ae : - ; in w 0 wen in a single day | the hands at his throat again, and was
; Rg ay trap : Ho wos. § Jou over n who had refused him. | certain that it was not hallucination;
i nodded with surly amicability. Sheila | 1 oe pe He swnding in the compound | he felt them between periods of uncon-
3 smiled anxiously. i I ' about Lu, watching the natives at | Sciousness that might have been years.
(Continued from last week).
SYNOPSIS
CHAPTER 1..—Winton Garrett, twen-
ty-five and just out of college, calls by
sppointment on Archie Garrett, his New
York cousin and executor, to receive
Ri inheritance of $100,000. Archie,
onest, an easy mark and a fool for
juck, assures Winton that he is prac-
tically a millionaire, as he has invested
all but $10,000 in a rubber plantation
fn either the East or West Indies and
fn a controlling interest in the Big
Malopo diamond mine, somewhere or
ether in South Africa, sold him as a
special favor by a Dutch promoter
mamed De Witt.
CHAPTER IL—Winton, en route to
fis mine, finds the town of Taungs
wildly excited over a big strike at
Malopo, including the 95-carat “De Witt
diamond.” Two coach passengers are
a disreputable old prospector, Daddy
Beaton, and his daughter Sheila. On
the journey a passenger, who turns out
to be De Witt himself, insults Sheila.
Winton fights De Witt and knocks him
out. Sheila tells him to turn back. She
says that her father is a broken Eng-
1ish army officer, who has killed a man
and is therefore in De Witt's power,
that De Witt is all-powerful, being
backed by Judge Davis, president of
the diamond syndicate and also the
resident magistrate and judge of the
native protectorate.
CHAPTER IIIL.—Winton finds Malopo
in a turmoil, both over the strike and
the theft of the De Witt diamond. Win-
ton foolishly discloses his identity to
Sam Simpson, a Jamaican negro, sub-
editor of the local newspaper. He more
wisely confides in Ned Burns, watch-
man at the Big Malopo, who tells him
that the syndicate has planned to take
eontrol of the mine the next morning.
CHAPTER IV.—Winton finds that
Sheila is cashier at the restaurant. He
ffers his friendship. She rebuffs him.
an Vorst, a notorious diamond thief,
one of De Witt's men, slips the stolen
De Witt diamond into Winton’s pocket
and two policemen club Winton and
arrest him. He escapes them and
when at his last gasp Sheila takes him
into her house, bathes his wounds and
saves him from his pursuers.
CHAPTER V.—The next morning
Bheila offers Winton help in escaping
from Malopo. He convinces her with
difficulty that he did not steal the De
Witt diamond and that he is president
of the Big Malopo company. Bruised
and blood-stained he runs across town,
breaks by force into the company meet-
ing, and aided by a popular demonstra-
tion proves his identity, blocks the re-
organization and takes control. He
asks Sheila to marry him. She laughs
hysterically and refuses him.
CHAPTER VI—Winton hires Seaton
as compound manager and develops Big
Malopo. Judge Davis, a philosophical
old hypocrite of unknown past, offers
him the syndicate’s co-operation. “Oth-
erwise, he says, ‘“we’ll smash you, you
d—d young fool.” .
“When you speak of a lady, my
friend, I presume you refer to the
young woman in question,” he said
coolly; and the spectators snickered.
Winton felt some hidden meaning in
their mirth. He writhed under it.
“What does this mean, Mr. Hanson?”
Judge Davis continued.
“It's part of the personal news,
Judge,” answered the editor.
“Quite so,” answered Davis. “It is
unfortunate, Mr. Garrett, if you are
the gentleman referred to. But the
passage has my approval.” His voice
began to quaver. “It’s our policy,” he
went on, “to promote temperance, pur-
ity, and fraternity by publicity. Woe
to those who harbor designs against
the well-being of the people of Malopo!
Woe to you, young man, if you are a
wolf in sheep’s clothing! The people
of Malopo will tolerate nothing that
cannot bear the full light of day.”
“Go it, judge! Give him h—I,
Judge!” yelled the citizen who had
spoken before.
Judge Davis looked about him unctu-
ously and smacked his lips. He knew
well how to take advantage of the ad-
miration which his gallery play
aroused.
“The Chronicle will not be intimi-
dated in its policy of public justice,”
he pursued. “Do you wish to lay a
charge of assault and battery against
Mr. Garrett?” he inquired of Sam.
“I want him arrested!” yelled Sam.
“He cut my lip. I'm a British subject
and I demand justice.”
“And you shall have it,” answered
the judge. “White or colored, every
man is entitled to the full protection
of the law. Go home, young man, and
reflect on that,” he said to Winton.
“I made a mistake,” said Winton
hoarsely.
“That's better, my friend.”
“Yes, I made a mistake,” he shouted,
shaking his fist in the judge's face.
“Next time this happens it's you who
will pay the penalty. I'll take the hide
off your bones, you cowardly dog, old
as you are! Understand me,” he con-
tinued, looking so frantic that the
judge stepped back to avoid the antici-
pated blow, “powerful as you may be
in this town, you'll attack any woman
through the medium of your paper at
your personal peril!”
Pushing his way through the crowd,
he went at a great rate until he found
himself unaccompanied. He began tec
realize that he had made a fool of him-
self. He had given Sheila exactly that
publicity which he desired to avoid.
He had played into his enemies’ hands.
He must find her now before any-
thing else was done.
He strode into the Continental. The
men were just going into the dining
room. Winton accompanied the crowd;
but at the cashier's desk he saw a stout
blonde, with rouged face and penciled
eyebrows, and Sheila was nowhere ip
VICTOR.
| ROUSSEAWL
COPYRIGHT 4y W.G.CHAPMAN
the room. The entrance of Winton,
glaring about him and showing all
the evidences of his agitation, at-
tracted universal attention.
The manager recognized him as one
of his disappointments. Winton's re-
moval to the European had angered
him, and he had a sneering remark
at the tip of his tongue which died
away as he saw the look on Winton’s
face.
“Where's Miss Seaton?”
Winton.
“She ain’t here today,” answered the
man. “This ain't no drawing room.
If you want dinner, sit down. If you
don’t, get out!”
The girls were watching the argu-
ment, which had every aspect of de-
veloping into an altercation. The
diners, who knew all about the para-
graph, were smiling broadly.
“I asked you where she was,” said
Winton doggedly.
Winton’s former waitress took pity
on him. She had liked Winton, and ad-
mired him as different from the crowd
who flocked into the place. “She's
gone to the races,” she whispered.
Winton left the hotel. He knew that
he had made a fool of himself for the
second time. The story of his infatu-
ation would be all over Malopo.
He had not known that there was
any racing that day. He had noticed
nothing, absorbed as he was with his
one thought. But now he saw that a
procession of carts and wagons, horse-
men and pedestrians, with here and
there a smart dog-cart, was making its
way toward the south side of the town.
Winton tramped along in their wake,
until Malopo was left behind, and he
saw the race course in front of him,
crowded with spectators,
Vehicles of every kind were drawn
up about it, and as he approached he
saw the spectators clearing from the
track. Then he perceived the horses
galloping round the ellipse.
He worked his way through the mob
to the grandstand, a roughly-construct-
ed hodgepodge of crude uprights and
seats, paid his admission fee, and be-
gan to search it systematically for
Sheila. She was not there; he assured
himself of that after a few minutes
of careful scrutiny. There must have
been a thousand persons present, and
the general disorder upon the course
made his investigation difficult; but
he was resolved to find her.
He began to make his way around
the barriers, scrutinizing the occupants
of the vehicles. If Sheila was at the
races, some man had taken her, prob-
ably in a carriage. But Winton’s jeal-
ousy was smothered by his concern.
Nearly all Malopo had turned out.
Everybody was drinking and shouting
and yelling as the horses came gallop-
ing home toward the flag-decked box
of the judges. Bookmakers, standing
on chairs, shouted the odds, and ev-
demanded
A dozen men caught at Winton, offer-
ing odds:
“Shylock, three to two!
favorite, gents!
four!
Back the
Little Boy, nine to
Here y’are, mister!”
restrained, and the sickness in his
heart grew as he thought of Sheila
there,
How could the girl find pleasure in
panion?
rible fear. He knew next to nothing
of Sheila. Suppose he had been mis-
taken and had read in her what was
existence of qualities that were evident
to any less infatuated than himself!
Van Beer and Ned.
He had forced himself upon the girl,
and, if he had mistaken her nature
and character, how could he blame
her?
At last he found her in the middle
afternoon.
She was seated in a smart dog-cart
beside De Witt. He was watching the
race and shouting vociferously as he
waved his card. His animation owed
a good deal to the empty bottles of
champagne at his feet. Sheila was
ton wondered whether her mirth con-
cealed any deeper feeling; whether she
was enjoying her situation there.
Why had she gone with De Witt?
His heart began to gallop. He walked
slowly toward them.
that moment why men kill each other
over women. He knew that jealousy
had the least share in his emotions;
rather it was the sense that death
alone could justify the girl’s outrage
against her better nature.
He did not know what he was going
to do. Had he had a revolver he would
probably have fired automatically at
De Witt, and awakened to find him
dead at his feet. As it was, the sit-
uation was relaxed in just such a com-
erybody held a racing card in his hands.
| standing in the doorway.
He shook himself free, growing more
and more somber and resolute as the
behavior of the mob became more un-
such a place? And who was her com-
He looked at the faces of the women |
sealed in the carriages, and for the gnarled De Witt, beside himself with
first time he was conscious of a ter- |
not there—and denied to himself the
He recalled the veiled warnings of ;
| “That was a good run,” called De
| Witt. “Miss Sheila and I have hooked
in fifty pounds on Little Boy.”
| Winton did not answer him, but fixed
‘his eyes on Sheila’s face. He knew
now that his dreams had been a de-
lusion, that the girl was not to blame;
that she was a worthless woman who
had become nothing to him.
{ He met her look gravely, and then,
' through the smiling mask, he seemed
to penetrate to the girl's tortured soul.
He read the hopelesshess, the shame
| beneath her smile.
i “Why are you here?” he asked.
| De Witt, who was half drunk, turned
. to him in maudlin remonstrance.
“I tell you why she’s here,” he hic-
, cuped. “Because she likes me. See?
Likes me and don’t care about you—
eh, Sheila?”
He placed his arm about her, and !
the girl, shrinking in his grasp, yet did |
not seem to resent the familiarity.
“Sheila,” said Winton, “if you came
here out of affection for that man,
Heaven knows it's no business of mine.
I'l go away. But if you came here
because he threatened you by means
of the power he has over your father,
Heaven help him!”
De Witt leaned forward and clutched
the whip. “You go to the devil!” he
roared.
“Sheila, I asked you why you are
here,” said Winton with patient ob-
stinacy. :
The girl smiled mirthlessly. “I am
here with a gentleman, Mr. Garrett,”
she answered. “Surely that is answer
enough. Do I look as if I had been
dragged here against my will?”
Mer lips quivered, but she was com-
posed enough. “No,” answered Win-
ton. And there was nothing more to
say. A few of those about the carriage
were beginning to look at the trio cu-
riously. Then the start of a race drew
away their attention, and the course
was a pandemonium of yelling spec-
tators as the horses ran by.
Winton turned and began to make
his way homeward. He had been on
the point of making a fcol of himself :
for the third time that day; but his
tragedy had turned into a sordid
drama. He felt that he did not want
to see Sheila again.
He took a circuitous road back to
Malopo. It was nearly sunset when
he arrived. He meant to go to the
claim, but somehow an impulse made
him linger in the town long after the
stream of vehicles with their shouting
occupants had returned from the race-
track.
He watched the scene bitterly, the
riotous groups that pervaded the mar-
ket square, gathered about the stoeps
of the hotels and filling every saloon.
He hated Malopo more bitterly than
he could have thought possible. Some-
how it seemed like a concrete enemy,
a soulless monster that ground men,
body and soul, as it had ground Sheila.
And in spite of himself the memory
of the girl came back to him, and with
it a great terror. A sense of danger
to her set his feet along the mean
street that led to the sordid brick
houses.
Sheila, alone in Malopo, and De Witt,
hot after his prey! Sheila, helpless!
It was growing dark as suddenly as
darkness falls in the low latitudes.
Winton hastened until he saw the
squelid court before him, and the pump
in the center. There was a light in
the girl's room, and the dog-cart wis
drawn up at her door—no, not the dog-
cart, but a Cape cart, with a pair of’
horses, such as is used for traveling. .
And in it sat De Witt, amid a pile of
small pieces of baggage.
As Winton drew near he saw Sheila
She wore
her hat and a traveling cloak. De Witt
bent down and spoke to her; he gave
her his hand, and, hesitantly, the girl
went forward.
Then Winton sprang out of the shad.
ows between them. And there was no
need to ask any questions.
De Witt leaped to the ground; but
before the men came to the grapple
Sheila had caught with eager hands
at Winton’s upraised arm.
“Stop!” she cried. “For my suke,
stop! You don't understand!”
“He'll understand soon enough!”
rage. “I won't fight him. You aren't
worth it. I've been patient and waited
to the limit; now you send the fon!
away, or your father can swing!”
“Go!” whispered Sheila, and, releas-
ing Winton, she put her hands to her
head and looked at De Witt in terror.
“Where are you taking her?’ de
. manded Winton.
listening to him, and laughing. Win- .
| more,
He understood at |
“Where I choose,” answered De Witt, | sacrifice yourself for your father’s sake
I= that man!”
“You d—d fighting fool, meddling
in other people's business, I'm going to
tell you something now. You've
crossed my path in every possible way,
and you're going to hear the truth,
Her father’s life is in my hands when:
ever I choose to give him up to the
police. He killed a man. That's num-
ber one. And number two's this. Ever
hear of ‘King’ Seaton? That's him!
He ran away to the native territories
years ago, when the police were after
him—"
Sheila ran to him with a cry.
if you have any pity!”
pleaded.
“Let him go, then! Get out, you—"
Winton could restrain himseif no
more. He sprang at De Witt, snatched
the uplifted whip from his hand, and
brought the lash dowa across his face.
Blood spurted at the blow. The
horses, taking fright at the sound, gal-
loped away along the road into Malopo.
The fight was short, but it went furi.
ously. Cursing like a madman, De Witt
leaped to his feet and tried to wrest
the whip from Winton's hand.
Winton cut him across the face
“No
she
| “Morbidness, Sheila.
Se
3 EE h-.
' again, and then brought the stock down
on De Witt's head. But the man was
gamer than in the coach; perhaps he
hopes of winning Sheila, who stood by,
wringing her hands frantically, and
pleading piteously, now with one man
and now with the other.
ton's account,” he said. “Our reckon-
ing will come later. You can go.”
De Witt, disheveled and bleeding,
staggered up. “I've got something to
| tell you,” he whispered hoarsely, and
the eagerness of his purpose seemed for
the moment to thrust away his rage.
i “I won't hear you,” shouted Winton,
taking up the whip again. “One word
and I'll thrash you like the hound you
are. And if ever you dare come to this
house again, or to Miss Seaton—"
De Witt shrank back. “You think
there's no law in Malopo, maybe!” he
muttered. “You'll pay for this—in
jail, you swine!”
But as Winton stepped toward him
he made off along the road. And Win.
ton let the whip fall from hig hand.
It was his second assault that day—
and it had brought him no nearer
Sheila. But he had saved her,
She had sunk, fainting, upon the
ground. Winton bent over her and
raised her. “Sheila!” he cried, and,
yielding to his overpowering impulse,
he kissed her on the lips.
She opened her eyes and shuddered,
and looked at him in piteous appeal.
“Let me go! Why did you ever come
| terday has caused me to ponder, Mr.
saw that defeat meant the end of his:
| wish to perform social service among
At last De Witt went down to stay. the Bantu population of your com-
Winton dropped the whip at his feet. pound, turning their minds toward civi-
“You can consider that on Miss Sea- |
r Sam's employment.
into my life?’ she moaned.
It was wrong. You do not love that
man.”
She smiled wanly.
“I don’t care what more that lial
had to say. I love you, Sheila, and 1
believe in you, in your goodness. I am
going to make you my wife.”
“If you knew, you would turn from
me in loathing.”
“Sheila, you are as good and true as
any girl in the world.”
“Oh, if he knew!
guess!”
“Dear, I love you. Let that suffice
I can make you love me—"
She shook her head with her uncon
querable obstinacy. “Never,” she an
swered. '
Winton held her by the wrists ana
looked at her, and she returned his
gaze, steady-eyed immovable.
“Is it that you cannot love me?” he
asked at last.
She nodded; but the nod itself was
a denial of its meaning. Then she be-
gan speaking with intense earnestness:
“There is something that makes it
impossible. I tried to warn you from
the first, and you would not be warned.
I cannot tell you. I want you to think
of me"—her voice broke for a mo-
ment—*"as you saw me in the coach
| coming from Taungs. You may not
{ know that you are the first man in the
world, the only man who has ever
i treated me as a woman hopes to be
treated, with deference, with respect.
; That barrier has cut me off from the
i world—"
If you could
Your father's
“troubles have preyed on your mind.”
i “I want you to think of me as you
thought of me that day. And I shall
not trouble you again.
“You have helped me more than you
dream. But it is all useless. I can’t
say any more.”
Her gesture was of irrevocable dis-
missal.
| “Promise me one thing,” cried Win-
ton desperately. “That you will never
“I shall not see my father again,”
‘she answered. “Let this be good-by.
Don't be alarmed about me. I am go-
i Ing to—to friends—"
Her sobs choked her. She ran into
‘the house. And Winton, waiting, saw
| the light blown out; and, turning, he
‘made his way back along the dreary
street, utterly sick in spirit, toward
Malopo and the diamond claim.
CHAPTER Vill
Thieves in Night.
Was It love, or infatuation only?
Next day Winton was amazed to find
the old routine of things claiming nis
attention just the same. And souie-
how, when he was away from Sheila,
the girl became a dream, a figment of
his brain, impossible, and impossibly
dear.
‘He half expected to be served with
a summons for the assault upon De
Witt, but none came. Then he remem-
bered that Sam Simpson had a similar
grievance, and that he had placed him-
| Bible.
“Sheila, I love you. You were going |
to sacrifice yourself for your father | p
f the prophets were sitting before
“It ‘he had tog] the: Drop Zhe
you the rest—" she whispered.
| pose it's all right then, Mr. Garrett,”
gelf In an uncommonly foolish position
work, + ..n Ned came up to him and
annouiced that a man wished to see
him. “Turning, he was surprised to
see Sam's black face sm’ling at him
under the white hat. One of Sam’s
lips was swollen to more than its cus-
tomary thickness by the blow that
Winton had placed there on the pre-
ceding day.
Sam raised his hat without the least
embarrassment.
“I'm thinking of making a change,
Mr, Garrett,” he said.
“In what respect?’ asked Winton,
mystified.
“In status, sir.”
“You are looking for a position and
have come to me?”
“Exactly, Mr. Garrett. I can no
longer reconcile it with my self-re-
spect to remain a theoretical newsboy,
while being de facto editor of the
Chronicle. Mr, Hanson is an illiterate
man, sir, and unable to spell, much less
construct the English clause. The vio-
lence to which you subjected me yes-
Garrett, and I have come to the con-
clusion that your objections, though
forcibly expressed, were not unethical.
And, to mention' my chief motive, I
lization and uplift. Finally Mr. De
Witt assaulted me in the office this
morning on my refusal to indite a
scurrilous paragraph concerning your-
self.”
“So that’s De Witt’'s game,” mused
Winton. “He must be at the end of
his tether if he can’t fly higher than
that,” he reflected. Then aloud, “What
did he do to you, Sam?”
“He—well, kicked me, Mr. Garrett.
And consequently I was unable to con-
vince the judge that two pounds a
week is incommensurate with the dig-
nity of a position in which physical
assault is a frequent and arbitrary ele-
ment of the diurnal occurrences.”
“Sam, I believe Mr. Burns wants a
night watchman,” said Winton, “I'll
take you to him.”
Ned Burns was strongly opposed to
“You don’t know
what dirty work Judge Davis has sent
him here for,” he objected.
“I don’t know,” said Winton. “I
rather fancy Sam is honest. You can’t
altogether blame him for having edited
the Chronicle. It’s pretty difficult to
find work in Malopo.”
“Well, we'll see what the Book has
to say,” grumbled Ned, taking out his
He read:
“Two Kings, four, thirty-eight: ‘And
isha came again to Gilgal and there
was a dearth in the land; and the sons
him: and he said unto his servant, Set
on the great pot, and seethe pottage
for the sons of the prophets.’”
He closed the Book. “Well, I sup-
he said. “But if the Book hadn't said
so I'd never have trusted him.”
“Sam’s all right,” answered Winton.
“But I'd be interested to know how
you infer it from that passage.”
“Why, Mr. Garrett, it's perfectly |
clear,” answered Ned in surprise.
“You're Elisha and I'm Gilgal, and
you've come again to me. The dearth
in the land is the problem about Sam.
Sam’s the great pot, and the pottage |
is the diamonds, and the sons of the
prophets are the shareholders, Now
the Book says the great pot is to be set
on for the sons of the prophets.”
Winton communicated the decision to
Sam, and it was arranged that he was
to enter upon his duties at the end of
the week, relieving Ned, who still oc
cupied the brick shanty, but was plan-
ning to board at a cottage on the
Malopo road.
Winton had now reached the point
where the immediate sale of the big
stone had become inevitable. He had
had a quantity of the blue clay—which
is simply the yellow clay before de-
composition—crushed with mallets, an
unsatisfactory process, but useful when
the slow process of decomposition can-
not be undergone. This had been
passed through the washing troughs
and picked over. Not a single diamond
had been discovered.
Ned could not understand it. If only
a few small stones had been found this
would have been an augury for the
future. Still, little could be gauged as
to the resources of the claim from this.
The diamonds might lie compactly at
a lower level. - But his need of funds
compelled Winton to enter into nego-
tiations for the sale of the big stone.
He showed it to one of the jobbers,
who was in Malopo. The man agreed
to advance him fifteen thousand pounds
on it, pending its valuation. The trans-
action was to take place on the follow-
ing morning.
Winton had had a day of intense la-
bor in the compound, looking over the
washings. He flung himself down on
his bed without undressing, and fell
asleep almost as soon as his head
touched the pillow. Once he awakened
with a start, and, half dreaming still,
imagined that he heard a horse canter
up to the compound. Then he fell
asleep again.
But after a while he began to be
aware of a sense of oppression, and
he struggled in that dim borderland be-
tween sleep and waking, where dream
and reality are inextricably blended.
He felt as if Invisible fingers were
clawing at his throat, so that each
wireath became an eitort. For a long
time he was unable to shake himself
fre from the bonds of sleep. At last
he found that his eyes were open. It
was quite dark, but he fancied that
there was a figure in the room, and he
became awure of an intolerable, sweet,
sickly odor that filled his nostrils.
He must have stirred, for he felt
i
|
I
\
Something damp was against his lips.
Winton recognized the odor as that of
chloroform; and by the faint light of
the moon that came through the little
window he perceived a man’s face bent
over his.
He tried to cry for help, but only a
hoarse whisper came from his throat,
and the saturated handkerchief was
elapped over his nostrils.
Then followed absolute unconscious-
ness, broken by the distant sound of a
revolver shot, and a faint cry of pain.
Both sounds passed through Winton’s
mind as meaningless; but suddenly he
felt a hand upon his shoulder, shaking
him.
With a supreme effort he sat up in
bed. The fumes were suffocating, but
he managed to spring to his feet and
stagger toward the window, which had
been opened. Then he saw Sam’s agi-
tated black face before him.
The man was speaking and trying
to make him understand. Winton
could not gather the import of what
he was saying. He shook himself free
impatiently and leaned out of the win-
dow, breathing in the desert air. Grad-
ually his situation dawned upon him.
“What is it, Sam?’ he mumbled.
“Mr. Garrett, sir, come to the next
room! They've stolen the diamond!
I was watching, though my job doesn’t
begin till tomorrow. Come, sir!”
Winton stood up. The room had
ceased to revolve about him, but still
swung dizzlly before his eyes. The
moon was still low; it could not have
been much past midnight. Eons seemed
to have passed since Winton had gone
to bed at nine.
He made his way toward the door,
supported by Sam’s arm. He passed
through the open doorway.
The outer door was closed. Two
men lay upon the floor against it. One
was Kash, the Armenian, stone dead,
with a bullet through his forehead.
The other was Ned Burns, breathing
noisily, but unconscious, and his head
covered with blood from a blow of the
butt of the revolver which lay beside
him.
Sam caught at Winton’s arm. “I
heard the shot,” he cried. “I was com-
ing to watch the claim. I ran, and
saw the two of them attacking Mr.
Burns. He killed one; the other shot
him and dragged his bcdy inside and
locked the door. I climbed through
your window and found you uncon-
scious from chloroform.”
Winton began to take in the situa-
tion. Sam must have alarmed the rob-
ber, who had taken flight without wait-
ing to finish Ned Burns. Evidently
murder, a very dangerous game on
British territory, had formed no part
of their plans, otherwise he would
have been killed in his sleep.
Sam was tugging at Winton's arm
again. “Look!” he cried, pointing
across the room.
Then Winton perceived that the safe
had been blown open. But there wus
more than that: it had been displaced
from the position which it occupied,
and beside and half under it was a
yawning hole in the ground.
“That's the way they came!” cried
Sam.
Winton ran to the safe. The dia-
mond was, of course, gone. He stooped
and began hastily to search Ned's pock-
ets for the keys. They were gone, tno.
The chloroform stupor was fast leuv-
ing him. He ran toward the hole. He
could just see the line of the tunnel
below.
He swung himself into the hole and
entered the tunnel, Sam following him,
It was hardly wider than a man’s body,
and not three feet in height, so that it
was necessary to scramble along it on
his hands and knees. Once Winton
fancied that he heard sounds ahead of
him and stopped, but then he could
hear nothing except the indefinite mur-
murs that are audible underground.
He went on like a mole, outdistanc-
ing the negro. Now and again he
bumped into stakes that had been driv-
en into the hard clay to hold up the
roof. The robbers had laid their
plans with care, and they must have
been weeks about their execution.
At last a faint ray of moonlight ap-
peared in the distance, It grew clear-
er, and the tunnel began to widen, end-
ing suddenly in a circular pit, of the
kind that marks the beginning of ex-
cavations along the diamond fields.
Winton scrambled up the side and
stood under the stars.
He then saw with bewilderment that
he was standing in the compound of
the adjacent claim, just where he had
emerged on the prior occasion when
he entered a branch of the tunnel be-
neath the Armenian’s store.
It was clear that the diamond thieves
had utilized for their work the Hot-
tentot’s predilection, learned from the
Bushmen, for subterranean excava-
tions. The plan had been a clever one,
and it appeared to have succeeded.
(Continued next week).
Tea of Evergreen Leaves.
In Paraguay, Uruguay, Argentinos,
the Brazilian states, and to a less ex-
tent in Chili, a peculiar kind of tea is
largely used by the native population.
It is obtained from the roasted and
pulverized leaves of an evergreen for-
est tree, the Ilex Paraguayensis. The
outer branches of the tree are cut off
and passed rapidly through the {lames
of a large fire, which wilts the leaves
and tender stems, which are after-
ward dried and thoroughly smoked
over a slow fire. Then they are ground
to powder, and thus prepared for the
making of tea. The beverage is sald
to be more gently stimulating than
either coffee or ordinary tea, but it
has a smoky flavor. disagreeable to
the unaccustomed palate.—Detroit
News.