all the swag is with him. But I
somehow feel certain we shall hear from him almost directly."

We may be sure that in narrating his adventures that evening to the
household at large Sellon in no wise minimised his experiences of the
undertaking, or his own exploits. It is only fair to say that he really
had undergone a very hard time before he had succeeded in striking the
river at the drift where they had crossed; and, indeed, it was more by
good luck than management that he had reached it at all. And during his
narrative one listener was noting every word he said, with breathless
attention. Whenever he looked up, Marian Selwood's blue eyes were fixed
upon his face. He began to feel very uncomfortable beneath that steady
searching gaze.

But he felt more so when, his story finished, Marian began to ply him
with questions. "A regular cross-examination, confound it!" he thought.
And then, by way of a diversion, he went to fetch the few diamonds
which he had kept apart to show as the sole result of the expedition.
These were examined with due interest.

The fact of Sellon arriving alone created no suspicion in the minds of
Selwood and his wife, nor yet uneasiness. Was he not a newly imported
Briton--and to that extent a greenhorn? If he could find his way out
and successfully dodge his pursuers, was it likely that a seasoned
adventurer such as Renshaw would fare any worse? So on the latter's
account they felt but small anxiety.

Not so Marian, however. A terrible suspicion had taken shape within her
mind during Sellon's narrative. "He has murdered him!" was her
conclusion. "He has murdered him," she repeated to herself during a
night of sleepless agony--such as a strong concentrative nature will
sometimes be called upon to undergo. But she kept her suspicions to
herself--for the present, at any rate. She was helpless. What could
she do? There was nothing to go upon.

Then, on the morrow, Sellon took his departure, as he had announced his
intention of doing, and the equanimity with which the circumstance was
regarded by Violet, together with their indifferent demeanour towards
each other on the previous evening, completely lulled any suspicions
which might have lingered in Christopher Selwood's mind; confirming as
it did the other's frank and straightforward explanation.

For his wife had not yet told him all that had transpired between
herself and Violet.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

FROM THE DAR