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You hated him because he had hurt the Baas." "That is true altogether, but " "You need not explain. If any one killed Mr. Fellowes, why not you? You came and went from his rooms, too." Krool's face was now yellowish pale. "Not me ... it was not me." "You would run a worse chance than any one. Your character would damn you a partner with him in crime.
"In here," Byng said, pointing to a little morning-room. As Stafford entered, he saw Krool's face, malign and sombre, show in a doorway of the hall. Was he mistaken in thinking that Krool flashed a look of secret triumph and yet of obscure warning? Warning?
"I was hurt. They take me hospital, but the Baas, he send for me." "They let you come without a guard?" "No not. They are outside" Krool jerked a finger towards the rear of the house "with the biltong and the dop." "You are a liar, Krool. There may be biltong, but there is no dop." "What matters!" Krool's face had a leer.
It was a strange medley, in keeping, perhaps, with the incongruously furnished mind of the master of it all; it was expressive of tastes and habits not yet settled and consistent. Al'mah's eyes had taken it all in rather wistfully, while she had waited for Krool's return from his master; but the wistfulness was due to personal trouble, for her eyes were clouded and her motions languid.
You will think that wild hawks are picking out your vitals. If you have sense, you will do what I tell you." Krool's eyes were on the door through which Wallstein had come. His gaze was fixed and tortured. Stafford had suddenly roused in him some strange superstitious element. He was like a creature of a lower order awaiting the approach of the controlling power.
The skin had been scratched by Krool's insolence and the knowledge of his treachery, and the Tartar showed the sjambok his scimitar. In spite of himself, Stafford was affected by it all. He understood. This was not London; the scene had shifted to Potchefstroom or Middleburg, and Krool was transformed too.
"Two hours before you go, and one hour before the vrouw, she go." Like some animal looking out of a jungle, so Krool's eyes glowed from beneath his heavy eyebrows, as he drawled out the words. "The Baas went you saw him?" "With my own eyes." "How long was he there?" "Ten minutes." "Mrs. Byng you saw her go in?" "And also come out." "And me you followed me you saw me, also?"
Anxiety possessed him, and he swiftly devised means to be rid of Krool before harm could be done. He was certain harm was meant there was a look of semi-insanity in Krool's eyes. Krool must be put out of the way before he could speak with the Baas.... But how? With a great effort Stafford controlled himself.
Barry Whalen's fingers closed on the whip, and now a look of fear crept over Krool's face. If there was one thing calculated to stir with fear the Hottentot blood in him, it was the sight of the sjambok.
Into Krool's eyes a terror crept which never had been there in the old days on the veld when Oom Paul had flayed him. This was not the veld, and he was no longer the veld-dweller with skin like the rhinoceros, all leather and bone and endurance. And this was not Oom Paul, but one whom he had betrayed, whose wife he had sought to ruin, whose subordinate he had turned into a traitor.
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