‘I do not speak of him, m’lud, but of his father.’
‘The father is dead. He disappeared a generation ago,’ said Mr. Quantlet, rising.
‘Pardon me, that assumption is entirely unwarrantable,’ replied Mr. Netherpoint. ‘We undertake to prove the contrary, and will produce the man himself.’
Mr. Quantlet sat down, grumbling loudly. The words ‘personation,’ ‘conspiracy,’ ‘trumped-up witnesses,’ were heard audibly among his complaints.
‘Where is this person?’ asked his lordship. ‘Be good enough to inform the court of all particulars, brother Netherpoint. If you spring a mine like this without giving warning, you owe it to the court to make the fullest explanation.’
‘I am quite ready, m’lud. You shall have the whole story.’
What is now to be told so closely concerns our hero, that it must be given at some length.
After much delay and many rebuffs, Mr. Jimlett’s inquiries had been crowned at length with success. Tracing the line which the gun-runners commonly took, he had been gradually drawn towards the frontier of Natal. While hesitating to pass beyond the boundary, rumours reached him of Englishmen settled among the native tribes; of one in particular, who had risen to some eminence among them, and was reputed rich in wives and cattle. This personage he thought might give him some information; and, not without delay and difficulty, he made his way to his kraal. The object of Jimlett’s inquiries was stated with some caution to the English settler, who had been so long resident in his savage home, that he was almost denationalised. But if the chief had lost many of the customs of civilised life, just as he had discarded the dress, he had assumed in place of it much of that wily caution peculiar to the savage. Jimlett could get nothing out of him for a long time. The chief displayed as much, if not more circumspection than the lawyer’s clerk. It seemed impossible to draw a word out of him. He still spoke English fluently, and was perfectly calm and self-possessed.
‘I don’t see what you are driving at,’ he said, after long fencing. ‘Why not throw your cards down, and be open with me? It’s the best way to deal with a wild man. Who are you looking for really, and why?’
‘I want some one to tell me whether Herbert Farrington, youngest son of the last baronet Farrington, is alive or dead.’