“Melton Hanney is an old friend of yours, is he? You know him as a good man?” he said.
“I have known him for about sixteen years,” said Gregory grimly. “And watched successive Governments pass him over for good work done.” This was the man of whom Leoline had spoken to Blanche Stern.
“I have no doubt he is the right person to consult on such a situation. Knowledge on the spot is beyond value,” said Halton, rising from his chair, and laying the book still open on his table. “I am going down to see White, Gregory. As yet I am not a marked man; but if you take my advice you will not ride alone through Port Victoria at present. The niggers are fit to dance the Cannab Dance for you!”
“The curs—I wish they had spirit enough! No, there might be the makings of a fight at China Town, but our mixed breeds will hardly show their teeth here. If you are going to see White, Halton, I wish you would ask him to come up early to-morrow, unless he would prefer to meet me at the office at eleven. I have business to discuss with him.”
“I shall recommend his coming here,” said Halton, with a slightly strained smile. “In spite of your contempt for them I should not be surprised to find a deputation of these ‘mixed breeds’ waiting on you—with razors. If I were in your position, I tell you frankly I should ask the O.C.T. for a picket.”
“There’s a shambok on the wall there,” said Gregory with quiet significance. “It would answer the same purpose—and is quite handy.”
He did not turn his head as Halton’s retreating steps died away from the room, but he noticed with more interest the sound of a little silver clock striking eight. He often worked up to ten o’clock at night, and had come back to write his letters direct from the dinner-table. The one to Melton Hanney was too long for an official document, and more private than he had indicated to Halton. He intended giving it to Alaric Lewin to deliver direct, and had cabled in cypher to Hanney to inform him of his advent. As he directed and sealed the envelope it struck him that the room was hot, and he rose and opened the long window-doors on to the stoep, passing Halton’s table as he did so. The book lay open where the Commissioner had left it, and with a passing wonder as to what he had been reading, Gregory’s eyes fell upon it and discovered that it was an old Bible, probably kept there for purposes of oath-making.
The Administrator took the book up deliberately in his strong hands, and looked to see what had engrossed Alfred Halton so deeply. He remembered how the flicker of the thin pages carefully turned, behind him, had worried his ear while he tried to concentrate all his thought and care upon the letter to Hanney, for it had been a dangerous letter to write, and every word had been weighed. Even then he had found it necessary to seal it, and would have to apologise to Lewin when asking him to deliver it. Halton had been looking for something, or he would not have turned those pages with such intent. Evelyn Gregory held up the faded print to the light.
It was the story of Uriah.
“And it came to pass in the morning that David wrote a letter to Joab, and sent it by the hand of Uriah.