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Updated: June 17, 2025
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.
Your action could then be decided by Krool's attitude and what he says." Barry Whalen rang the bell, and the footman came. After a brief waiting Krool entered the room with irritating deliberation and closed the door behind him. He looked at no one, but stood contemplating space with a composure which made Barry Whalen almost jump from his seat in rage.
There was that in the voice, some terrible thing, which drew Krool's eyes in spite of himself, and he met a look of fire and wrath. "I tell why. If it was bad, it was bad. But I tell why, that is all. If it is not good, it is bad, and hell is for the bad; but I tell why." "You got money from Oom Paul for the man Fellowes?" It was hard for him to utter the name. Krool nodded. "Every year much?"
Barry straightened himself and looked Byng rather hesitatingly in the face; then he said, slowly: "I don't know much about Fleming's suspicions. Mine, though, are at least three years old, and you know them. "Krool?" "Krool for sure." "What would be Krool's object in betraying us, even if he knew all we say and do?"
"We have just enough to hang you," said Wallstein, grimly, and lifted and showed the papers Barry Whalen had brought. An insolent smile crossed Krool's face. "You find out too late. That Fellowes is dead. So much you get, but the work is done. It not matter now. It is all done altogether. Oom Paul speaks now, and everything is his from the Cape to the Zambesi, everything his. It is too late.
"He knows, too, what a sjambok's worth in Krool's eyes." When the two were left alone, Stafford slowly seated himself, and his fingers played idly with the sjambok. "You say you will do what you like, in spite of the Baas?" he asked, in a low, even tone. "If the Baas hurt me, I will hurt. If anybody hurt me, I will hurt." "You will hurt the Baas, eh? I thought he saved your life on the Limpopo."
Fellowes had stolen the needle from Mr. Mappin at Glencader," he added. "How you know that?" asked Krool, in a husky, ragged voice. "I saw him steal it and you?" "No. He tell me." "What did he mean to do with it?" A look came into Krool's eyes, malevolent and barbaric. "Not to kill himself," he reflected. "There is always some one a man or a woman want kill."
"Fleming shall go, and I'll stay. Yes, I'll stay here, and do Wallstein's work." He was still mechanically watching Krool attend to the sick man, and he was suddenly conscious of an arrest of all motion in the half-caste's lithe frame. Then Krool turned, and their eyes met. Had he drawn Krool's eyes to his the master-mind influencing the subservient intelligence?
And Krool was now bending over Rudyard's body, raising his head and still murmuring, "Baas Baas!" Krool's rifle had saved Rudyard from death by killing one of his own fellow-fighters. Much as Barry Whalen loathed the man, this act showed that Krool's love for the master who had sjamboked him was stronger than death.
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