“I shall stick to my present disguise, and live most of my time in the kitchen,” continued Ned. “I can also do any little messages you may want about the city.”
“Yes, that will be best. I’ll tell you how you may also serve us, if you can play your part safely.”
“In what way?”
“Get a sweetheart in the barracks if you can, and we may, with your help, be able to surprise them on the eventful night, without having to dynamite them. It may be a great saving of life on both sides.”
“It is a low game you ask me to play, Philip; but, as the Jesuits say, ‘the end justifies the means.’ I’ll try it on.”
For the next few days all went quietly in Johannesburg. Those outsiders who were not in the secret were happy that their trouble had blown over, and that better times were now approaching. The Three Ace club-men went about their business, and pretended to be satisfied, as the ignorant were. The armed Boers behaved like brothers.
The past sins of Oom Paul appeared to be condoned. Every one praised him now as the kindly old patriarch of Pretoria, who was at present hard at work growing a pair of angel’s wings.
Ned had succeeded in fascinating a big German Zarp, and spent a portion of each day in his company. Ned took the Teuton in preference to a Dutchman, as he had not any repugnance to this nation, yet it was a sacrifice to be amiable even to him.
On the ninth of the month he had two letters, one from Fred, who called himself Fanny, and the other from Clarence. They had arranged on terms by which they would be understood by each other, that might be read without suspicion by any one.
Fred wrote—