infectious is not the word. 
 It is nothing but a plague. Not one of those fellows can 
 have escaped." 
 
 Jack Meredith sat forward and rubbed his two hands pen- 
 sively over his knees. 
 
 " So," he said, " only you and I and Joseph know where 
 Ijhe Simiacine Plateau is." 
 
 " That is so," answered Oscard. 
 
 " And Joseph won't go back ?" 
 
 "Not if you were to give him that ninety thousand 
 pounds' worth of stuff." 
 
 "And you will not go back?" 
 
 "Not for nine hundred thousand pounds. There is a 
 curse on that place." 
 
 " I believe there is," said Meredith. 
 
 And such was the end of the great Simiacine Scheme — 
 the wonder of a few seasons. Some day, when the Great 
 Sahara is turned into an inland sea, when steamers shall ply 
 where sand now flies before the desert wind, the Plateau 
 may be found again. Some day, when Africa is cut from 
 east to west by a railway line, some adventurous soul will 
 scale the height of one of many mountains, one that seems 
 no different from the rest and yet is held in awe by the
 
 A STIIONO FRIENDSHIP 
 
 317 
 
 phantom-haunted denizens of the gloomy forest, and there 
 he will find a pyramid of wooden cases surrounded by 
 bleached and scattered bones where vultures have fed. 
 
 In the meantime the precious drug will grow scarcer day 
 by day, and the human race will be poorer by the loss of 
 one of those half-matured discoveries which have more than 
 once in the world's history been on the point of raising the 
 animal called man to a higher, stronger, finer development 
 of brain and muscle than we can conceive of under existing 
 circumstances. Who can tell? Perhaps the strange, solitary 
 bush may be found growing elsewhere — in some other con- 
 tinent across the ocean. The ways of Nature are past com- 
 prehension, and no man can say who sows the seed that crops 
 up in strange places. The wind bloweth where it listeth and 
 none can tell what germs it bears. It seems hardly credible 
 that the Plateau, no bigger than a cricket field, far away in 
 the waste-land of Central Africa, can be the only spot on this 
 planet where the magic leaf grows in sufficient profusion to 
 supply suffering humanity with an alleviating drug, unrivalled 
 — a strength-giving herb, unapproached in power. But as 
 yet no other Simiacine has been found and the Plateau is 
 lost. 
 
 And the end of it was two men who had gone to look 
 for it two years before — young and hearty — returning from 
 the search successful beyond their highest hopes, with a 
 shadow in their eyes and gray upon their heads. 
 
 They sat for nearly two hours in that room in the quiet 
 house in Russell Square, where the cabs do not pass, and 
 their conversation was of money. They sat until they had 
 closed the Simiacine account, never to be reopened. They 
 discussed the question of renouncement, and, after due con- 
 sideration, concluded that the gain was rightly theirs seeing 
 that the risk had all been theirs. Slaves and slave-owner 
 had both taken their cause to a Higher Court, where the dc 
 fendant has no worry and the plaintiff is at rest. They 
 were beyond the reach of money — beyond the glitter of
 
 318 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 gold — far from the cry of anguish. A fortune was set aside 
 for Marie Durnovo, to be held in trust for the children of 
 the man who had found the Simiacine Plateau ; another 
 was apportioned to Joseph. 
 
 " Seventy-seven thousand one hundred and four pounds 
 for you," said Jack Meredith, at length, laying aside his pen, 
 " seventy-seven thousand one hundred and four pounds for 
 me. And," he added, after a little pause, "it was not 
 worth it." 
 
 Guy Oscard smoked his pipe and shook his head. 
 
 " Now," said Jack Meredith, " I must go. I must be out 
 of London by to-morrow morning. I shall go abroad — 
 America or somewhere." 
 
 He rose as he spoke, and Oscard made no attempt to re- 
 strain him. 
 
 They went out into the passage together. Oscard opened 
 the door and followed his companion to the step. 
 
 " I suppose," said Meredith, " we shall meet some time — 
 somewhere ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 They shook hands. 
 
 Jack Meredith went down the steps almost reluctantly. 
 At the foot of the short flight he turned and looked up at 
 the strong, peaceful form of his friend. 
 
 " What will you do ?" he said. 
 
 " I shall go back to my big game," replied Guy Oscard. 
 " I am best at that. But I shall not go to Africa."
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 A LONG DEBT 
 
 "The life unlived, the deed undone, the tear 
 Unshed." 
 
 "I rather expect — Lady Cantourne," said Sir John to 
 his servants when he returned home, " any time between 
 now and ten o'clock." 
 
 The butler, having a vivid recollection of an occasion 
 when Lady Cantourne was shown into a drawing-room 
 where there were no flowers, made his preparations accord- 
 ingly. The flowers were set out with that masculine igno- 
 rance of such matters which brings a smile — not wholly of 
 mirth — to a woman's face. The little-used drawing-room 
 was brought under the notice of the house-keeper for that 
 woman's touch which makes a drawing-room what it is. It 
 was always ready — this room, though Sir John never sat in 
 it. But for Lady Cantourne it was always more than ready. 
 
 Sir John went to the library and sat rather wearily down 
 in the stiff-backed chair before the fire. He began by tak- 
 ing up the evening newspaper, but failed to find his eye- 
 glasses, which had twisted up in some aggravating manner 
 with his necktie. So he laid aside the journal and gave 
 way to the weakness of looking into the fire. 
 
 Once or twice his head dropped forward rather suddenly 
 so that his clean-shaven chin touched his tie-pin, and this 
 without a feeling of sleepiness warranting the relaxation of 
 the spinal column. He sat up suddenly on each occasion 
 and threw back his shoulders. 
 
 " Almost seems," he muttered once, " as if I were getting 
 to be an old man."
 
 320 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 After that he remembered nothing until the butler, com- 
 ing in with the lamp, said that Lady Cantourne was in the 
 drawing-room. The man busied himself with the curtains, 
 carefully avoiding a glance in his master's direction. No 
 one had ever found Sir John asleep in a chair during the 
 hours that other people watch, and this faithful old servant 
 was not going to begin to do so now. 
 
 " Ah," said Sir John, surreptitiously composing his collar 
 and voluminous necktie, " thank you." 
 
 He rose and glanced at the clock. It was nearly seven. 
 He had slept through the most miserable hour of Millicent 
 Chyne's life. 
 
 At the head of the spacious staircase he paused in front 
 of the mirror, half hidden behind exotics, and pressed down 
 his wig behind either ear. Then he went into the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 Lady Cantourne was standing impatiently on the hearth- 
 rug, and scarcely responded to his bow. 
 
 "Has Jack been here?" she asked. 
 
 " No." 
 
 She stamped a foot, still neat despite its long journey 
 over a road that had never been very smooth. Her manner 
 was that of a commander-in-chief, competent but unfortu- 
 nate in the midst of a great reverse. 
 
 " He has not been here this afternoon ?" 
 
 " No," answered Sir John, closing the door behind him. 
 
 " And you have not heard anything from him ?" 
 
 " Not a word. As you know, I am not fortunate enough 
 to be fully in his confidence." 
 
 Lady Cantourne glanced round the room as if looking for 
 some object upon which to fix her attention. It was a 
 characteristic movement which he knew, although he had 
 only seen it once or twice before. It indicated that if there 
 was an end to Lady Cantourne's wit, she had almost reached 
 that undesirable bourne. 
 
 " He has broken off his engagement," she said, looking
 
 A LONG DEBT 321 
 
 her companion very straight in the face, "now — at the 
 eleventh hour. Do you know anything about it?" 
 
 She came closer to him, looking up from her compact 
 little five-feet-two with discerning eyes. 
 
 "John!" she exclaimed. 
 
 She came still nearer and laid her gloved hands upon his 
 sleeve. 
 
 "John ! you know something about this." 
 
 " I should like to know more," he said, suavely. " I am 
 afraid — Millicent will be inconvenienced." 
 
 Lady Cantourne looked keenly at him for a moment. 
 Physically she almost stood on tiptoe, mentally she did it 
 without disguise. Then she turned away and sat on a chair 
 which had always been set apart for her. 
 
 " It is a question," she said, gravely, " whether any one 
 has a right to punish a woman so severely." 
 
 The corner of Sir John's mouth twitched. 
 
 " I would rather punish her than have Jack punished for 
 the rest of his life." 
 
 " Et moi ?" she snapped, impatiently. 
 
 " Ah !" with a gesture learned in some foreign court, " I 
 can only ask your forgiveness. I can only remind you that 
 she is not your daughter — if she were she would be a differ- 
 ent woman — while he is ray son. 
 
 Lady Cantourne nodded as if to indicate that he need ex- 
 plain no more. 
 
 " How did you do it ?" she asked, quietly. 
 
 " I did not do it. I merely suggested to Guy Oscard 
 that he should call on you. Millicent and her fiance — the 
 other — were alone in the drawing-room when we arrived. 
 Thinking that I might be de trop, I withdrew, and left the 
 young people to settle it among themselves, which they 
 have apparently done ! I am, like yourself, a great advocate 
 for allowing young people to settle things among them- 
 selves. They are also welcome to their enjoyment of the 
 consequences so far as I am concerned."
 
 322 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 " But Millicent was never engaged to Guy Oscard." 
 
 *' Did she tell you so ?" asked Sir John, with a queer smile. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And you believed her ?" 
 
 " Of course — and you?" 
 
 Sir John smiled his courtliest smile. 
 
 "I always believe a lady," he answered, "before her face. 
 Mr. Guy Oscard gave it out in Africa that he was engaged 
 to be married, and he even declared that he was returning 
 home to be married. Jack did the same in every respect. 
 Unfortunately, there was only one fond heart waiting for 
 the couple of them at home. That is why I thought it ex- 
 pedient to give the young people an opportunity of settling 
 it between themselves." 
 
 The smile left his worn old face. He moved uneasily 
 and walked to the fireplace, where he stood with his un- 
 steady hands moving idly, almost nervously, among the 
 ornaments on the mantel -piece. He committed the rare 
 discourtesy of almost turning his back upon a lady. 
 
 "I must ask you to believe," he said, looking anywhere 
 but at her, "that I did not forget you in the matter. I 
 may seem to have acted with an utter disregard for your 
 feelings—" 
 
 He broke off suddenly, and, turning, he stood on the 
 hearth-rug with his feet apart, his hands clasped behind his 
 back, his head slightly bowed. 
 
 " I drew on the reserve of an old friendship," he said. 
 " You were kind enough to say the other day that you were 
 indebted to me to some extent. You are indebted to me to 
 a larger extent than you perhaps realize. You owe me fifty 
 years of happiness — fifty years of a life that might have 
 been happy had you decided differently when — when we 
 were younger. I do not blame you now — I never blamed 
 you. But the debt is there— you know my life, you know 
 almost every day of it — you cannot deny the debt. I drew 
 upon that."
 
 A LONG DEBT 323 
 
 And the white-haired woman raised her hand. 
 
 " Don't," she said, gently, " please don't say any more. 
 I know all that your life has been, and why. You did quite 
 right. What is a little trouble to me, a little passing incon- 
 venience, the tattle of a few idle tongues, compared with 
 what Jack's life is to you ? I see now that I ought to have 
 opposed it strongly instead of letting it take its course. 
 You were right — you always have been right, John. There 
 is a sort of consolation in the thought. I like it. I like to 
 think that you were always right and that it was I who was 
 wrong. It confirms ray respect for you. We shall get over 
 this somehow." 
 
 " The young lady," suggested Sir John, " will get over it 
 after the manner of her kind. She will man*y some one 
 else, let us hope, before her wedding-dress goes out of 
 fashion." 
 
 " Millicent will have to get over it as she may. Her 
 feelings need scarcely be taken into consideration." 
 
 Lady Cantourne made a little movement towards the 
 door. There was much to see to — much of that women's 
 work which makes weddings the wild, confused ceremonies 
 that they are. 
 
 " I am afraid," said Sir John, " that I never thought of 
 taking them into consideration. As you know, I hardly 
 considered yours. I hope I have not overdrawn that re- 
 serve." 
 
 He had crossed the room as he spoke to open the door 
 for her. His fingers were on the handle, but he did not 
 turn it, awaiting her answer. She did not look at him, 
 but passed him towards the shaded lamp, with that desire 
 lo fix her attention upon some inanimate object which he 
 knew of old. 
 
 " The reserve," she answered, " will stand more than that. 
 It has accumulated — with compound interest. But I deny 
 the debt of which you spoke just now. There is no debt. 
 I have paid it, year by year, day by day. For each one "f
 
 324 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 those fifty years of unhappiness I have paid a year — of 
 regret." 
 
 He opened the door and she passed out into the brilliantly 
 lighted passage and down the stairs, where the servants 
 were waiting to open the door and help her to her carriage. 
 
 Sir John did not go down-stairs with her. 
 
 Later on he dined in his usual solitary grandeur. He 
 was as carefully dressed as ever. The discipline of his 
 household— like the discipline under which he held himself 
 — was unrelaxed. 
 
 " What wine is this ?" he asked,when he had tasted the port. 
 
 " Yellow seal, sir," replied the butler, confidentially. 
 
 Sir John sipped again. 
 
 " It is a new bin," he said. 
 
 " Yes, sir. First bottle of the lower bin, sir." 
 
 Sir John nodded with an air of self-satisfaction. He was 
 pleased to have proved to himself and to the " damned 
 butler," who had caught him napping in the library, that he 
 was still a young man in himself, with senses and taste un- 
 impaired. But his hand was at the small of his back as he 
 returned to the library. 
 
 He was not at all sure about Jack — did not know 
 whether to expect him or not. Jack did not always do 
 what one might have expected him to do under given cir- 
 cumstances. And Sir John rather liked him for it. Perhaps 
 it was that small taint of heredity which was in blood, and 
 makes it thicker than water. 
 
 " Nothing like blood, sir," he was in the habit of saying, 
 " in horses, dogs, and men." And thereafter he usually 
 threw back his shoulders. 
 
 The good blood that ran in his veins was astir to-night. 
 The incidents of the day had aroused him from the peace- 
 fulness that lies under a weight of years (we have to lift the 
 years one by one and lay them aside before we find it), and 
 Sir John Meredith would have sat very upright in his chair 
 were it not for that carping pain in his back.
 
 A LONG DEBT 325 
 
 He waited for an hour with his eyes almost continually 
 on the clock, but Jack never came. Then he rang the bell. 
 
 " Coffee," he said. " I like punctuality, if you please." 
 
 "Thought Mr. Meredith might be expected, sir," mur- 
 mured the butler, humbly. 
 
 Sir John was reading the evening paper, or appearing to 
 read it, although he had not his glasses. 
 
 "Oblige me by refraining from thought," he said, ur- 
 banely. 
 
 So the coffee was brought, and Sir John consumed it in 
 silent majesty. While he was pouring out his second cup 
 — of a diminutive size — the bell rang. He set down the 
 silver coffee-pot with a plebeian clatter, as if his nerves were 
 not quite so good as they used to be. 
 
 It was not Jack, but a note from him. 
 
 " My dear Father, — Circumstances have necessitated the breaking 
 off of my engagement at the last moment. To-morrow's ceremony 
 will not take place. As the above-named circumstances were partly 
 under your control, I need hardly offer an explanation. I leave town 
 and probably England to-night. 
 
 " I am, your affectionate son, John Meredith." 
 
 There were no signs of haste or discomposure. The letter 
 was neatly written in the somewhat large caligraphy, firm, 
 bold, ornate, which Sir John had insisted on Jack's learn- 
 ing. The stationery bore a club crest. It was an eminently 
 gentlemanly communication. Sir John read it and gravely 
 tore it up, throwing it into the fire, where he watched it 
 burn. 
 
 Nothing was further from his mind than sentiment. He 
 was not much given to sentiment, this hard-hearted old sire 
 of an ancient stock. He never thought of the apocryphal 
 day when he, being laid in his grave, should at last win the 
 gratitude of his son. 
 
 " When I am dead and gone you may be sorry for it " 
 were not the words that any man should hear from his lips.
 
 326 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 More than once during their lives Lady Cantourne bad 
 said : 
 
 " You never change your mind, John," referring to one 
 thing or another. And he had invariably answered : 
 
 " No, I am not the sort of man to change." 
 
 He had always known his own mind. When he had 
 been in a position to rule he had done so with a rod of 
 iron. His purpose had ever been inflexible. Jack had been 
 the only person who had ever openly opposed his desire. 
 In this, as in other matters, his indomitable will had carried 
 the day, and in the moment of triumph it is only the weak 
 who repine. Success should have no disappointment for 
 the man who has striven for it if his will be strong. 
 
 Sir John rather liked the letter. It could only have been 
 written by a son of his — admitting nothing, not even defeat. 
 But he was disappointed. He had hoped that Jack would 
 come — that some sort of a reconciliation would be patched 
 up. And somehow the disappointment affected him phys- 
 ically. It attacked him in the back, and intensified the 
 pain there. It made him feel weak and unlike himself. 
 He rang the bell. 
 
 " Go round," he said to the butler, " to Dr. Damer, and 
 ask him to call in during the evening if he has time." 
 
 The butler busied himself with the coffee-tray, hesitating, 
 desirous of gaining time. 
 
 " Anything wrong, sir ? I hope you are not feeling ill," 
 he said, nervously. 
 
 " 111, sir !" cried Sir John. " Damn it, no ; do I look ill 2 
 Just obey my orders, if you please."
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 MADE UP 
 
 "My faith is large in Time, 
 And that which shapes it to some perfect end." 
 
 "Mr dear Jack, — At the risk of being considered an interfering 
 old woman, I write to ask you whether you are not soon coming 
 to England again. As you are aware, your father and I knew each 
 other as children. We have known each other ever since — we are 
 now almost the only survivors of our generation. My reason for 
 troubling you with this communication is that during the last 
 six months I have noticed a very painful change in your father. 
 He is getting very old — he has no one but servants about him. 
 You know his manner — it is difficult for any one to approach him, 
 even for me. If you could come home — by accident — I think that 
 you will never regret it in after-life. I need not suggest discre- 
 tion as to this letter. 
 
 "Your affectionate friend, 
 
 " Caroline Cantocrne." 
 
 Jack Meredith read this letter in the coffee-room of the 
 . Hotel of the Four Seasons at Wiesbaden. It was a lovely 
 morning — the sun shone down through the trees of the 
 Friedrichstrasse upon that spotless pavement, of which the 
 stricken wot ; the fresh breeze came bowling down from the 
 Taunus mountains all balsamic and invigorating — it picked 
 up the cdors of the seringa and flowering currant in the 
 Kurgarten, and threw itself in at the open window of the 
 coffee-room of the Hotel of the Four Seasons. 
 
 Jack Meredith was restless. Such odors as are borne on 
 the morning breeze are apt to make those men restless who 
 have not all that they want. And is not their name legion ? 
 The morning breeze is to the strong the moonlight of the
 
 328 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 sentimental. That which makes one vaguely yearn incites 
 the other to get up and take. 
 
 By the train leaving Wiesbaden for Cologne, " over 
 Mainz," as the guide-book hath it, Jack Meredith left for 
 England, in which country he had not set foot for fifteen 
 months. Guy Oscard was in Cashmere ; the Simiacine was 
 almost forgotten as a nine days' wonder except by those 
 who live by the ills of mankind. Millicent Chyne had de- 
 generated into a restless society "hack." With great skill 
 she had posed as a martyr. She had allowed it to be un- 
 derstood that she, having remained faithful to Jack Mere- 
 dith through his time of adversity, had been heartlessly 
 thrown over when fortune smiled upon him and there was 
 a chance of his making a more brilliant match. With a 
 chivalry which was not without a keen shaft of irony father 
 and son allowed this story to pass uncontradicted. Perhaps 
 a few believed it ; perhaps they had foreseen the future. 
 It may have been that they knew that Millicent Chyne, 
 surrounded by the halo of whatever story she might invent, 
 would be treated with a certain careless nonchalance by the 
 older men, with a respectful avoidance by the younger. 
 Truly women have the deepest punishment for their sins 
 here on earth ; for sooner or later the time will come — 
 after the brilliancy of the first triumph, after the less pure 
 satisfaction of the skilled siren — the time will come when 
 all that they want is an enduring, honest love. And it is 
 written that an enduring love cannot, with the best will in 
 the world, be bestowed on an unworthy object. If a woman 
 wishes to be loved purely she must have a pure heart, and 
 no past, ready for the reception of that love. This is a 
 sine qua non. The woman with a past has no future. 
 
 The short March day was closing in over London with 
 that murky suggestion of hopelessness affected by metro- 
 politan even-tide when Jack Meredith presented himself at 
 the door of his father's house. 
 
 In his reception by the servants there was a subtle sug-
 
 MADE UP 329 
 
 gestion of expectation which was not lost on his keen 
 mind. There is no patience like that of expectation in an 
 old heart. Jack Meredith felt vaguely that he had been ex- 
 pected thus, daily, for many months past. 
 
 He was shown into the library, and the tall form stand- 
 ing there on the hearth-rug had not the outline for which 
 he had looked. The battle between old age and a stubborn 
 will is long. But old age wins. It never raises the siege. 
 It starves the garrison out. Sir John Aleredith's head 
 seemed to have shrunk. The wig did not fit at the back. 
 His clothes, always bearing the suggestion of emptiness, 
 seemed to hang on ancient - given lines as if the creases 
 were well established. The clothes were old. The fateful 
 doctrine of not-worth-while had set in. 
 
 Father and son shook hands, and Sir John walked feebly 
 to the stiff-backed chair, where he sat down in shamefaced 
 silence. He was ashamed of his infirmities. His was the 
 instinct of the dog that goes away into some hidden corner 
 to die. 
 
 " I am glad to see you," he said, using his two hands to 
 push himself farther back in his chair. 
 
 There was a little pause. The fire was getting low. It 
 fell together with a feeble, crumbling sound. 
 
 " Shall I put some coals on ?" asked Jack. 
 
 A simple question — if you will. But it was asked by 
 the son in such a tone of quiet, filial submission, that a 
 whole volume could not contain all that it said to the old 
 man's proud, unbending heart. 
 
 " Yes, my boy, do." 
 
 And the last six years were wiped away like evil writing 
 from a slate. 
 
 There was no explanation. These two men were not of 
 those who explain themselves, and in the warmth of expla- 
 nation say things which they do not fully mean. The 
 opinions that each had held during the years they had left 
 behind had perhaps been modified on both sides, but neither
 
 330 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 sought details of the modification. They knew each other 
 now, and each respected the indomitable will of the other. 
 
 They inquired after each other's health. They spoke of 
 events of a common interest. Trifles of every- day occui> 
 rence seemed to contain absorbing details. But it is the 
 every-day occurrence that makes the life. It was the put- 
 ting on of the coals that reconciled these two men. 
 
 " Let me see," said Sir John, " you gave up your rooms 
 before you left England, did you not?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Jack drew forward his chair and put his feet out towards 
 the fire. It was marvellous how thoroughly at home he 
 seemed to be. 
 
 "Then," continued Sir John, " where is your luggage?" 
 
 " I left it at the club." 
 
 " Send along for it. Your room is — er, quite ready for 
 you. I shall be glad if you will make use of it as long as 
 you like. You will be free to come and go as if you were 
 in your own house." 
 
 Jack nodded with a strange, twisted little smile, as if he 
 were suffering from cramp in the legs. It was cramp — at 
 the heart. 
 
 " Thanks," he said, " I should like nothing better. Shall 
 I ring?" 
 
 " If you please." 
 
 Jack rang and they waited in the fading daylight with- 
 out speaking. At times Sir John moved his limbs, his 
 hand on the arm of the chair and his feet on the hearth-rug, 
 with the jerky, half-restless energy of the aged which is not 
 pleasant to see. 
 
 When the servant came it was Jack who gave the orders, 
 and the butler listened to them with a sort of enthusiasm. 
 When he had closed the door behind him he pulled down 
 his waistcoat with a jerk, and as he walked down-stairs he 
 muttered "Thank 'eaven !" twice, and wiped away a tear 
 from his bibulous eye.
 
 MADE UP 331 
 
 "What have yon been doing with yourself since — I saw 
 you?" inquired Sir John, conversationally, when the door 
 was closed. 
 
 " I have been out to India — merely for the voyage. I 
 went with Oscard, who is out there still, after big game." 
 
 Sir John Meredith nodded. 
 
 " I like that man," he said ; " he is tough. I like tough 
 men. He wrote me a letter before he went away. It was 
 the letter of — one gentleman to another. Is he going to 
 spend the rest of his life ' after big game V " 
 
 Jack laughed. 
 
 " It seems rather like it. He is cut out for that sort of 
 life. He is too big for narrow streets and cramped houses." 
 
 " And matrimony V 
 
 "Yes — and matrimony." 
 
 Sir John was leaning forward in his chair, his two with- 
 ered hands clasped on his knees. 
 
 " You know," he said, slowly, blinking at the fire, " he 
 cared for that girl — more than you did, my boy." 
 
 " Yes," answered Jack, softly. 
 
 Sir John looked towards him, but he said nothing. His 
 attitude was interrogatory. There were a thousand ques- 
 tions in the turn of his head, questions which one gentle- 
 man could not ask another. 
 
 Jack met his gaze. They were still wonderfully alike, 
 these two men, though one was in his prime while the 
 other was infirm. On each face there was the stamp of a 
 long-drawn silent pride ; each was a type of those haughty 
 conquerors who stepped, mail-clad, on our shore eight hun- 
 dred years ago. Form and feature, mind and heart, had 
 been handed down from father to son, as great types are. 
 
 " One may have the right feeling and bestow it by mis- 
 take on the wrong person," said Jack. 
 
 Sir John's fingers were at his lips. 
 
 " Yes," he said, rather indistinctly, " while the right per- 
 son is waiting for it."
 
 332 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 Jack looked up sharply, as if he either had not heard or 
 did not understand. 
 
 " While the right person is waiting for it," repeated Sir 
 John, deliberately. 
 
 " The right person — " 
 
 " Jocelyn Gordon," explained Sir John, " is the right 
 person." 
 
 Jack shrugged his shoulders and leaned back so that the 
 firelight did not shine upon his face. " So I found out 
 eighteen months ago," he said, " when it was too late." 
 
 " There is no such thing as too late for that," said Sir 
 John, in his great wisdom. " Even if you were both quite 
 old it would not be too late. I have known it longer than 
 you. I found it out two years ago." 
 
 Jack looked across the room into the keen, worldly-wise 
 old face. 
 
 "How?" he inquired. 
 
 "From her. I found it out the moment she mentioned 
 your name. I conducted the conversation in such a manner 
 that she had frequently to say it, and whenever your name 
 crossed her lips she — gave herself away." 
 
 Jack shook his head with an incredulous smile. 
 
 " Moreover," continued Sir John, " I maintain that it is 
 not too late." 
 
 There followed a silence ; both men seemed to be wrapped 
 in thought, the same thoughts with a difference of forty 
 years of life in the method of thinking them. 
 
 " I could not go to her with a lame story like that," said 
 Jack. " I told her all about Millicent." 
 
 " It is just a lame story like that that women under- 
 stand," answered Sir John. "When I was younger I 
 thought as you do. I thought that a man must needs bring 
 a clean slate to the woman he asks to be his wife. It is 
 only his hands that must be clean. Women see deeper into 
 these mistakes of ours than we do ; they see the good of 
 them where we only see the wound to our vanity. Some-
 
 MADE UP 333 
 
 times one would almost be inclined to think that they pre- 
 fer a few mistakes in the past because it makes the present 
 surer. Their romance is a different thing from ours — it is 
 a better thing, deeper and less selfish. They can wipe the 
 slate clean and never look at it again. And the best of 
 them — rather like the task." 
 
 Jack made no reply. Sir John Meredith's chin was rest- 
 ing on his vast necktie. He was looking with failing eyes 
 into the fire. He spoke like one who was sure of himself 
 — confident in his slowly accumulated store of that knowl- 
 edge which is not written in books. 
 
 " Will you oblige me ?" he asked. 
 
 Jack moved in his chair, but he made no answer. Sir 
 John did not indeed expect it. He knew his son too well. 
 
 "Will you," he continued, "go out to Africa and take 
 your lame story to Jocelyn — just as it is?" 
 
 There was a long silence. The old worn-out clock on 
 the mantel-piece wheezed aud struck six. 
 
 " Yes," answered Jack, at length, " I will go." 
 
 Sir John nodded his head with a sigh of relief. All, in- 
 deed, comes to him who waits. 
 
 " I have seen a good deal of life," he said, suddenly, 
 arousing himself and sitting upright in the stiff-backed 
 chair, " here and there in the world ; and I have found that 
 the happiest people are those who began by thinking that 
 it was too late. The romance of youth is only fit to write, 
 about in books. It is too delicate a fabric for every-day 
 use. It soon wears out or gets torn." 
 
 Jack did not seem to be listening. 
 
 " But," continued Sir John, " you must not waste time. 
 If I may suggest it, you will do well to go at once." 
 
 " Yes," answered Jack," I will go in a month or so. I should 
 like to see you in a better state of health before I leave you." 
 
 Sir John pulled himself together. He threw back his 
 shoulders and stiffeued his neck. 
 
 " My health is excellent," he replied, sturdily. "Of course
 
 334 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 I am beginning to feel my years a little ; but one must ex- 
 pect to do that after — eh — er — sixty. Cest la vie." 
 
 He made a little movement of the hands. 
 
 " No," he went on, " the sooner you go the better." 
 
 " I do not like leaving you," persisted Jack. 
 
 Sir John laughed rather testily. 
 
 " That is rather absurd," he said ; " I am accustomed to 
 being left. I have always lived alone. You will do me a 
 favor if you will go now and take your passage out to Africa." 
 
 "Now — this evening?" 
 
 " Yes — at once. The offices close about half-past six, I 
 believe. You will just have time to do it before dinner." 
 
 Jack rose and went towards the door. He went slowly, 
 almost reluctantly. 
 
 " Do not trouble about me," said Sir John ; " 1 am accus- 
 tomed to being left." 
 
 He repeated it when the door had closed behind his son. 
 
 The fire was low again — it was almost dying. The day- 
 light was fading every moment. The cinders fell together 
 with a crumbling sound, and a grayness crept into their 
 glowing depths. The old man sitting there made no at- 
 tempt to add fresh fuel. 
 
 "I am accustomed," he said, with a half -cynical smile, 
 " to being left." 
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 THE TELEGRAM 
 
 " How could it end in any other way ? 
 You called me, and I came home to your heart." 
 
 "They tell me, sir, that Missis Marie — that is, Missis 
 Dnrnovo — has gone back to her people at Sierra Leone." 
 
 Thus spoke Joseph to his master one afternoon in March, 
 not so many years ago. They were on board the steamer
 
 THE TELEGRAM 335 
 
 Bogamayo, which good vessel was pounding down the West 
 Coast of Africa at her best speed. The captain reckoned 
 that he would be anchored at Loango by half-past seven or 
 eight o'clock that evening. There were only seven passen- 
 gers on board, and dinner had been ordered an hour earlier 
 for the convenience of all concerned. Joseph was packing 
 his master's clothes in the spacious cabin allotted to him. 
 The owners of the steamer had thought it worth their while 
 to make the finder of the Simiacine as comfortable as cir- 
 cumstances allowed. The noise of that <jreat drug had di- 
 rected towards the West Coast of Africa that floating scum 
 of ne'er-do-welldom which is ever on the alert for some new 
 land of promise. 
 
 "Who told you that?" asked Jack, drying his hands on 
 a towel. 
 
 "One of the stewards, sir — a man that was laid up at 
 Sierra Leone in the hospital." 
 
 Jack Meredith paused for a moment before going on deck. 
 lie looked out through the open port-hole towards the blue 
 shadow on the horizon which was Africa — a country that 
 he had never seen three years before, and which had all 
 along been destined to influence his whole life. 
 
 " It was the best thing she could do," he said. " It is to 
 be hoped that she will be happy." 
 
 "Yes, sir, it is. She deserves it, if that goes for anything 
 in the heavenly reckonin'. She's a fine woman — a good 
 woman that, sir." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Joseph was folding a shirt very carefully. 
 
 " A bit dusky," he said, smoothing out the linen folds 
 reflectively; "but I shouldn't have minded that if I had 
 been a marryin' man — but I'm not." 
 
 He laid the shirt in the portmanteau and looked up. 
 Jack Meredith had gone on deck. 
 
 While Maurice and Jocelyn Gordon was still at dinner 
 that same evening a messenger came announcing the arrival
 
 336 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 of the Bogamayo in the roads. This news had the effect of 
 curtailing the meal. Maurice Gordon was liable to be called 
 away at any moment thus by the arrival of a steamer. It 
 was not long before he rose from the table and lighted a 
 cigar preparatory to going down to his office, where the cap- 
 tain of the steamer was by this time probably awaiting him. 
 It was a full moon, and the glorious golden light of the 
 equatorial night shone through the high trees like a new 
 dawn. Hardly a star was visible ; even those of the South- 
 ern Hemisphere pale beside the Southern moon. 
 
 Maurice Gordon crossed the open space of cultivated 
 garden and plunged into the black shadow of the forest. 
 His footsteps were inaudible. Suddenly he ran almost into 
 the arms of a man. 
 
 " Who the devil is that ?" he cried. 
 " Meredith," answered a voice. 
 " Meredith — Jack Meredith, is that you ?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, I'm blowed !" exclaimed Maurice Gordon, shaking 
 hands — " likewise glad. What brought you out here again ?" 
 "Oh, pleasure !" replied Jack, with his face in the shade. 
 "Pleasure! you've come to the wrong place for that. 
 However, I'll let you find that out for yourself. Go on to 
 the bungalow ; I'll be back in less than an hour. You'll 
 find Jocelyn in the veranda." 
 
 When Maurice left her, Jocelyn went out into the ve- 
 randa. It was the beginning of the hot season. At mid- 
 day the sun on his journey northward no longer cast a 
 shadow. Jocelyn could not go out in the daytime at this 
 period of the year. For fresh air she had to rely upon a 
 long, dreamy evening in the veranda. 
 
 She sat down in her usual chair while the moonlight, red 
 and glowing, made a pattern on the floor and on her white 
 dress with the shadows of the creepers. The sea was very 
 loud that night, rising and falling like the breath of some 
 huge sleeping creature.
 
 THE TELEGRAM 337 
 
 Jocelyn Gordon fell into a reverie. Life was very dull at 
 Loango. There was too much time for thought and too 
 little to think about. This girl only had the past, and her 
 past was all comprised in a few months — the few months 
 still known at Loango as the Simiacine year. She had 
 lapsed into a bad habit of thinking that her life was over, 
 that the daylight of it had waned, and that there was noth- 
 ing left now but the gray remainder of the evening. She 
 was wondering now why it had all come — why there had 
 been any daylight at all. Above these thoughts she won- 
 dered why the feeling was still in her heart that Jack Mere- 
 dith had not gone out of her life forever. There was no 
 reason why she should ever meet him again. He was, so 
 far as she knew, married to Millicent Chyne more than a 
 year ago, although she had never seen the announcement of 
 the wedding. He had drifted into Loango and into her 
 life by the merest accident; and now that the Simiacine 
 Plateau had been finally abandoned, there was no reason 
 why any of the original finders should come to Loango 
 again. 
 
 And the creepers were pushed aside by one who knew 
 the method of their growth. A silver glory of moonlight 
 fell on the veranda floor, and the man of whom she was 
 thinking stood before her. 
 
 " You I" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 She rose, and they shook hands. They stood looking at 
 each other for a few moments, and a thousand things that 
 had never been said seemed to be understood between them. 
 
 " Why have you come ?" she asked, abruptly. 
 
 " To tell you a story." 
 
 She looked up with a sort of half-smile, as if she sus- 
 pected some pleasantry of which she had not yet detected 
 the drift. 
 
 " A long story," he explained, " which has not even the 
 merit of being amusing. Please sit down again."
 
 338 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 She obeyed hira. 
 
 The curtain of hanging leaves and flowers had fallen into 
 place again ; the shadowed tracery was on her dress and on 
 the floor once more. 
 
 He stood in front of her and told her his story, as Sir 
 John had suggested. He threw no romance into it — at- 
 tempted no extenuation — but related the plain, simple facts 
 of the last few years with the semi - cynical suggestion of 
 humor that was sometimes his. And the cloak of pride 
 that had fallen upon his shoulders made him hide much 
 that was good, while he dragged forward his own short- 
 comings. She listened in silence. At times there hovered 
 round her lips a smile. It usually came when he repre- 
 sented himself in a bad light, and there was a suggestion of 
 superior wisdom in it as if she knew something of which he 
 was ignorant. 
 
 He was never humble. It was not a confession. It was 
 not even an explanation, but only a story — a very lame story 
 indeed — which gained nothing by the telling. And he was 
 not the hero of it. 
 
 And all came about as wise old Sir John Meredith had 
 predicted. It is not our business to record what Jocelyn 
 said. Women — the best of them — have some things in 
 their hearts which can only be said once to one person. 
 Men cannot write them down ; printers cannot print them. 
 
 The lame story was told to the end, and at the end it 
 was accepted. When Sir John's name was mentioned — 
 when the interview in the library of the great London house 
 was briefly touched upon — Jack saw the flutter of a small 
 lace pocket-handkerchief, and at no other time. The slate 
 was wiped clean, and it almost seemed that Jocelyn pre- 
 ferred it thus with the scratches upon it where the writing- 
 had been. 
 
 Maurice Gordon did not come back in an hour. It was 
 nearly ten o'clock before they heard his footstep on the 
 gravel. By that time Jocelyn had heard the whole story.
 
 THE TELEGRAM 339 
 
 She had asked one or two questions which somehow cast a 
 different light upon the narrative, and she had listened to 
 the answers with a grave, judicial little smile — the smile of 
 a judge whose verdict was preordained, whose knowledge 
 had nothing to gain from evidence. 
 
 Because she loved him she took his story and twisted it 
 and turned it to a shape of her own liking. Those items 
 which he had considered important she passed over as tri- 
 fles; the trifles she magnified into the corner-stones upon 
 which the edifice was built. She set the lame story upon 
 its legs, and it stood upright. She believed what he had 
 never told, and much that he related she chose to discredit 
 — because she loved him. She perceived motives where he 
 assured her there were none ; she recognized the force of 
 circumstance where he took the blame to himself — because 
 she loved him. She maintained that the past was good, 
 that he could not have acted differently, that she would not 
 have had it otherwise — because she loved him. 
 
 And who shall say that she was wrong? 
 
 Jack went out to meet Maurice Gordon when they heard 
 his footsteps, and as they walked back to the house he told 
 him. Gordon was quite honest about it. 
 
 " I hoped," he said, " when I ran against you in the 
 wood, that that was why you had come back. Nothing 
 could have given me greater happiness. Hang it, I am 
 glad, old chap !" 
 
 They sat far into the night arranging their lives. Jack 
 was nervously anxious to get back to England. He could 
 not rid his mind of the picture he had seen as he left his 
 father's presence to go and take his passage to Africa — the 
 picture of an old man sitting in a stiff-backed chair before a 
 dying fire. Moreover, he was afraid of Africa ; the Irrita- 
 bility of Africa had laid its hand upon him almost as soon 
 as he had set his foot upon its torrid straud. He was afraid 
 of the climate for Jocelyn ; he was afraid of it for himself. 
 The happiness that comes late must be firmly held to ; noth-
 
 340 WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 ing must be forgotten to secure it, or else it may slip between 
 the fingers at the last moment. 
 
 Those who have snatched happiness late in life can tell of 
 a thousand details carefully attended to — a whole existence 
 laid out in preparation for it, of health fostered, small pleas- 
 ures relinquished, days carefully spent. 
 
 Jack Meredith was nervously apprehensive that his happi- 
 ness might even now slip through his fingers. Truly, cli- 
 matic influence is a strange and wonderful thing. It was 
 Africa that had done this, and he was conscious of it. He 
 remembered Victor Durnovo's strange outburst on their first 
 meeting a few miles below Msala on the Ogowe River, and 
 the remembrance only made him the more anxious that 
 Jocelyn and he should turn their backs upon the accursed 
 West Coast forever. 
 
 Before they went to bed that night it was all arranged. 
 Jack Meredith had carried his point. Maurice and Jocelyn 
 were to sail with him for England by the first boat. Joce- 
 lyn and he compiled a telegram to be sent off first thing by 
 a native boat to St. Paul de Loanda. It was addressed to 
 Sir John Meredith, London, and signed " Meredith, Loan- 
 go." The text of it was : 
 
 " I bring Jocelyn home by first boat." 
 
 And the last words, like the first, must be of an old man 
 in London. We found him in the midst of a brilliant as- 
 sembly ; we leave him alone. We leave him lying stiffly on 
 his solemn four-post bed, with his keen, proud face turned 
 fearlessly towards his Maker. His lips are still; they wear 
 a smile which even in death is slightly cynical. On the 
 table at his bedside lies a submarine telegram from Africa. 
 16 is unopened. 
 
 THE END
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A A 000 258 487 8
 
 
 
 IS 
 
 If