"Not at all," declared the Afrikander. "I would not be much of a pal if I hadn't done my best to get you out of a mess. You did the same for me, you'll remember. By the by, what did you do with the swastika?"
"The Makoh'lenga collared it," said Sinclair. "It's buried underneath the rock, unless it was blown to atoms!"
"Wrong again," exclaimed the Afrikander. "You're rather off things in the guessing line just now. Here it is. I took charge of it when I fired Umkomasi and his friends out of the cave."
And once more Colin Sinclair became the possessor of the Amulet of the Makoh'lenga.
* * * * *
"Any news?" asked Farmer Van der Wyck.
Colonel Narfield shook his head.
The native postman had just departed, leaving a batch of correspondence for the owner of Kilembonga. Beyond a few letters from home, posted nine weeks earlier, there was little of interest except a note from District Commissioner Wynyard.
"No," replied the Colonel. "No news of the lads. I'm beginning to fear—here's a line from Wynyard. He's heard nothing, of course, and pooh-poohs the Makoh'lenga theory. He adds the information that Jan Groute and his gang were laid by the heels at Pondogo's Kraal, and they are all snugly under lock and key at Tabora. That's why he hasn't been able to ride over and see us recently. There are some newspapers. One of them is the Jo'burg Express. Care to have a look at it?"
The two men entered the living-room. Tenpenny Nail was engaged in laying the table for the evening meal. "Here, you," exclaimed Colonel Narfield, pointing to the table, "what's all this? I have not told you that I was having more friends to supper."