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Updated: May 16, 2025
Once Barry Whalen, the most outwardly brusque and apparently frank of them all, had urged Byng to give Krool up, but without avail; and now Barry eyed the half-caste with a resentful determination. He knew that Krool had heard Byng's words, for he was sitting opposite the double doors, and had seen the malicious eyes light up. Instantly, however, that light vanished.
As the flask was at Rudyard's lips, Barry Whalen said to Krool, "What do you stay here as deserter or prisoner? It's got to be one or the other." "Prisoner," answered Krool. Then he added, "See the Baas." Rudyard's eyes were open. "Prisoner who is a prisoner?" he asked feebly. "Me, Baas," whispered Krool, leaning over him. "He saved your life, Colonel," interposed Barry Whalen.
One of Kruger's understrappers from Holland was successfully tapped, and we've got proof that the trouble was here in London, here in this house where we sit Byng's home." There was a stark silence, in which more than one nodded significantly, and looked round furtively to see how the others took the news. "Here is absolute proof. There were two in it here Adrian Fellowes and Krool."
Byng to say that he may be a little late, but he says will you go on without him? He will come as soon as possible." The footman, having delivered himself, turned to withdraw, but Barry Whalen called him back, saying, "Is Mr. Krool in the house?" The footman replied in the affirmative. "Did you wish to see him, sir?" he asked. "Not at present.
Like some wild beast Krool crouched and stumbled and moaned as he ran down the staircase, through the outer hall, while a servant with scared face saw Byng rain savage blows upon the hated figure. On the pavement outside the house, Krool staggered, stumbled, and fell down; but he slowly gathered himself up, and turned to the doorway, where Byng stood panting with the sjambok in his hand. "Baas!
Tell my servant to have up a cab," he said to Krool, who stood outside the door. "Truly, 'e will be glad," the girl exclaimed. "'E told me about the suvring, and Sunday-week for brekfis," she murmured. "You'll never miss the time, y'r gryce. Gawd knows you'll not miss it an' 'e ain't got much left." "I will go, too if you will let me," said Jasmine to Stafford. "You must let me go.
He had started to do so; but, remembering that he had told Krool to come at twelve o'clock if any cables arrived, that he might go himself to the cable-office, if necessary, and reply, he passed from the hallway into a little room off the card-room, where there was a sofa, and threw himself down to rest and think.
At length he spoke, and Stafford listened intently, for now Caliban was off his guard, and he knew the worst that was meant. "Ah, you speak of traitor you! The sjambok for the traitor, eh? The sjambok fifty strokes, a hunderd strokes a t'ousand! Krool Krool is a traitor, and the sjambok for him. What did he do? What did Krool do? He help Oom Paul against the Rooinek against the Philistine.
Tommy Atkins had his uproarious joke about it, but there was one man who breathed a sigh of relief when he heard of it. That was Barry Whalen. He had every reason to be glad that Krool was out of the way, and that Rudyard Byng would see him no more. Sitting beside the still unconscious Ian Stafford on the veld, Al'mah's reflections were much the same as those of Barry Whalen.
With the flight of Krool and the gun came the end of Al'mah's vigil. The troop of cavalry which galloped out to her was followed by the Red Cross wagons. At dawn, when the veld breathes odours of a kind pungency and fragrance, which only those know who have made it their bed and friend, the end came to the man who had lain under the gun.
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