The amazement, half sorrowful, half reproachful, on the man's face was perfectly done. But Trent only snorted.
“That piece of paper, as you call it, cost us the hard savings of years, it cost us weeks and months in the bush and amongst the swamps—it cost a man's life, not to mention the niggers we lost. Come, I'm not here to play skittles. Are you on for a deal or not? If you're doubtful about it I've another market. Say the word and we'll drink and part, but if you want to do business, here are my terms. Five thousand for a sixth share!”
“Sixth share,” the Jew screamed, “sixth share?”
Trent nodded.
“The thing's worth a million at least,” he said. “A sixth share is a great fortune. Don't waste any time turning up the whites of your eyes at me. I've named my terms and I shan't budge from them. You can lay your bottom dollar on that.”
Da Souza took up the document and glanced it through once more.
“The concession,” he remarked, “is granted to Scarlett Trent and to one Monty jointly. Who is this Monty, and what has he to say to it?”
Trent set his teeth hard, and he never blenched.
“He was my partner, but he died in the swamps, poor chap. We had horrible weather coming back. It pretty near finished me.”
Trent did not mention the fact that for four days and nights they were hiding in holes and up trees from the natives whom the King of Bekwando had sent after them, that their bearers had fled away, and that they had been compelled to leave the track and make their way through an unknown part of the bush.
“But your partner's share,” the Jew asked. “What of that?”
“It belongs to me,” Trent answered shortly. “We fixed it so before we started. We neither of us took much stock in our relations. If I had died, Monty would have taken the lot. It was a fair deal. You'll find it there!”
The Jew nodded.
“And your partner?” he said. “You saw him die! There is no doubt about that?”
Prev.
Back
Top