To-night they pass again in unobserved security, but alas! when they have crossed the railway line, immediately opposite the asylum, where they are in the habit of alighting with their parcels, they find to their distress that, try as they will, they cannot carry more than the four bags allotted to them in the first instance. The bag containing the precious saddle must go back to town. Oh, the pity of it! The critical spot must be passed again, and, as ill-luck would have it, the British officer hails the passing cab and is about to get in, when his eye falls on the bag. "What is this?" he asks the driver. No concealment possible now! "A saddle, sir." "A saddle! Whose, and where are you taking it?" "From Mr. Botha to Mr. Els in town. On my way I was stopped and asked to take some passengers to the asylum, which I have just done. I was going to Mr. Botha when you stopped me." The officer looks doubtful, feels the bag all over and, taking a notebook from his pocket, enters all the details of this most suspicious-looking affair, the number of the cab, the name and address of the driver, the names and full addresses of the two men who have been mentioned. Then he gets in and peremptorily orders the cabman to drive to such-and-such an hotel in the centre of the town. With a throb of relief Delport deposits his fare at the hotel and, whipping up his horses, drives at the utmost speed to Mr. Els' house, to warn him of the danger he is in. Mr. and Mrs. Botha have just retired for the night, when they are aroused by a hurried knock at the front door. They admit two girls, one of them the daughter of Mrs. Els, the other a sister to Mrs. Naude, both extremely agitated. Miss Els speaks first: "Oom Willie, you must please come to our house at once. My father is very ill." Oom Willie's heart sinks into his slippers. This, the long-expected sign that their game is up, has come at last. He hastens to the home of his friend. When he learns the truth the case does not seem so hopeless after all and he feels his courage returning. "We must think of some plan with which to meet the police when they come. Quick! There is not a moment to lose. They may be here at any minute." In an incredibly short time the officer's new saddle is buried in a bag of coal, which is again sewn up and thrown into the back-yard, while an old and worthless saddle is produced, Heaven only knows from where, cut up into pieces and placed in a large basin of water on the dining-room table. "Now, Oom Gerrie," Mr. Botha says, as soon as he can find his breath, "you are a shoemaker by trade, and this old saddle has been sent to you by me to make shoes for my children." "But you have not got any! and I have never made a shoe in my life!" "Well, then, for my nieces and nephews. Never mind about your ignorance. When any one comes in, remember you are just on the point of beginning your work. I shall send you an old last when I get home."