. Oom Paul
speaks now, and everything is his--from the Cape to the Zambesi,
everything his. It is too late. What can to do?" Suddenly ferocity
showed in his face. "It come at last. It is the end of the English both
sides the Vaal. They will go down like wild hogs into the sea with
Joubert and Botha behind them. It is the day of Oom Paul and Christ.
The God of Israel gives to his own the tents of the Rooineks."

In spite of the fierce passion of the man, who had suddenly disclosed a
side of his nature hitherto hidden--the savage piety of the copper Boer
impregnated with stereotyped missionary phrasing, Ian Stafford almost
laughed outright. In the presence of Jews like Sobieski it seemed so
droll that this half-caste should talk about the God of Israel, and
link Oom Paul's name with that of Christ the great liberator as
partners in triumph.

In all the years Krool had been in England he had never been inside a
place of worship or given any sign of that fanaticism which, all at
once, he made manifest. He had seemed a pagan to all of his class, had
acted as a pagan.

Barry Whalen, as well as Ian Stafford, saw the humour of the situation,
while they were both confounded by the courageous malice of the
traitor. It came to Barry's mind at the moment, as it came to Ian
Stafford's, that Krool had some card to play which would, to his mind,
serve him well; and, by instinct, both found the right clue. Barry's
anger became uneasiness, and Stafford's interest turned to anxiety.

There was an instant's pause after Krool's words, and then Wolff the
silent, gone wild, caught the sjambok from the hands of Barry Whalen.
He made a movement towards Krool, who again suddenly shrank, as he
would not have shrunk from a weapon of steel.

"Wait a minute," cried Fleming, seizing the arm of his friend. "One
minute. There's something more." Turning to Wallstein, he said, "If
Krool consents to leave England at once for South Africa, let him go.
Is it agreed? He must either be dealt with adequately, or get out. Is
it agreed?"

"I do what I like," said Krool, with a snarl, in which his teeth showed
glassily against his drawn lips. "No one make me do what I not want."

"The Baas--you have forgotten him," said Wallstein.

A look combined of cunning, fear and servility crossed Krool's face,
but he said, morosely:

"The Baas--I will do what I like."

There was a singular defiance and meaning in his tone, and the moment
seemed critical, for B