"You have native detectives attached to your force," answered Lamont, "who may or may not be reliable--probably not. But failing them, or in any case, if I'm above ground I'll contrive to give it you." "You? Why, how?" "I told you I was going to start out for my farm to-night. After that I'm going to pay another visit to Zwabeka's kraal." "The devil you are!" And Orwell and the police captain looked at each other. The same thought was in both their minds. This Lamont had acquired a reputation for being careful of his skin. Why, even the new arrival, Ancram, who had known him at home, had added to such reputation by the tale he had put about as to the reason why Lamont had found his own county too hot to hold him. Yet here he was proposing to go and put his head into the lion's mouth. The subject of their thoughts, reading them, smiled to himself. "Certainly I am," he said. "You see, now, I was right in keeping faith with old Qubani. I'll be able to find out something, and when I do I'll let you know by hook or by crook. Meanwhile get everything prepared-- quietly if you can, but--prepared. Now I don't think we've any more to talk about, so I shall get back to Foster's. Coming, Driffield?" "Yes," answered the Native Commissioner. The two officials left together looked at each other for a moment in silence. "Can't make that fellow out," said Orwell, breaking it. "I like Lamont well enough, but there's no doubt about it that on at least two occasions, irrespective of Ancram's yarn about him, he--well, er--caved in. Yet now he's as cool and collected as a cucumber." "'M--yes. A collected cucumber," said Isard. "Oh, don't be an ass, Isard. Now, I wonder if it's a case of the nigger lion-tamer who used to stick his head in the lion's mouth every evening, but when some fighting rough threatened to take it out of him he ran. That cad wouldn't have gone into that lion's cage even, let alone stick his head into the brute's mouth. No, I expect we are all funksticks on some point or other. What?" "Perhaps," said Isard frostily, not in the least agreeing. Outwardly he was a tall, fine, soldierly man, looking well set up and smart in his uniform and spurs, and `Jameson' hat. He had a bit of a reputation for `side,' and now he little relished playing second fiddle to a man he esteemed as lightly as he did Lamont. "I don't know that the fellow's yarn isn't all cock-and-bull and mare's-nest," he went on. "You see, it's in his interest to pose as the saviour of Gandela." And he clanked out, not quite so convinced of what he preached, all the same. "Say, Mr Lamont," grinned the bar-keeper, as he and Driffield entered the hotel, "I'm afraid you won't be able to pull off that scrap with Jim Steele to-day. He's much too boozed." "Is he? Oh well, I really can't be expected to hang about Gandela waiting till Jim Steele condescends to be sober again. Now can I? I put it to anyone."