As he stood in the brilliant sunshine in his shirt sleeves and removed the extraordinary quantity of grease paint with a soft rag, he felt satisfied that he had played a difficult part, and played it exceedingly well. Anyone but a genius might have overplayed the part and given the thing away. The finish of the game was in Grit's hands. He had an immense admiration for Lawless. It had been aroused in the first instance by the tales Simmonds had told Colonel Grey of the man with the scar and the queer nickname and the reputation for courage. Other accounts he had heard later had fostered it, and his subsequent personal knowledge of the man had led to a hero-worship which, being shy of showing affection for his own sex, he contrived fairly successfully to hide. But it was sufficiently real to allow him to contemplate without envy Lawless' final success in the matter of the letters. He was satisfied that the credit of the affair should be his. Moreover, he was curiously anxious that Colonel Grey should be forced to acknowledge the integrity of the man whose trustworthiness he seemed to doubt. He was in the act of removing the last traces of make-up from his eyebrows when a sudden exclamation from Lawless caused him to look up from his occupation. "Got the letters?" he asked. Lawless stood with a slip of paper in his hand. The pocket-book and its further contents lay on the veld at his feet. "Yes," he answered briefly. Hayhurst whistled. Then he stared at the slip of paper in the other's possession. "Clue to 'em, I suppose?" he said, a trifle disappointedly. "Hurry up, Tom, and finish. I want you," Lawless returned, without vouchsafing any explanation. Van Bleit looked at the slip of paper, and scowled darkly. "That's no use to you," he said, with an attempt at bluff. "If you hand in that receipt they won't give you the packet." "I know all about that," Lawless answered, and smiled quietly. "Ever since you put it into my mind to guess where those letters were I've been waiting to get hold of this. Are you ready, Tom?" He ran his eye over the metamorphosed figure, as Hayhurst, having removed the last of the paint, came forward in response to his inquiry, and the smile on his face deepened. "By Jove!" he said. Hayhurst laughed. "Old Karl don't seem to like me nearly so well," he complained, grinning at Van Bleit's scowling visage. "Don't seem to want to tickle my ribs now? ... Well, baas, what's my job?" "Get round to the left side and keep him covered while I free his hands. He's going to do a little writing, and if he attempts any tricks you have my orders to fire." "You don't try that game. I'll see you to hell first," Van Bleit shouted. "You'll find yourself in hell very shortly, _if_ you give trouble," Lawless answered grimly, as he proceeded to undo the ropes that bound his captive's arms. Van Bleit looked green. "You daren't do it," he stammered... "There's the nigger for a witness."