Colin told him.
"Mine's Van der Wyck," volunteered the other. "Heard that name before?"
"It's Dutch, isn't it?" asked Colin.
The bearded man laughed, displaying a double row of large white teeth.
"Was once," he replied. "I'm an Afrikander; do you know what that is? Well, a Boer, if you like! See that?"
He turned up his coat-sleeve, revealing a bluish mark on his bronzed skin.
"That's a bullet wound," he continued. "I got that twenty years ago at Paardeberg, fighting against the British. See that?"
Van der Wyck lifted one leg, and, pulling up the trouser-leg a few inches, revealed the fact that he wore an artificial foot.
"Got that in 1916 fighting for the British in German East Africa," he explained proudly. "Bit of a scrap close to a place called Kilembonga. Don't suppose you've ever heard of the place."
"I have," declared Colin. "That's where I'm going."