Kruger was working for his own hand, and with the malignant purpose of weakening his enemy and causing discord amongst the nations. Rhodes had devoted his life and his wealth for his country's welfare, and for the security of Africa. The one was a tyrant of the worst order; the other was inspired by the purest and most disinterested patriotism. The one was distrusted and disliked generally all round, even by a large section of his subjects; the other was universally respected and loved for his courage, brain-power, and unimpeachable honesty. Our heroes had seen for a few moments the first champion of civilisation; they were now about to look upon his antagonist, the impious father of lies. There was an air of stillness and depression about the place, which these two immovable policemen accentuated. The shady verandah looked dark almost in contrast with the blazing brightness outside. As the boys looked under the branches, the idea occurred to them that they were about to enter the web of a gigantic human spider. They could get in easy enough, but how would they come out? They were not, however, kept long waiting at the gate. Their guards stopped suddenly, grounded their rifles; then, while the two gatekeepers saluted, they were pushed forward and entered the shadows. In another moment they were ushered, without ceremony, into the presence of the master. It was a large reception-room in which Kruger sat, with a wide stretch between the door and the table at his side. On the table were placed a huge silver tobacco-box, a large clasp Bible, and what the young men noted more particularly, the small "three ace" watch-guard tokens which had been taken from them with their other effects. There were also a few papers placed handy for, the president to reach. He sat in a big, crimson-covered armchair, with a spittoon at his feet, and his pipe in his mouth. Behind him, on the wall, they saw through the tobacco mist a large and harshly painted oil portrait of himself. The room was smelling like a tap-room, while clouds of rank tobacco reek floated densely overhead. Yet that portrait riveted their eyes, and forced them to look at it before even the original could command their attention--it was such an exaggerated and hideous reproduction of all his worst points. It was also so crudely and vilely painted that it seemed like a gross caricature. Indeed, it was hardly human, but rather as if it had been an imaginative attempt on the part of a house-painter, to depict a gorilla-like, semi-humanised monster. A large red face, with swollen heavy features; narrow, bestial forehead; small, crafty, and sullen eyes, with a baboon-like fringe of white-grey hair running from the large flapping ears to below the heavy chin. The lips were shapeless, yet relentless in their downward curve.