The morning following the events related in our first chapter, found
Kimberley in a high state of excitement.
Every man looked at his neighbour with a face like an interrogation
point, as if to ask, "Who next?"
The diamond market was crowded with men, gathered in groups, earnestly
discussing the _expose_, and the fatal denouement.
No one had stood higher in the esteem of the people than Count Telfus.
Among the first to engage in the diamond trade in Kimberley, he had
enjoyed the confidence of his associates, and, up to the day of his
arrest, no breath of suspicion had dimmed the lustre of his name. It
was evident that the numerous thefts of precious stones by the Kafirs
had aroused the authorities to their highest endeavour, and no one knew
on whom the next bolt of discovery might fall.
With Telfus guilty, whose name might not be found on the list of
I.D.B.'s?
There were few among those engaged in this unlawful trade whose minds
were free from anxiety, for even the guiltless might find his name in
the Doomsday book as among the suspected. When Donald reached home that
evening he found Dainty anxiously awaiting his return. The excitement
caused by the arrest and death of Count Telfus had reached every class,
and the unusual stir among the domestics had filled her mind with dire
apprehensions. She immediately inquired if there were any further
developments.
"The town is greatly excited. Dr Fox has written to the Count's family
in Paris, that the Count was accidentally killed, but carefully avoided
any mention of the true cause of his death. Poor Telfus!"
Dainty sighed, for the Count had been a frequent visitor, and his face
always brought sunshine into the house.
"Do you think he was guilty?"
"Rumour says the police sold a marked diamond to a Kafir for a song, and
then watched him. By some strange fatality it fell into Telfus' hands."
He paused, and looking into her eyes, asked:
"What would you do, if some great trouble should come to you?"
"Trouble? Surely no danger threatens us, Donald. You alarm me, what
harm can come to us?"
He was about to speak, but checked himself, and turning on his heel,
hastily left the room.
Donald was naturally of a buoyant disposition, and extremely popular in
business and social circles: but of late he had grown moody and
taciturn, and there was a marked change in his demeanour toward Dainty.
She believed that her husband adored her, and if his preoccupied and
distracted manner sometimes raised a query in her mind, it was too
short-lived to warrant any serious thought, and she quickly banished it.
She was fond of her husband in a childlike, cooing way, and it was her
delight to wind her arms about his neck, and, with a gentle twittering
sound, like a dove caressing its mate, ask the question that every woman
asks (who is sure of the answer): "Do you love me?"--and wait to hear
the low, responsive sigh, or receive a fond embrace. This unusual
question of Donald's alarmed her, and she stole softly into the
adjoining room where she found Donald nervously pacing the floor.
His face was pale and his eyes glistened with a hunted expression.
Laying her hand on his arm, she said:
"What is it that worries you, Donald?" He started and stammered:
"Nothing--except a little business annoyance."
She saw a letter in his hand, bearing a foreign postmark, and gave it a
questioning glance, to which he replied:
"A letter I have received from Amsterdam. There is a heavy decline in
the diamond market."
"Don't worry about that; you have now more than enough of this world's
goods to take care of yourself and your little wife as long as you
live," said Dainty, as she laughingly rubbed her cheek on his arm with
an action suggestive of a purring kitten. Without looking up, she
continued:
"Why don't you take me to England?"
He shut his eyes, and bit his lips, but oblivious to his emotion she
went on.
"You have so often promised, and I so want a change. I long to visit
the land you have told me of."
"Some day, my dear, you will see that great country of mine, but not
just now," rejoined Donald, gently.
"Ah, Donald, why do you always feed my curiosity with the shadow of
promises?"
Donald watched her with an idolatrous look until she passed from the
room, and then with a groan sank into a chair, and buried his face in
his hands. For a moment he sat in silence, then re-opened the letter.
It was dated "London" and the passage in it that he had read and
re-read, was this:
"The person you inquire about is in the city, and has learned--I know
not how--that you are in South Africa, and is determined to hunt you
down."
Striking a match, he set fire to the letter, and watched it slowly burn,
and crisply curl in his fingers. He then threw it on the floor, and
crushed it with his foot, with the unspoken wish that this act could
blot out its menace from his memory.
Growing calmer he arose, and passing his hand over his face as if
putting on a mask, went out of the room to join his wife at dinner.
The dinner was served by a black dwarf named Bela, who in his fantastic
proportions resembled a heathen idol in bronze.
After they had eaten sometime in silence, Dainty asked.
"Are you going out this evening?"
"I must go to the club, but I will return early."
"I am often lonely, Donald, when I am left with only my thoughts for
company," said Dainty, somewhat mournfully.
"You must be lonely sometimes," replied Donald. "Let us try a small
diversion. Why not invite in a few friends for an evening? Make out
your list, and send the invitations to-morrow. Don't get the blues
while I am away," and kissing her, he hurried into the street.