e was not
altogether happy. This little man hobbling along in front represented
fate to him. On the platform at Waterloo he had heard him timidly ask
a bystander the way to the offices of the Bekwando Land and Gold
Exploration Company, Limited. If ever he got there, what would be the
price of Bekwando shares on the morrow?

On the bridge Da Souza saw him accost a policeman, and brushing close
by, heard him ask the same question. The man shook his head, but pointed
eastwards.

"I can't say exactly, sir, but somewhere in the City, for certain," he
answered. "I should make for the Bank of England, a penny 'bus along
that way will take you--and ask again there."

The old man nodded his thanks and stepped along Da Souza felt that his
time had come. He accosted him with an urbane smile.

"Excuse me," he said, "but I think I heard you ask for the offices of
the Bekwando Land Company."

The old man looked up eagerly. "If you can direct me there, sir," he
said, "I shall be greatly obliged."

"I can do so," Da Souza said, falling into step, "and will with
pleasure. I am going that way myself. I hope," he continued in a tone of
kindly concern, "that you are not a shareholder in the Company."

The old man dropped his bag with a clatter upon the pavement, and his
lips moved for a moment without any speech coming from them. Da Souza
picked up the bag and devoutly hoped that none of his City friends were
in the way.

"I don't exactly know about being a shareholder," the old man said
nervously, "but I've certainly something to do with it. I am, or should
have been, joint vendor. The Company is wealthy, is it not?"

Da Souza changed the bag into his other hand and thrust his arm through
his companion's.

"You haven't seen the papers lately, have you?"

"No! I've just landed--to-day--from Africa!"

"Then I'm sorry to say there's some bad news for you," Da Souza said.
"The Bekwando Land and Gold Company has gone into liquidation--smashed
up altogether. They say that all the directors and the vendor will be
arrested. It seems to have been a gigantic swindle."

Monty had become a dead weight upon his arm. They were in the Strand
now, and he pushed open the swing-door of a public-house, and made
his way into the private bar. When Monty opened his eyes he was on a
cushioned seat, and before him was a tumbler of brandy half empty. He
stared round him wildly. His lips were moist and the old craving was hot
upon him. What did it