“Going back to work to-day?” asked Laure.
“No! Me go way soon as me sell ’nother big white diamond me hab. Me buy wife, get big Kraal. Hab plenty ox, cow, pony.”
“You have a wife now, haven’t you?”
“Me hab two, three, four wife bime bye,” replied the Kafir as he held up four fingers. “Me know pretty Kafir girl: hoe corn; pound mealies—cook. Me work no more. Hunt blesse-bok; ride pony; smoke dagga; hab good time!”
“Yes, that is right, Fingo, you must leave the Fields. I will have the money for you, and will meet you at—or, stay. I will put it under the rock where you got the last. But mind, don’t stay round here much longer, or the police will get you—do you hear?”
“Kafir no fool, Ba-a-as Laure. He jes’ go home to his Kraal. No work more,” and the Kafir left the room.
That evening Laure and Schwatka were sitting talking in the library, when Dainty unexpectedly approached the room. A fragment of their conversation reached her, and as the full meaning of the words she heard burst upon her, she stood speechless, half hidden in the folds of the curtained doorway.
“Laure, how dare you carry on this illicit trade of buying diamonds of the Kafirs? Don’t you fear that they will give you away to the detectives?” Schwatka was saying.
“I suppose I am in danger of being trapped, but I am pretty sure of the Fingo who sells me the blazers.”
“You know you are safe, as far as I am concerned,” replied Schwatka. “I am thinking what your wife would do, if you should be caught, through the treachery of this Fingo. You can never tell what they will not do for money.”