They had hit upon the keynote of his dangerous power in their misplaced contempt. It was this appearance of stupidity that threw keen men off their guard when dealing with him—this and his hypocritical cant. He looked no more intellectual than an ignorant local preacher, and as he was constantly preaching, they forgot to look under his words. Behind all these state platitudes, and copy-book texts, he plotted with the cunning and ferocity of a relentless savage.
After watching them for full five minutes with half-shut eyes, while he puffed like a steam-engine at his pipe, he made a motion with one blunt forefinger towards the table. His attendant at once rose and handed him the tobacco-box.
This was not what he wanted; still, while it was there, he filled his pipe and lit it afresh. Then he beckoned again. This time the secretary handed him one of the ace trinkets. He took it in the palm of his paw, and regarded it with suspicious eyes; then the lips widened and the cheeks bulged out, while another mouthful of harsh sounds were belched forth. The secretary explained this jumble of gutturals to our heroes.
“Why do you wear this badge? What does it signify?”
Ned explained that it was the badge of a club in Johannesburg, of which he and his companions were members.
The president broke out as soon as he had spoken, and the secretary went on with his questions.
“We know that well enough; but how came you strangers to be members of this club?”
Ned answered because they wished it. There was no law against Englishmen joining it at once on their arrival.
“Take care, younker, and remember where you are. Answer questions, but don’t make remarks. How many members are there?”
“I don’t know.”