The Major-diamond buyer

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. The Beginning of Things . i

II. Two of a Kind. io

Chapter I

H E WAS evidently out of place, ludicrously out of place, as he leaned wearily against the side of the tin shack and watched the horde of unwashed, per¬ spiring men who swarmed about the office doors of the Dia¬ mond Mining Licensing Bureau.

It was a motley crowd: Sydney larrikins and New York toughs; gold diggers from Ballarat, shaggy-bearded Boers and grizzled Californian prospectors who had come across half the world, keen on the scent of new finds, of easily acquired wealth; undersized Cockneys and gaunt, rawboned Scots¬ men; irrepressible Irishmen and short, stocky Welshmen; gentlemen of fortune—mostly bad—drifters and rogues. Some of them had good morals, most of them had none; some of them could read Greek and spout Latin odes, others could barely write their own names. But they all knew a diamond when they saw one—even if it did look like a piece of glass in the rough—could judge its weight and give a fairly accurate estimate of its market value when cut and polished.

There was a scarcity of water in the early days of Kim¬ berley, and the men were all dirty, unkempt, unshaven—all, that is, except the man who leaned against the tin shack.

His full name was Aubrey St. John—he pronounced it Sinjun—Major. It couldn’t have been anything else, and

South Africans, when they heard it, stared, smiled slightly or guffawed loudly—according to their breeding and sense of humour—and said, “Of course!”

So after a while he dropped the Aubrey St. John part of his name, and when asked for his “handle” replied sweetly, “Call me Major, old bean.”

He wasn’t a bad-looking chap ; in a way he was rather handsome. At any rate that was the verdict of all the bar¬ maids in Kimberley—and they were severe critics.

His eyes were well set and a clear, steel-gray colour. At least one of them was; the other was more or less hidden from public view by the gold-rimmed monocle he wore, which re¬ flected the rays of the African sun in a blob of yellow light.

His nose was well-shaped, curving slightly, and his firm lips were generally parted in an engaging smile, disclosing perfect teeth.

He was tall, easily topping six feet, but his slouching pose made him seem much shorter; he was well built, but his foppish attire created the impression that he was a slim effeminate man.

He looked just what he was: The only son of an impov¬ erished County family, well-schooled in the social amenities, but ignorant of all else save the ability to sit a horse and handle guns.

Suddenly a native—a Hottentot, judging by his squat, un¬ gainly figure and the leathery colour of his skin—darted out from among the crowd of milling white men. Hard on his heels was one of them who cursed loudly as he ran and struck at the native with a long sjambok.

Back and forth the native ran, silent, his face distorted with fear, dodging and turning, threading in and out among the whites who cheered first him and then his pursuer whom they called Smith.

At last one of the miners, a brutal-looking Australian, tripped the native, sending him sprawling headlong. He fell almost at the feet of Major.

With a hoarse cry of triumph Smith pounced on the luckless native.

“I’ll teach you to bump into me,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper; but that whisper was infinitely more menac¬ ing, more indicative of cruelty and anger than his previous loud cursing.

He brought the rhinoceros-hide whip down on the broad, bare back of the native, scoring a thin red line across his dark skin.

Smith raised the whip again, but before he could strike, Major leaped on him with surprising quickness and wrested the sjambok out of his hands.

For a moment the two men stood eyeing each other—Smith white with rage; Major, coolly, provocatively insolent.

The other men surged about them, forming a ring, urging them to put up their dukes and fight.

“Give me that sjambok,” Smith snarled.

“Why?” The tone was incurious, as if the speaker asked the question out of politeness.

“So I can thrash this bloody nigger.”

“Why?”

“Because he bumped-” Smith began, then asked fiercely,

“What the hell’s that to you?”

“Nothin’, old chap, absolutely nothin’. But, really, you shouldn’t thrash a—er—native even if he did bump into you. That must have been beastly annoying, I’m sure, but I can’t allow you to thrash him.”

“Oh, can’t you?” taunted the other, mimicking the slow, affected drawl, and held out his hand for the sjambok. “Give it to me,” he said.

“Well, if you must have it,” sighed Major, “here it is.” He struck Smith lightly on the hand with the sjambok then met that man’s infuriated rush with a well-timed blow which landed flush to the point of the chin, knocking him to the ground.

“You would have it,” he said sorrowfully.

Smith rose quickly to his feet and, ignoring the advice of the crowd to “go in and finish the blamed dude,” scowling at their jeers, pushed his way through the crowd.

Just then a real fight started between two half-drunken miners and the rest quickly transferred their interest to it. The affair of Smith, Major and the native was completely forgotten.

Major looked sadly at his bruised knuckles, took out his monocle, polished it absently, replaced it and resumed his slouching position against the tin shack.

He felt a tugging at his coat and, looking down, saw the native.

“What is it?” Major asked in surprise. “What do you want?”

The native answered in the vernacular and Major, not understanding a word he was saying, gazed at him open-mouthed, gave him a shilling and pantomimed dismissal.

But the native broke out into another long, impassioned harangue which was this time interlarded with a few Eng¬ lish-sounding words.

Bewildered, Major looked around and, seeing a sun-bronzed Colonial with whom he had a nodding acquaintance standing near by, he called, “I say, old chappie, come and help me out of a bally mess. What’s this ugly old bounder saying?”

“He wants to be your servant,” the Colonial interpreted. “He says he thinks you’ll make a good baas.”

“Tell him I don’t want a servant, will you? I haven’t enough of the well-known root of evil to keep one.”

The Colonial translated this and the native’s answer.

“He says he’ll be your servant, just the same, and he doesn’t want any pay. If you take my advice, Major, you’ll sign him on. You’ve earned his gratitude and—I’m banking on my knowledge of natives—he’ll be almighty loyal and stick by you when everybody else is giving you the cold shoulder. I know this nigger; he’s one of the cleverest hunters I’ve ever met. Tried to get him to work for me once, but he’s too damned independent. Outside of that he’s only got one fail¬ ing—he’ll get drunk whenever and wherever possible.”

“Well, if you think it’s wise,” Major said helplessly, “I’ll take him on. But what will I do with the funny looking Johnny? He’s absolutely indecently clad, you know. How will I feed him?”

The Colonial laughed. “He’ll soon help himself to any clothing of yours he takes a fancy to, and by the time he’s polished your spurs and riding boots, washed and ironed your duds, cooked your food and made your bed, he’ll find time for more mischief than you ever thought existed. And, if you leave him alone, he’ll prove a good provider—for you as well as himself.”

To the native the Colonial said in the vernacular, “The baas says all right.”

He turned away, laughing, and called back to the Major, “His name’s Jim—he’ll need sjamboking once in a while.”

* * *

The next morning, dressed in spotless white duck from head to foot, Major left his camp—a tiny tent on the veld just outside the town—and proceeded at a leisurely pace toward the dorp, determined at last to put pride on one side and accept any kind of a job offered.

Several yards behind him came Jim, the Hottentot, quite decently clad now in a pair of Major’s white flannels, which W’ere turned up above his knees and supported at the waist by a flaming red cummerbund. A cricket blazer, more gorgeously coloured than Joseph’s famous coat, fitted snugly across his shoulders and barrel-like chest, even if the sleeves were much too long for him.

As they neared the town they passed a little group of men one of whom accosted the white man.

“Is your name Major?” he asked. “Aubrey St. John Major?”

Major nodded.

“Then this is for you.” He thrust a small package into Major’s hands and hastened away.

Wonderingly Major opened the package and found what looked to be a small lump of dirty glass. He tossed it from one hand to the other, then examined it closely, turning it round and round between his long, well-shaped fingers.

“Bah Jove!” he exclaimed softly. “It’s a—er—I believe it’s a diamond.”

While he was speculating as to the reason for this gift so strangely given, two men came up to him and arranged them¬ selves on either side.

“You’re under arrest,” said one.

Major’s mouth gaped in astonishment, his monocle fell from his eye and smashed to pieces on the hard, sun-baked ground.

“Under arrest!” he exclaimed. “What for? But of course you are joking, old beans.”

He fished another monocle from the breast pocket of his tightly fitting tunic, fixed it in his eye and regarded them cheerfully.

“This is no joke,” said the other man. “You’re under arrest, charged with I. D. B.—and a damned serious charge it is.”

“I. D. B.! But I don’t understand! What are you talk¬ ing about?”

“Aw! Don’t try to play the innocent. You know what illicit diamond buying means. You just bought a diamond, didn’t you?”

“No!” Major expostulated, looking at the stone he held in his hand. “This—er—thing was given to me by a perfect stranger and—-—”

The men laughed scornfully.

“Stow yer gab,” said the one who had made the arrest. “We saw the whole affair. Come on.”

With a dexterity born of much practise, they handcuffed their captive and marched him triumphantly to the police court.

From then on things happened too quickly for Major to get his bearings, or to make any kind of defence—even had that been allowed him. He was tried before, a sleepy, disinter¬ ested magistrate who, after hearing the evidence of the two detectives, asked with apparent gravity, “Have you anything to say, young man, before I pass sentence?”

“My word, yes,” exclaimed Major, unable to realize the seriousness of his situation. “I’m absolutely innocent of any crime, you know.”

“You mean to say these officers lied,” the magistrate thun¬ dered.

“Why—er—yes. Most certainly they lied when they said I bought a diamond. It was given to me by a perfect stranger and-”

“Then you admit having this diamond—marked Exhibit A— in your possession?” the magistrate interrupted.

“Yes, of course, old bean,” Major said patiently. “I just told you that it was given to me.”

“That’s evidence enough,” the magistrate said heavily. “Having an unregistered diamond in your possession is a crime under the I. D. B. act. However, in view of your youth I’ll be lenient. I sentence you to two years without hard labour.”

“But I didn’t know-” Major began.

“Ignorance of law no excuse,” snapped the magistrate. “Next case.”

That same night Major, handcuffed, still dazed by the swift fate which had overtaken him, was started on the long journey which was to end at the Cape Town prison. His whole rancour was against the system, against the powerful diamond interests which had created and which could cause the enforcement of so drastic, so seemingly unfair a law.

Why these powerful interests should have stooped to have him arrested on an obvious frame-up, he did not have the re¬ motest idea. To fathom that mystery he would have had to have more knowledge of the queer underworld of the diamond region. In championing the native the day before he had come up against a considerable power in that world—one Whispering

Smith. A word to one of Smith’s henchmen, and a case of I. D. B. had been manufactured against young Major with the greatest ease. Smith was not one to let any unknown arrival insult him without instant reprisal. But this fact Major couldn’t know, so he placed all the blame for his incarceration on the Diamond Syndicate—though they were only the authors of the law he had come up against. It fell to the lot of others, such as Smith, to invoke it for their own nefarious purposes.

During his first year’s imprisonment Major received two letters from England. One from his father read in part:

. . . having so disgraced us we think it best that you should

never return home. I have, therefore, placed five hundred pounds for you in the Miners’ Bank at Cape Town which you may withdraw on your discharge. I advise you to spend it wisely for you will not hear from me again and any letters you may venture to write to me will be returned, unread

The other one reached him on his twenty-fourth birthday. Accompanying it was a ring. Only one paragraph interested Major:

I am, of course, returning your ring. The convict you are can not hold binding a promise made to the honorable gentleman you were.

After reading that Major cursed bitterly, then applied him¬ self with renewed purpose to his book—“A Zulu Grammar and Vocabulary.” The ring he later gave to a Dutch warden and from him learned to speak the Taal —the language of the Boers.

He received one other letter shortly before his time was up.

Jim, your servant boy sends greetings to you his white man Baas. After much talking to black dogs who ware the clothes of poleese he finds where you are. He says he thinks lot of you. He says he being drunk many times. He says when you leave where you now being, you come to kraal (and that is native town) which is but very little far to north from Capetown. It is named Umbalose. He, Jim, will be waiting for you, his Baas, there. Good-bye. Jim, he speaks English, says if I don’t see you so long hullo (and that is Silly.) v

Written by Samuel Christian passed forth class Umvoti Mission school.

* * *

At the expiration of his sentence Major hastened to draw out his five hundred pounds and put up at the best hotel Cape Town afforded, indulging himself in every possible luxury.

At the end of a week he took stock of his possessions and knowledge, and finally drew up this statement:

Assets

Four hundred pounds (cash) Plenty of clothes Good health—quite strong Good rider and shot Some knowledge of native lan¬ guages.

Speak the Taal fluently

Purpose: years of hell.

Liabilities Wear a monocle Look and talk like a silly ass No knowledge of the country Insufficient knowledge of natives An exacting conscience

To make the Diamond Mining Syndicate pay for two

On a second reading he changed the first two items in the liabilities column over to the asset side.

“I don’t know what to do about the bally conscience,” he muttered, “but I can acquire knowledge of the country and natives. Perhaps I’d better let my conscience take care of itself.”

Having arrived at that decision he invested his money in a light Cape cart, four mules and a quantity of truck for trad¬ ing with natives. Then he joined Jim at Umbalose and the two of them vanished from the beaten track.

Chapter II

A GGIE, the presiding goddess of Whispering Smith’s bar, looked up languidly from her book as Plainclothes k Sergeant Detective Brimmer entered.

“What cheer, Porky?”

The man scowled. “Give me a whisky and soda.”

With an air of boredom Aggie placed the drink before him.

“Because they call you Porky and you look like porky, that’s no reason why you should act like a pig, old dear.”

He grunted inarticulately.

“I think you are a pig,” she said lightly.

He emptied his glass and sat down morosely at one of the tables.

Aggie watched him amusedly.

“Piet Deemster’s waitin’ for you in the parlour.”

She jerked her head toward a door leading to an inner room. Brimmer rose with a curse. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that before?”

“Slipped my mind, dearie.”

“Any one else in there?”

“Only a sundowner. He rolled in about an hour ago, lookin’ all in. Said he’d been over a year prospecting on the veld. Said he’d struck gold, but it doesn’t look to me as if he found anything but a ragin’ thirst. You’re not a bad hand

io

Mauna* ii at hiding away booze, Porky, but the lad in there could drink you under the table before a night was half over.”

“What did you let him in there for?”

“He seemed to know the ropes and looked harmless. Be¬ sides he-”

But Brimmer had passed on to the inner room, viciously slam¬ ming the door behind him.

“Wonder what’s the matter with Porky this morning,” murmured Aggie. Then dismissing all thoughts of him from her pretty, empty head, she picked up the latest atrocity by the housemaid’s favourite author and read avidly.

The inner room, known to its habitues as the parlour, of Whispering Smith’s saloon was a dark and dismal place, totally lacking ventilation, and reeking of stale liquor and tobacco-smoke. It was a mysterious room, a room of many exits cunningly hidden in the panelling which made it the fa¬ vourite meeting-place of South Africa’s underworld.

A big loose-limbed Dutchman greeted Brimmer boisterously as he entered. “Allemachtig, but you’re late ma-an.”

“The chief wanted to see me before he left for Jo’burg and I had to go down to the train with him,” Brimmer explained shortly. He sat down at Piet’s table and poured out a stiff peg from the bottle of whisky which stood on the table.

Piet watched him curiously. “You ain’t sick, are you? Got fever?”

“No. I’m damned worried. This game’s getting danger¬ ous.”

Piet laughed. “It would be more dangerous to leave it.”

There was a note of menace in his tone and Brimmer looked up quickly.

“What’s the matter, ma-an?” The Dutchman spoke in a sort of nasal singsong.

“Aggie said that there was a sundowner in here,” Brimmer said, disregarding Piet’s question. “Where is he?”

Piet pointed to a table in the darkest corner of the room where Brimmer could dimly make out the figure of a man.

Walking over to the table Brimmer shook the man violently. “Let’s have a look at you,” he growled.

The man sleepily opened his eyes. “Lemme alone,” he whined. “I ain’t done nothin’.

Brimmer closely scrutinized the man’s face, noted the shaggy unkempt beard and tangled mass of hair, the bloodshot eyes and tattered clothing.

“What are you doing here?”

“Ach sis! ma-an, let him alone. He’s harmless,” called Piet.

Brimmer released his hold on the sundowner, who again sprawled across the table and was soon sleeping noisily.

“They say the Major’s in town,” he said in explanation as he returned to Piet’s table, “and I’m not taking any chances cf letting him slip through my fingers.”

Piet roared with laughter.

“Allemachtig! What’s the matter with you damned fools of the police? A ma-an only has to speak of the Major and you all get the wind up. Who is he?”

Brimmer shook his head.

“We don’t know much—save he looks like a dude and has been doing more diamond buying in the last twelve months than all the other I. D. B.’s put together. Every man on the force has been warned to be on the look out for him but he’s as slippery as an eel.”

“Bah! I bet the boss could get him any time he wants to. There’s no man can put anything over on Whip Smith. But what’s your worry? I heard the Major was in Portuguese Territory.”

“So he was. But he’s back again, the chief said.”

“Well, why didn’t your chief arrest him?’ ’

“There’s no evidence against the man. Besides, the chief didn’t say he saw him, but he did see the Major’s nigger, Jim. And they say the Major can’t get along without his nigger.” Brimmer cursed fluently, and then lapsed into a moody silence.

“Is it this Major ma-an that’s on your mind?” asked the Dutchman.

“No. They’re on to our game at Headquarters. Someone’s been spilling the beans, and the chief—he’s newly appointed— is running straight.”

“Do they know anything sure?”

Brimmer hesitated, then burst out in a paroxysm of child¬ like rage. “He’s a slim one, the new chief. We can’t pull the wool over his eyes. He did a lot of noseying around and wanted to know how I could support a racing-stable on a policeman’s salary. Blast him! I’m going to pull out and run straight.”

“And what do you think the boss’ll say to that, Brimmer? Don’t be a verdoemte fool. Even if they did get the goods on you, they couldn’t do anything. The boss ’ud see to that. He’s got more power in this dorp than your fool chief who’s trying to run straight.”

Brimmer shook his head in indecision.

“You lost pretty heavily at the races yesterday, Brimmer?”

“Dropped a cool thousand, and you know I did.”

“Well, listen, ma-an. There’s a chance for you to get some of that back. The boss got next to the manager of the Lonely Mine.”

Brimmer straightened up in his chair.

“Ah! Thought that ’ud interest you. We’ve drawn a blank at the Lonely Mine—up to now.” Piet looked mean¬ ingly at the policeman. “He was a bit shy at first, but when he saw the colour of the boss’s money and got his promise of protection there was nothing to it. Listen. A bunch of his niggers are going home to the kraals to-day. Of course he’ll search them—he’s an honest man—but he won’t think of opening a wound in a black boy’s thigh; he’s too kind-hearted for that. And there’s six of them,” Piet continued triumph¬ antly, “six of ’em with big cuts in their thighs, and the wounds are festering. You know what for! They call for an opera¬ tion, and you’re going to be the doctor.”

i 4 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER

Just then the man at the corner table began to pound noisily,

“What do you want?” demanded Piet.

“A drink, damn you. I want a drink,” the other replied thickly.

Piet rang the little bell on his table and when Aggie entered pointed to the sundowner.

“He’s still thirsty, Aggie.”

“What’ll it be this time?” she called.

“Gin and bitters, ducky.”

Aggie tossed her head. “My how that lad can mix them,” she said confidentially to Piet.

“Get out of here,” Brimmer grunted impatiently.

“I’ve no desire to stay,” she replied haughtily. “There’s a proper gentleman waiting for me out there.”

“Yes?” questioned Piet with interest.

“Wears a monocle and says ‘Bah Jove!’ ” Aggie’s imitation of the drawl was grossly exaggerated. “Oh, he’s a regular Bond Street Johnny, all right.”

“What’s his name?” Brimmer asked excitedly.

“He didn’t say, and I’m too much of a lady to ask him.”

“Bah!”

“Tut-tut! Ain’t we quick tempered this morning? Well, I’ll get out of here glad enough. The bloke out there’s a gen¬ tleman, and that’s more than I can say for you two.”

After the girl had left the room the two men looked at each other significantly.

“That sounds like the Major!”

“Have you ever seen him, Brimmer?”

“No. But I’ve heard his description lots of times. Round, clean-shaven face; stands over six foot, but looks less; wears a monocle and speaks with a drawl.”

Piet looked disgusted. “That’s a hell of a description.”

“Oh, I don’t know. There’s not so many men wearing monocles around this dorp. I bet it’s him, all right. Don’t forget that his nigger’s been seen in town. Where one goes, the other’s not far off.”

When Aggie reentered with the sundowner’s drink, the man lurched forward to meet her and collapsed heavily on a seat nearer the two men.

“Keep the change, sweetheart/’ he hiccupped, throwing a sovereign down on the table. “It’s all I’ve got.”

“Is the Johnny still out there, Aggie?” questioned Piet.

“Yes. He says he’s going to stay awhile. Wanted to know if we had a ‘room and bawth!’ ”

Brimmer slipped a shilling into the girl’s hand. “Call him Major, Aggie, and let us know what he says.”

A few minutes later Aggie returned, smiling broadly. “Business is good this morning,” she giggled.

“Well?”

“Says I, ‘It’s terrible hot to-day, ain’t it, Major?’ An’ strike me pink, he was so taken aback you could have knocked him down with a feather.

“ ‘How did you know,’ says he, ‘that I was the Major?’ Then he takes out his monocle, polishes it and screws it back again. ‘ ’Pon my soul,’ he says, ‘but you’re a deucedly dis¬ cerning young lady. But you won’t tell anyone else, will you?’ And he slips me half a quid. He’s a gentleman, he is.”

“Well, here’s another,” said Piet. “Go out there and talk pretty to him for five minutes or so, and then see if you can get him to come in here.”

“You bloody fool! What do you want him in here for?” said Porky Brimmer, rising wrathfully as the girl left the room.

Piet’s hand shot out and grasped him firmly by the wrist.

“Sit down and listen, ma-an. Here’s a chance for you to make a clean-up and clear your record at headquarters.”

Brimmer sat down unwillingly.

“Well?” he grunted.

“The Major won’t know you’re a policeman, will he? Who would, for that matter? Well, when we get him in here, we’ll let on that we’ve got word of some niggers who’ve got some diamonds and we haven’t got the money or the chance to i6 negotiate. Better than that, we’ll let him in on this game to-night on equal shares. He’ll take us up, if all I’ve heard of him’s true.”

“That’s a hell of a scheme,” interjected Brimmer.

“Wait, ma-an. I’m not yet all through. You’ll take him with you when you go to meet the niggers to-night; get the diamonds and then arrest him for illicit diamond buying.”

A light of comprehension spread over Brimmer’s face.

He saw that Piet’s plan offered him the opportunity to put himself in right all round; to square his losses, to regain the confidence of his chief—thus making it possible for him to act as agent for the I. D. B’s. yet longer—and to earn the enor¬ mous reward offered by the Diamond Mining Syndicate for the arrest of the leader of a gang of I. D. B’s. It would be easy to fasten the leadership on a man of the Major’s reputation.

Turning the plan over in his mind, Brimmer could see no possible chance for failure.

“But what about the diamonds—are we to hand them all over to the syndicate?”

“Ach sis , no, ma-an. Smith would never stand for that. Let the Major have one or two of the smaller ones. That’ll be all that will be necessary to convict him. For the rest— Quiet. Here he comes. Let me handle him.”

The knob of the door turned and the door opened slowly, admitting a tall, immaculately dressed man.

“Ta-ta, old dear,” he called to the girl in the bar. “As the bally Dutchmen say, ‘If I don’t see you, so long. Hullo!’ ” Closing the door he turned and swiftly scrutinized the other occupants of the room.

His jaw dropped and his face assumed a vacant expression as he fumbled with his eyeglass. “ ’Pon my word, I hope I’m not intrudin’,” he said apologetically. “The lovely damsel assured me that there was no one in here. I—er-”

At the sound of his voice the sundowner looked up, grinning inanely. “Come off yer perch, cocky. Blimme, I thought fer a minute it was a bloomin’ girl.”

“Don’t mind him—he’s drunk,” said Brimmer. “You’re not intruding. Come and join us in a drink, Major.”

“I don’t mind if I do,” said the other, drawing a chair up to the table. “But I’ll give you my word that I find it per¬ fectly astounding that I appear to be so well known. I thought I came here strictly incognito. I didn’t think any one in this dorp knew me.”

“The Major is well known throughout the colony,” Piet said suavely.

“Really, I’m afraid you flatter me. But if that’s the case I’d better remove myself to some distant spot before my friends of the police see me.”

Piet laughed. “We’re all in the same boat, here, Major. You don’t have to worry about the police; you’re too slick for them.”

“Do you really think so? Then I’ll stay. But you gentle¬ men have the advantage of me. You know my name, while I—excuse me—don’t know yours?”

“My name’s Brown,” said Brimmer, “and this,” indicating Piet, “is Jones. We are in the same line of business as your¬ self—diamond merchants.” Brimmer winked.

“ ’Pon my soul, gentlemen, but that’s perfectly ripping. I’m charmed to meet you. And what delightfully unusual names. Mine, by the way, is Black.” He laughed gleefully. “And how’s the diamond business, Messrs. Brown and Jones?”

“I was wondering,” Brimmer said slowly, “if you’d care to join the firm-”

“Delighted, I’m sure. But why rope in an utter stranger?”

“We need someone we can trust, and you’ve got the reputa¬ tion of playing square.”