"They'll only put inferior ones in. Besides, the Kafir boy's contract is up in a week's time, and if all the gang aren't caught by then, they're going to let the boy go out and meet his confederate to deliver his beads, and then the arrest will be made."
"Surely the Kafir was able to describe him, if he had been in the habit of meeting him every three months?"
"He says he was a young white boy, very thin, who wears a mask and an overcoat. They have met twice at night, in an old unused house in the Malay compound, the other side of Kimberley. Can you imagine any one running such awful risks for the sake of diamonds, Nan? But Len says it goes on all the time—this illicit diamond-buying business—and the company loses thousands of pounds every year and is hardly ever able to catch the thieves. They're as clever as paint! They have to be, for if they are caught it means ten to twenty years' imprisonment for them, as they know. Mustn't it be awful to live in such a state of risk and uncertainty, never knowing when you're going to be found out, for, of course, there are plenty of detectives on the watch for illicit buying all the time?"
"Awful—yes, but terribly exciting," Rosanne said musingly. "Don't you think so?" she added quickly, and began to pull on her gloves.
"Ah, don't go, yet!" cried Kitty. "Len will be dreadfully disappointed to find you gone."
"Tell him you told me the story," laughed Rosanne. "That will cheer him up."
"I don't think I shall," said Kitty soberly. "I'm afraid he'd be awfully mad with me, after all, even though it is only you I've told. He'll say women can't keep things to themselves, and that you're sure to tell someone else, and so the whole thing will get about."
"You needn't worry, dear. It will never get about through me," said
Rosanne quietly, and, kissing Kitty good-night, she went her ways.
As she passed through the brightly lit outer compound, stepping briskly toward the big gate, she was aware of more than one lurking shadow behind the blue-ground heaps. Also, it seemed to her that various guards were more alert than usual in their guardhouses. But she gave no faintest sign of observing these things, greeted the guard at the gate pleasantly, and, passing out to the street, stepped into the waiting carriage and was driven home. It wanted a few minutes to midnight when she stole from the veranda door of her room once more, dressed in her dim, straight gown of moonlight velvet with a swathe of colourless veil about her head and, sliding softly through the garden, went out into the quiet streets of the town until she came, at last, to a little indistinguished door next to a jeweller's window, whereon was neatly inscribed the name, "Syke Ravenal." On knocking gently three times, the door opened mechanically to admit her. Inside all was dark; but a few paces down a passage brought her to a door that opened into a small but brightly lighted room. An elderly man was seated at a table engaged in beautifully illuminating a parchment manuscript. This was Syke Ravenal.
"You are very late, my child," he said, in a gently benevolent tone.
His voice was rich and sonorous.