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Updated: May 16, 2025
"Krool wants to go to South Africa," he said to himself with a strange, new sensation which he did not understand, though it was not quite a doubt. He reassured himself. "Well, it's natural he should. It's his home.... But Fleming must go to Johannesburg. I'm needed most here." There was gratitude in his heart that Fate had decreed it so.
"One minute. There's something more." Turning to Wallstein, he said, "If Krool consents to leave England at once for South Africa, let him go. Is it agreed? He must either be dealt with adequately, or get out. Is it agreed?" "I do what I like," said Krool, with a snarl, in which his teeth showed glassily against his drawn lips. "No one make me do what I not want."
As Rudyard fell beneath the clubbed rifle he heard the cry, "Baas! Baas!" again, and saw an unkempt figure darting among the rocks. His own pistol brought down the old Boer who had felled Byng, and then he realized who it was had cried out, "Baas!" The last time he had heard that voice was in Park Lane, when Byng, with sjambok, drove a half-caste valet into the street. It was the voice of Krool.
"I will come," he said to Krool, but Jasmine's curiosity was roused. "Won't you see her here?" she asked. Stafford nodded assent, and presently Krool showed the girl into the room. For an instant she stood embarrassed and confused, then she addressed herself to Stafford. "I'm Lou Jigger's sister," she said, with white lips. "I come to ask if you'd go to him.
He help the chosen against the children of Hell. "What did Krool do? He tell Oom Paul how the thieves would to come in the night to sold him like sheep to a butcher, how the t'ousand wolves would swarm upon the sheepfold, and there would be no homes for the voortrekker and his vrouw, how the Outlander would sit on our stoeps and pick the peaches from our gardens.
"Well, Wallstein will give us a fat dinner to-night, and you can moralize with lime-light effects after the foie gras, Barry." Closing the door slowly behind his friend, whom he had passed into the hands of the dark-browed Krool, Byng turned again to his desk. As he did so he caught sight of his face in the mirror over the mantel-piece. A shadow swept over it; his lips tightened.
Stafford looked at the saturnine face and wondered how much he knew; but there was no glimmer of revelation in Krool's impassive look. The eyes were always painful in their deep animal-like glow, and they seemed more than usually intense this morning; that was all. "Will you present my compliments to Mrs. Byng, and say " Krool, with a gesture, stopped him. "Mrs.
With an obscene malediction at the body, he sprang upon a horse. A sjambok swung, and with a snort, which was half a groan, the trained horses sprang forward. "The Rooinek's gun for Oom Paul!" he shouted back over his shoulder. Most prisoners would have been content to escape and save their skins, but a more primitive spirit lived in Krool. Escape was not enough for him.
He had savagely punished Krool for insolence to her and for his treachery, but a new feeling had grown up in him in the last half-hour. Under the open taunts of his colleagues, a deep resentment had taken possession of him that his work, so hard to do, so important and critical, should have been circumvented by the indiscretions of his wife.
Krool must be got rid of at once, must be sent back to the prisoners' quarters and kept there. He must not see Byng now. In a few more hours the army would move on, leaving the prisoners behind, and Rudyard would presently move on with the army.
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