A special train from Southampton had just steamed into Waterloo with the passengers from the Royal Mail steamer Ophir.Little groups of sunburnt men were greeting old friends upon the platform,surrounded by piles of luggage,canvas trunks and steamer chairs.
The demand for hansoms was brisk,cab after cab heavily loaded was rolling out of the yard.There were grizzled men and men of fair complexion,men in white helmets and puggarees,and men in silk hats.All sorts were represented there,from the successful diamond digger who was spasmodically embracing a lady in black jet of distinctly Jewish proclivities,to a sporting lord who had been killing lions.For a few minutes the platforms were given over altogether to a sort of pleasurable confusion,a vivid scene,full of colour and human interest.Then the people thinned away,and,very nearly last of all,a wizened-looking,grey-headed man,carrying a black bag and a parcel,left the platform with hesitating footsteps and turned towards the bridge.He was followed almost immediately by Hiram Da Souza,who,curiously enough,seemed to have been on the platform when the train came in and to have been much interested in this shabby,lonely old man,who carried himself like a waif stranded in an unknown land.Da Souza was gorgeous in frock coat and silk hat,a carnation in his buttonhole,a diamond in his black satin tie,yet he 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 mean?After all he had broken his vow,then!Had he not sworn to touch nothing until he had found his little girl and his fortune?yet the fire of spirits was in his veins and the craving was tearing him to pieces.
Then he remembered!There was no fortune,no little girl!His dreams were all shattered,the last effort of his life had been in vain.He caught hold of the tumbler with fingers that shook as though an ague were upon him,lifted it to his lips and drank.
Then there came the old blankness,and he saw nothing but what seemed to him the face of a satyr -dark and evil -mocking him through the shadows which had surely fallen now for ever.Da Souza lifted him up and conveyed him carefully to a four-wheel cab.
An hour afterwards Da Souza,with a grin of content upon his unshapely mouth,exchanged his frock coat for a gaudy smoking-jacket,and,with a freshly-lit cigar in his mouth,took up the letters which had arrived by the evening post.Seeing amongst them one with an African stamp he tore it open hastily,and read:-"MY DEAR HIRAM,-You was in luck now or never,if you really want to stop that half -witted creature from doing mischief in London.
