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One morning, three months later, Guy Oscard drew up in line his flying column. He was going back to England with the first consignment of Simiacine. During the twelve weeks that lay behind there had been constant reference made to his little body of picked men, and the leader had selected with a grave deliberation that promised well.
The owners of the steamer had thought it worth their while to make the finder of the Simiacine as comfortable as circumstances allowed. The noise of that great drug had directed towards the West Coast of Africa that floating scum of ne'er-do-welldom which is ever on the alert for some new land of promise. "Who told you that?" asked Jack, drying his hands on a towel.
The Simiacine was sold, and the first portion of it spent went to buy a diamond aigrette for the dainty head of Miss Millicent Chyne. Guy Oscard was in the midst of the London season. His wealth and a certain restricted renown had soon made him popular. He had only to choose his society, and the selection was not difficult.
"Look here," he said, leaning forward and throwing away the cigarette he had been smoking. "This Simiacine scheme is going to be the biggest thing that has ever been run on this coast." "Yes," said Gordon, with the indifference that comes from non-participation. "And I'm the only business man in it," significantly. Gordon nodded his head, awaiting further developments.
"I should like some in a sack." "Ah, you may laugh now, but you won't when you hear all about it. The scientific chaps called it Simiacine, because of an old African legend which, like all those things, has a grain of truth in it. The legend is, that the monkeys first found out the properties of the leaf, and it is because they live on it that they are so strong.
What if I could supply the world with Simiacine at my own price? Eh h h! What of that, Mr. Meredith?" He threw himself suddenly back and wiped his dripping face. There was a silence, the great African silence that drives educated men mad, and fills the imagination of the poor heathen with wild tales of devils and spirits. Then Jack Meredith spoke, without moving.
The work and anxiety of the last year, added to the strange disquieting breath of the Simiacine grove, had brought about a serious collapse in the system which only months of rest and freedom from care could repair.
Some people argue that there is very little that is worth keeping secret; to which one may reply that there is still less worth disclosing. They talked of other things of his life in Africa, of his success with the Simiacine, of which discovery the newspapers were not yet weary until the bell was heard in the basement, and thereafter Millicent's voice in the hall.
The Simiacine trees had been ruthlessly cut away even the roots were grubbed up and burnt far away on the leeward side of the little kingdom. This was done because there arose at sunset a soft and pleasant odour from the bushes which seemed to affect the nerves, and even made the teeth chatter. It was, therefore, deemed wise that the camp should stand on bare ground.
He had stood on the verge of many crimes, and had been forcibly dragged back therefrom by the strong arm of Guy Oscard. It had been Victor Durnovo's intention not only to abandon Jack Meredith to his certain fate, but to appropriate to his own use the consignment of Simiacine, valued at sixty thousand pounds, which he had brought down to the coast.
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