"John hasn't said so. I think my notion must be correct, because the man has led an adventurous life, and the only surprising thing is that he should go back to it after years of portering. I believe he once belonged to a party of Arab ivory-dealers--I can't call them hunters, for all they did was to buy, or steal, ivory from the Wanderobbo north of Kenya. They were smashed up a few years ago by a tribe of Embe or Rendili, and Juma was said to be the only one who escaped. He has always been a good porter, except for his temper, and people have put up with that because of his strength and ingenuity.... This is cheese from John's dairy, Mrs. Burtenshaw; I can recommend it."
At this point a black servant entered, carrying a letter on a salver.
"A letter from John himself," said Mr. Gillespie, glancing at the envelope. "Now we shall hear all the news."
He broke the envelope and cast his eye over the contents, the others waiting in silence to hear what he had to say. He looked up in a moment and gave a quick glance at Mr. Halliday. Then, still holding the letter, he smiled and said--
"Shall we go into the other room, Mother, and digest this letter with some coffee?"
"Very well, my dear," said Mrs. Gillespie, rising. No one could have detected from her placid face and natural movements that she was aware that something was wrong. Oliver, who was nearest to the door, held it while the ladies passed out, and stood back for the elder men to follow.
"Go on, my boy," said Mr. Gillespie. "I'll look out some cigars I want you to try; be with you in a moment."
He took Mr. Halliday by the arm as he was passing, shut the door, and putting the letter into his hand, said--
"Read that!"
This is what Mr. Halliday read--