CHAPTER XXIV

We arrived at Bulawayo early on Saturday morning. I was disappointed

in the place. It was very hot, and I hated the hotel. Also Sir

Eustace was what I can only describe as thoroughly sulky. I think

it was all our wooden animals that annoyed him—especially the big

giraffe. It was a colossal giraffe with an impossible neck, a mild

eye and a dejected tail. It had character. It had charm. A

controversy was already arising as to whom it belonged—me or

Suzanne. We had each contributed a tiki to its purchase. Suzanne

advanced the claims of seniority and the married state, I stuck to

the position that I had been the first to behold its beauty.

In the meantime, I must admit, it occupied a good deal of this

three-dimensional space of ours. To carry forty-nine wooden animals,

all of awkward shape, and all of extremely brittle wood, is somewhat

of a problem. Two porters were laden with a bunch of animals

each—and one promptly dropped a ravishing group of ostriches and

broke their heads off. Warned by this, Suzanne and I carried all

we could, Colonel Race helped, and I pressed the big giraffe into

Sir Eustace’s arms. Even the correct Miss Pettigrew did not escape,

a large hippopotamus and two black warriors fell to her share. I

had a feeling Miss Pettigrew didn’t like me. Perhaps she fancied

I was a bold hussy. Anyway, she avoided me as much as she could.

And the funny thing was, her face seemed vaguely familiar to me,

though I couldn’t quite place it.

We reposed ourselves most of the morning, and in the afternoon we

drove out to the Matoppos to see Rhodes’s grave. That is to say,

we were to have done so, but at the last moment Sir Eustace backed

out. He was very nearly in as bad a temper as the morning we

arrived at Cape Town—when he bounced the peaches on the floor and

they squashed! Evidently arriving early in the morning at places

is bad for his temperament. He cursed the porters, he cursed the

waiters at breakfast, he cursed the whole hotel management, he

would doubtless have liked to curse Miss Pettigrew who hovered

around with her pencil and pad, but I don’t think even Sir Eustace

would have dared to curse Miss Pettigrew. She’s just like the

efficient secretary in a book. I only rescued our dear giraffe just

in time. I feel Sir Eustace would have liked to dash him to the

ground.

To return to our expedition, after Sir Eustace had backed out, Miss

Pettigrew said she would remain at home in case he might want her.

And at the very last minute Suzanne sent down a message to say she

had a headache. So Colonel Race and I drove off alone.

He is a strange man. One doesn’t notice it so much in a crowd. But,

when one is alone with him, the sense of his personality seems

really almost overpowering. He becomes more taciturn, and yet his

silence seems to say more than speech might do.

It was so that day that we drove to the Matoppos through the soft

yellow brown scrub. Everything seemed strangely silent—except our

car which I should think was the first Ford ever made by man! The

upholstery of it was torn to ribbons and, though I know nothing

about engines, even I could guess that all was not as it should be

in its interior.

By and by the character of the country changed. Great boulders

appeared, piled up into fantastic shapes. I felt suddenly that I

had got into a primitive era. Just for a moment Neanderthal men

seemed quite as real to me as they had to Papa. I turned to Colonel

Race.

“There must have been giants once,” I said dreamily. “And their

children were just like children are to-day—they played with

handfuls of pebbles, piling them up and knocking them down, and

the more cleverly they balanced them, the better pleased they were.

If I were to give a name to this place I should call it ‘The

Country of Giant Children.’”

“Perhaps you’re nearer the mark than you know,” said Colonel Race

gravely. “Simple, primitive, big—that is Africa.”

I nodded appreciatively.

“You love it, don’t you?” I asked.

“Yes. But to live in it long—well, it makes one what you would call

cruel. One comes to hold life and death very lightly.”

“Yes,” I said, thinking of Harry Rayburn. He had been like that

too. “But not cruel to weak things?”

“Opinions differ as to what are and are not ‘weak things,’ Miss

Anne.”

There was a note of seriousness in his voice which almost startled

me. I felt that I knew very little really of this man at my side.

“I meant children and dogs, I think.”

“I can truthfully say I’ve never been cruel to children or dogs.

So you don’t class women as ‘weak things’?”

I considered.

“No, I don’t think I do—though they are, I suppose. That is, they

are nowadays. But Papa always said that in the beginning men and

women roamed the world together, equal in strength—like lions and

tigers——”

“And giraffes?” interpolated Colonel Race slyly.

I laughed. Every one makes fun of that giraffe.

“And giraffes. They were nomadic, you see. It wasn’t till they

settled down in communities, and women did one kind of thing and

men another that women got weak. And of course, underneath, one is

still the same—one _feels_ the same, I mean, and that is why women

worship physical strength in men—it’s what they once had and have

lost.”

“Almost ancestor worship, in fact?”

“Something of the kind.”

“And you really think that’s true? That women worship strength, I

mean?”

“I think it’s quite true—if one’s honest. You think you admire

moral qualities, but when you fall in love, you revert to the

primitive where the physical is all that counts. But I don’t think

that’s the end—if you lived in primitive conditions it would be

all right, but you don’t—and so, in the end, the other thing wins

after all. It’s the things that are apparently conquered that

always do win, isn’t it? They win in the only way that counts. Like

what the Bible says about losing your soul and finding it.”

“In the end,” said Colonel Race thoughtfully, “you fall in love—and

you fall out of it, is that what you mean?”

“Not exactly, but you can put it that way if you like.”

“But I don’t think you’ve ever fallen out of love, Miss Anne?”

“No, I haven’t,” I admitted frankly.

“Or fallen in love, either?”

I did not answer.

The car drew up at our destination and brought the conversation to

a close. We got out and began the slow ascent to the World’s View.

Not for the first time, I felt a slight discomfort in Colonel

Race’s company. He veiled his thoughts so well behind those

impenetrable black eyes.

He frightened me a little. He had always frightened me. I never

knew where I stood with him.

We climbed in silence till we reached the spot where Rhodes lies

guarded by giant boulders. A strange eerie place, far from the

haunts of men, that sings a ceaseless pæan of rugged beauty.

We sat there for some time in silence. Then descended once more,

but diverging slightly from the path. Sometimes it was a rough

scramble and once we came to a sharp slope or rock that was almost

sheer.

Colonel Race went first, then turned to help me.

“Better lift you,” he said suddenly, and swung me off my feet with

a quick gesture.

I felt the strength of him as he set me down and released his

clasp. A man of iron, with muscles like taut steel. And again, I

felt afraid, especially as he did not move aside, but stood directly

in front of me, staring into my face.

“What are you really doing here, Anne Beddingfeld?” he said

abruptly.

“I’m a gipsy seeing the world.”

“Yes, that’s true enough. The newspaper correspondent is only a

pretext. You’ve not the soul of the journalist. You’re out for your

own hand—snatching at life. But that’s not all.”

What was he going to make me tell him? I was afraid—afraid. I

looked him full in the face. My eyes can’t keep secrets like his,

but they can carry the war into the enemy’s country.

“What are _you_ really doing here, Colonel Race?” I asked

deliberately.

For a moment I thought he wasn’t going to answer. He was clearly

taken aback, though. At last he spoke, and his words seemed to

afford him a grim amusement.

“Pursuing ambition,” he said. “Just that—pursuing ambition. You

will remember, Miss Beddingfeld, that ‘by that sin fell the angels,’

etc.”

“They say,” I said slowly, “that you are really connected with the

Government—that you are in the Secret Service. Is that true?”

Was it my fancy, or did he hesitate for a fraction of a second

before he answered?

“I can assure you, Miss Beddingfeld, that I am out here strictly

as a private individual travelling for my own pleasure.”

Thinking the answer over later, it struck me as slightly ambiguous.

Perhaps he meant it to be so.

We rejoined the car in silence. Half-way back to Bulawayo we

stopped for tea at a somewhat primitive structure at the side of

the road. The proprietor was digging in the garden and seemed

annoyed at being disturbed. But he graciously promised to see what

he could do. After an interminable wait he brought us some stale

cakes and some lukewarm tea. Then he disappeared to his garden

again.

No sooner had he departed than we were surrounded by cats. Six of

them all miaowing piteously at once. The racket was deafening. I

offered them some pieces of cake. They devoured them ravenously.

I poured all the milk there was into a saucer and they fought each

other to get it.

“Oh,” I cried indignantly, “they’re starved! It’s wicked. Please,

please, order some more milk and another plate of cake.”

Colonel Race departed silently to do my bidding. The cats had begun

miaowing again. He returned with a big jug of milk and the cats

finished it all.

I got up with determination on my face.

“I’m going to take those cats home with us—I shan’t leave them

here.”

“My dear child, don’t be absurd. You can’t carry six cats as well

as fifty wooden animals round with you.”

“Never mind the wooden animals. These cats are alive. I shall take

them back with me.”

“You will do nothing of the kind.” I looked at him resentfully,

but he went on: “You think me cruel—but one can’t go through life

sentimentalizing over these things. It’s no good standing out—I

shan’t allow you to take them. It’s a primitive country, you know,

and I’m stronger than you.”

I always know when I am beaten. I went down to the car with tears

in my eyes.

“They’re probably short of food just to-day,” he explained

consolingly. “That man’s wife has gone into Bulawayo for stores.

So it will be all right. And anyway, you know, the world’s full of

starving cats.”

“Don’t—don’t,” I said fiercely.

“I’m teaching you to realize life as it is. I’m teaching you to be

hard and ruthless—like I am. That’s the secret of strength—and the

secret of success.”

“I’d sooner be dead than hard,” I said passionately.

We got into the car and started off. I pulled myself together again

slowly. Suddenly, to my intense astonishment, he took my hand in

his.

“Anne,” he said gently, “I want you. Will you marry me?”

I was utterly taken aback.

“Oh, no,” I stammered. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t care for you in that way. I’ve never thought of you like

that.”

“I see. Is that the only reason?”

I had to be honest. I owed it him.

“No,” I said, “it is not. You see—I—care for some one else.”

“I see,” he said again. “And was that true at the beginning—when

I first saw you—on the _Kilmorden?”_

“No,” I whispered. “It was—since then.”

“I see,” he said for the third time, but this time there was a

purposeful ring in his voice that made me turn and look at him.

His face was grimmer than I had ever seen it.

“What—what do you mean?” I faltered.

He looked at me, inscrutable, dominating.

“Only—that I know now what I have to do.”

His words sent a shiver through me. There was a determination

behind them that I did not understand—and it frightened me.

We neither of us said any more until we got back to the hotel. I

went straight up to Suzanne. She was lying on her bed reading, and

did not look in the least as though she had a headache.

“Here reposes the perfect gooseberry,” she remarked. _“Alias_ the

tactful chaperone. Why, Anne dear, what’s the matter?”

For I had burst into a flood of tears.

I told her about the cats—I felt it wasn’t fair to tell her about

Colonel Race. But Suzanne is very sharp. I think she saw that there

was something more behind.

“You haven’t caught a chill, have you, Anne? Sounds absurd even to

suggest such things in this heat, but you keep on shivering.”

“It’s nothing,” I said. “Nerves—or some one walking over my grave.

I keep feeling something dreadful’s going to happen.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Suzanne, with decision. “Let’s talk of

something interesting. Anne, about those diamonds——”

“What about them?”

“I’m not sure they’re safe with me. It was all right before, no

one could think they’d be amongst my things. But now that every

one knows we’re such friends, you and I, I’ll be under suspicion

too.”

“Nobody knows they’re in a roll of films, though,” I argued. “It’s

a splendid hiding-place and I really don’t think we could better

it.”

She agreed doubtfully, but said we would discuss it again when we

got to the Falls.

Our train went at nine o’clock. Sir Eustace’s temper was still far

from good, and Miss Pettigrew looked subdued. Colonel Race was

completely himself. I felt that I had dreamed the whole conversation

on the way back.

I slept heavily that night on my hard bunk, struggling with

ill-defined, menacing dreams. I awoke with a headache and went out

on the observation platform of the car. It was fresh and lovely,

and everywhere, as far as one could see, were the undulating wooded

hills. I loved it—loved it more than any place I had ever seen. I

wished then that I could have a little hut somewhere in the heart

of the scrub and live there always—always. . . .

Just before half-past two, Colonel Race called me out from the

“office” and pointed to a bouquet-shaped white mist that hovered

over one portion of the bush.

“The spray from the Falls,” he said. “We are nearly there.”

I was still wrapped in that strange dream feeling of exaltation

that had succeeded my troubled night. Very strongly implanted in

me was the feeling that I had come home. . . . Home! And yet I had

never been here before—or had I in dreams?

We walked from the train to the hotel, a big white building closely

wired against mosquitoes. There were no roads, no houses. We went

out on the _stoep_ and I uttered a gasp. There, half a mile away,

facing us, were the Falls. I’ve never seen anything so grand and

beautiful—I never shall.

“Anne, you’re fey,” said Suzanne, as we sat down to lunch. “I’ve

never seen you like this before.”

She stared at me curiously.

“Am I?” I laughed, but I felt that my laugh was unnatural. “It’s

just that I love it all.”

“It’s more than that.”

A little frown creased her brow—one of apprehension.

Yes, I was happy, but beyond that I had the curious feeling that

I was waiting for something—something that would happen soon. I

was excited—restless.

After tea we strolled out, got on the trolley and were pushed by

smiling blacks down the little tracks of rails to the bridge.

It was a marvellous sight, the great chasm and the rushing waters

below, and the veil of mist and spray in front of us that parted

every now and then for one brief minute to show the cataract of

water and then closed up again in its impenetrable mystery. That,

to my mind, has always been the fascination of the Falls—their

elusive quality. You always think you’re going to see—and you never

do.

We crossed the bridge and walked slowly on by the path that was

marked out with white stone on either side and led round the brink

of the gorge. Finally we arrived in a big clearing where on the

left a path led downwards towards the chasm.

“The palm gully,” explained Colonel Race. “Shall we go down? Or

shall we leave it until to-morrow? It will take some time, and it’s

a good climb up again.”

“We’ll leave it until to-morrow,” said Sir Eustace with decision.

He isn’t at all fond of strenuous physical exercise, I have noticed.

He led the way back. As we went, we passed a fine native stalking

along. Behind him came a woman who seemed to have the entire

household belongings piled upon her head! The collection included

a frying pan!

“I never have my camera when I want it,” groaned Suzanne.

“That’s an opportunity that will occur often enough, Mrs. Blair,”

said Colonel Race. “So don’t lament.”

We arrived back on the bridge.

“Shall we go into the rainbow forest?” he continued. “Or are you

afraid of getting wet?”

Suzanne and I accompanied him. Sir Eustace went back to the hotel.

I was rather disappointed in the rainbow forest. There weren’t

nearly enough rainbows, and we got soaked to the skin, but every

now and then we got a glimpse of the Falls opposite and realized

how enormously wide they are. Oh, dear, dear Falls, how I love and

worship you and always shall!

We got back to the hotel just in time to change for dinner. Sir

Eustace seems to have taken a positive antipathy to Colonel Race.

Suzanne and I rallied him gently, but didn’t get much satisfaction.

After dinner, he retired to his sitting-room, dragging Miss

Pettigrew with him. Suzanne and I talked for a while with Colonel

Race, and then she declared, with an immense yawn, that she was

going to bed. I didn’t want to be left alone with him, so I got up

too and went to my room.

But I was far too excited to go to sleep. I did not even undress.

I lay back in a chair and gave myself up to dreaming. And all the

time I was conscious of something coming nearer and nearer. . . .

There was a knock at the door and I started. I got up and went to

it. A little black boy held out a note. It was addressed to me in

a handwriting I did not know. I took it and came back into the

room. I stood there holding it. At last I opened it. It was very

short:

“I must see you. I dare not come to the hotel. Will you come to

the clearing by the palm gully? In memory of Cabin 17 please come.

The man you knew as Harry Rayburn.”

My heart beat to suffocation. He was here then! Oh, I had known

it—I had known it all along! I had felt him near me. All unwittingly

I had come to his place of retreat.

I wound a scarf round my head and stole to the door. I must be

careful. He was hunted down. No one must see me meet him. I stole

along to Suzanne’s room. She was fast asleep. I could hear her

breathing evenly.

Sir Eustace? I paused outside the door of his sitting-room. Yes,

he was dictating to Miss Pettigrew, I could hear her monotonous

voice repeating. “I therefore venture to suggest, that in tackling

this problem of coloured labour——” She paused for him to continue,

and I heard him grunt something angrily.

I stole on again. Colonel Race’s room was empty. I did not see him

in the lounge. And he was the man I feared most! Still, I could

waste no more time. I slipped quickly out of the hotel and took

the path to the bridge.

I crossed it and stood there waiting in the shadow. If any one had

followed me, I should see them crossing the bridge. But the minutes

passed, and no one came. I had not been followed. I turned and took

the path to the clearing. I took six paces or so and then stopped.

Something had rustled behind me. It could not be any one who had

followed me from the hotel. It was some one who was already here,

waiting.

And immediately, without rhyme or reason, but with the sureness of

instinct, I knew that it was I myself who was threatened. It was

the same feeling as I had had on the _Kilmorden_ that night—a sure

instinct warning me of danger.

I looked sharply over my shoulder. Silence. I moved on a pace or

two. Again I heard that rustle. Still walking, I looked over my

shoulder again. A man’s figure came out of the shadow. He saw that

I saw him, and jumped forward, hard on my track.

It was too dark to recognize anybody. All I could see was that he

was tall, and a European, not a native. I took to my heels and ran.

I heard him pounding behind. I ran quicker, keeping my eyes fixed

on the white stones that showed me where to step, for there was no

moon that night.

And suddenly my foot felt nothingness. I heard the man behind me

laugh, an evil, sinister laugh. It rang in my ears, as I fell

headlong—down—down—down to destruction far beneath.