Dr Jim tapped at the door, and a strong clear voice bade them enter. Next moment they were inside a small room plainly furnished with a table, a few chairs, and a small camp bed. They were in the favourite sanctum and bedroom of the modern Napoleon. He had been busy writing before they came, for the table was littered with papers. But at their entrance, he sprang up quickly, and, taking two strides, held out his shapely hand and clasped that of Dr Jim with a firm fervent grasp.
“Welcome back, old fellow, and you also, young gentlemen; let me congratulate you on your escape.”
He pushed the spirit-decanter and a box of cigars over to Dr Jim, who helped himself. Then he looked at our heroes with a genial smile.
“You have been already adding a line to our history, and making yourselves famous in Africa,” he said. “I have here my orders to look out for you, and hand you back to prison. Ah, there is a fine to do over this affair. Thirteen valuable burghers gone under, I believe.”
“Twelve I am answerable for,” answered Dr Jim, calmly.
“The thirteenth was killed by one of the Kaffirs who escaped with us,” said Ned.
He had been wondering how they had got on, and now enquired if any of them had been captured.
“Not yet. Nor do I expect they will be. I suppose you made arrangements about their safety, Jim?”
“Yes,” replied the doctor. “They will be passed on to their own people by the friendly Kaffirs, while if any care to come up here, the railway authorities have orders to forward them without delay.”
Our heroes rejoiced to hear this news, for their Kaffir friends had lain heavy on their minds since they had parted from them.