d of
master-of-ceremonies and lord-in-waiting, as it were, could do. Yes,
there was Adrian Fellowes, the private secretary; and there was Mrs.
Byng, who knew so much of what her husband knew! And the private
secretary and the wife necessarily saw much of each other. What came to
Barry's mind now stunned him, and he mumbled out some words of good-bye
with an almost hang-dog look to his face; for he had a chivalrous heart
and mind, and he was not prone to be malicious.

"We'll meet at eight, then?" said Byng, taking out his watch. "It's a
quarter past seven now. Don't fuss, Barry. We'll nose out the spy,
whoever he is, or wherever to be found. But we won't find him here, I
think--not here, my friend."

Suddenly Barry Whalen turned at the door. "Oh, let's go back to the
veld and the Rand!" he burst out, passionately. "This is no place for
us, Byng--not for either of us. You are getting flabby, and I'm
spoiling my temper and my manners. Let's get out of this infernal
jack-pot. Let's go where we'll be in the thick of the broiling when it
comes. You've got a political head, and you've done more than any one
else could do to put things right and keep them right; but it's no
good. Nothing'll be got except where the red runs. And the red will
run, in spite of all Jo or Milner or you can do. And when it comes, you
and I will be sick if we're not there--yes, even you with your
millions, Byng."

With moist eyes Byng grasped the hand of the rough-hewn comrade of the
veld, and shook it warmly.

"England has got on your nerves, Barry," he said, gently. "But we're
all right in London. The key-board of the big instrument is here."

"But the organ is out there, Byng, and it's the organ that makes the
music, not the keys. We're all going to pieces here, every one of us. I
see it. Herr Gott, I see it plain enough! We're in the wrong shop.
We're not buying or selling; we're being sold. Baas--big Baas, let's go
where there's room to sling a stone; where we can see what's going on
round us; where there's the long sight and the strong sight; where you
can sell or get sold in the open, not in the alleyways; where you can
have a run for your money."

Byng smiled benevolently. Yet something was stirring his senses
strangely. The smell of the karoo was in his nostrils. "You're not
ending up as you began, Barry," he replied. "You started off like an
Israelite on the make, and you're winding up like Moody and Sankey."

"Well, I'm right now