“Let Fingo boy see. Kafir want see hole in diamond.”
“I haven’t it about me. It isn’t safe to have such a stone around. I may never have a chance to sell it,” said Laure, firmly, looking at the Kafir.
“Dat good stone, Ba-a-as. Bring big money. Mus’ have money fo’ dat.”
“What have you done with all the money I have given you, Fingo?”
“Me save him. Me buy cows, pony.”
“It won’t do for you to have so much gold about you. Detectives will get you and put you in the chain-gang.”
“Me hide it—way off. Nobody find it!”
“Well how much shall I give you for it?”
“Hunder pound.”
“Too much. It isn’t worth it. I’ll give you eighty, or you may come to-morrow and I’ll give it back to you,” said Laure, who was pretty certain that the Kafir would hardly dare hunt for a buyer, as many a buyer, though an illicit one, would bring him before the authorities and compel him to disgorge, simply to throw the detectives off the scent in regard to himself. The Fingo hesitated for a moment or two, and then accepted the offer.