But this proved unnecessary. The cart rattled along through the streets and then out into the veldt. About half a mile outside the town it slowed down, the sack was removed, and Jack found he was close to the railway.
A few minutes later there was the shriek of an engine, and a locomotive and one carriage steamed up and stopped close by them.
Jack was bundled unceremoniously and with many a brutal jeer out of the cart and into the train, which at once went ahead, carrying him in the direction of Pretoria with three rough-looking, shaggy Boers, one of whom was the identical man who had acted as sentry in the magazine when Jack made his escape. About a mile farther on they pulled up again, and this time Piet Maartens climbed in and joined them. Then they proceeded, and were soon racing along at a fast pace.
“We’ve got you at last, my fine, brave young Englishman, have we?” jeered Piet Maartens. “Let me give you some good advice. Make the most of the next few minutes, as they are the last you are ever likely to see. You will have to reckon with Oom Paul now. You will not find him so soft-hearted as that fool Oom Schalk, and even if you do, there is myself, not to mention fat Hans Schloss, who have to be considered. Altogether, you had best prepare for the end, and perhaps, now that you find we are in real earnest, you will not be quite so brave or cock-a-whoop as you were down in the magazine.”
Jack made no answer, for to do so would only have been to wrangle, and he felt as though he would like to think in peace, for even without Piet’s malicious advice it was sufficiently certain that he could expect little mercy from the rough men into whose hands he had fallen.
Instead, therefore, of replying, he smiled disdainfully and remained silent, watching the lights which now and again flew past the window.
Half an hour later, the train drew up on the open veldt, and he was bundled out and into another cart drawn by a couple of horses, which at once set off at a gallop. Jack was placed on a seat between his two guards, and in this position was driven through Pretoria and up to the Government Buildings, his slouch hat and general appearance attracting no attention. He was now forced to descend and enter the building, where he was ushered into a small room, unlighted save for one electric lamp, which swung from the ceiling just above a leather-covered desk, littered with maps and papers, and behind which, leaning back in an arm-chair, sat President Kruger himself, seemingly half-asleep, and with his fat hands clasped together in his lap.
On one side of the president sat a big, burly man with a rugged, white-bearded, and not unpleasing face, whom Jack at once recognised as General Joubert, commandant of all the Boer forces, and, next to the president, the most powerful man in the Transvaal. Jack was placed in front of the table and remained silent, glaring defiantly and boldly at the man who, if report spoke true, was at once the most artful diplomat and the most consummate conspirator in the world.
There was some conversation in the Boer tongue, which Jack could not follow, as he had only picked up a few words as yet. Then Joubert addressed him in English, acting as interpreter between him and Paul Kruger, as the latter had such an intense dislike for anything British that he even pretended to be ignorant of the language.
“The president desires to know who you are, and for whom you were acting as spy two nights ago,” he said courteously. “Who employed you? Was it the British Government?”