"Come, lads," said Mr. Blakeney, "we must be off. I don't know what's up, but there's some mischief brewing, I'm certain."
At once they set off at a steady trot towards the rope-ladder. They had traversed some six hundred yards, and emerged from a small grove of thorn trees about three hundred yards from the ladder foot, when an exclamation from Guy suddenly brought them to a halt.
"Look!" he cried. "There's some one--Poeskop, I believe--at the top of the cliff; and, by Jove, the ladder's gone!"
Mr. Blakeney and Tom stared hard at the cliff top, and saw at once that Guy's assertion was right. Poeskop it was, gesticulating at the summit of the precipice, and the ladder had vanished.
"There's something very wrong here," exclaimed Mr. Blakeney. "Come on!"
They were not long in covering the last three hundred yards that separated them from the foot of the cliff, and there a strange and tragic scene awaited them.
Standing alone, by the confused heap of the fallen ladder, which itself partly covered the dead body of Karl Engelbrecht, was the Hottentot Quasip, who was evidently much too terrified by the appalling tragedy that had taken place to attempt any hostilities. The man was trembling with terror, and, as Mr. Blakeney approached him, threw down his rifle and awaited the Englishman's speech.
"What does all this mean?" asked Mr. Blakeney sternly, holding his rifle in readiness.
It was some moments before the Hottentot could pull himself sufficiently together to reply coherently. Then he spoke.
"My baas there," he said, pointing to the dead Boer, "was coming to attack you. He made me climb down first, and then started himself. Some one from your camp above must have seen him. The baas fired a shot as he hung on the ladder, and then the ladder was cut, and he fell to the bottom and was killed."