of Companies, the Master's Office -There was a fresh outburst of lamentation from his listeners, while Dirk Courtney selected a cigar from the humidor and prepared it carefully, cutting the end with a goldplated pocket-knife and moistening it between his lips, then he held it poised between thumb and forefinger while he waited for silence again. Thank you, gentlemen, but as I was saying, the gentleman in question then went down to the goods yard, and began making inquiries about Greyling and son. This time they were silent, exchanging appalled and disbelieving glances, and the silence drew out while Dirk Courtney struck a Swan Vesta and waited for the sulphur to burn off before he lit the cigar. It was all your idea, said Ronald Pye. He was at least thirty years senior to Dirk Courtney. Once prosperously bulging flesh had sagged beneath his expensive waistcoat, his jowls drooped also, like the wattles of a rooster, and his cheeks were mottled with faded freckles and old man's blemishes, little darker liver spots. His hair also had faded and thinned, stained only by residual traces of the fiery ginger it had once been. But his prominent ears stood out from his head, giving him an alert listening look, like a desert fox, and his eyes had a fox's cunning glitter as they watched Dirk Courtney's face. Yes, Dirk Courtney agreed. Most ideasaround here are mine indeed. That's why the net reserves of the Farmers Bank have increased from one and a half to fifteen million pounds in the ten years since I started contributing my ideas Ronny Pye went on staring at him, regretting bitterly for the ten thousandth time in those ten years that he had ever been tempted to sell control of the bank to this young adventurer, this elegant buccaneer.
God knows, there had been occasion for doubt, for caution, and he had hesitated long enough before accepting the fantastic offer that Dirk Courtney had made. He had known too much of the lad's history, how he had left his home here in Ladyburg in unsavoury circumstances, estranged from his father and family.
Then, years later, he had sauntered into Ronald Pye's office, unannounced and unheralded, and made his offer.
He had seen at a glance that the boy had grown into a hard man, but the offer had been too good to dismiss, and then immediately after, he had begun to hear the dark rumours that followed the man as vultures follow the lion.
He should have been warned, the fact that Dirk Courtney could offer six hundred thousand pounds in cash for sixty percent of the Bank's shares and support the offer with a Bank guarantee from Lloyds Bank of London was, in itself, enough to give substance to the dark rumours. How often does an honest man make that kind of money in a few short years, he asked himself.
In the end the money had tempted Ronny Pye, that and the chance to score over an old enemy, General Sean Courtney. He had delighted in the prospect of setting up the estranged son, setting him up in almost baronial circumstances in the very centre of Courtney country. The delight in doing so had swung the balance, spite and six hundred thousand pounds cash money.
It had been a bad bargain. I was against this from the beginning, he said now. My dear Pye, you are against every new idea, on principle. Yet only a week ago you were swooning like a virgin bride over the balance sheet of Ladyburg Estates, and Zululand sugar. Dirk stood up from the chair. His full height was imposing, he smoothed his hair lightly with both hands while his cigar was gripped between strong white teeth, then he arranged the folds of his cravat, touching the pearl pin before swinging away and striding to the far wall of the board room.
He drew down the rolled map of Zululand and north Natal that covered half the wall, and stood back from it.
The boundary of every farm was marked in large-scale topography. The farms belonging to Ladyburg Estates had been carefully shaded in green chalk. They made an impressive sweep of colour from sea to mountains, a great phalanx of land and natural wealth. There it is now, gentlemen, the scheme that you opposed so violently. He smiled again. It was too rich for your watery blood. The smile faded, and he scowled. When he scowled, the line of the wide mouth became bitter and the set of the lustrous eyes altered, with a mean pinched expression. The key to the whole thing was here on the Umfolosi, the water, we had to have it or none of it made sense. One stupid, stubborn, uneducated old bastard, he cut it off abruptly, and in a moment his smile was back, the voice tight with excitement. It is all ours now, the full south bank of the river, and it's not going to end there!
His spread hands clammed down on the map, hooked like claws. Here, he said, and here, and here, his hands marched northwards greedily.
He swung away from the map, laughing, and cocked his big handsome head at them. Look at you, he laughed. It's running down your legs, you're so terrified, and all because I'm making you rich. Dennis Petersen spoke now. He was the same age as Ronny Pye, married to his sister, and, but for that connection, he would never have been seated at the ormolu.
marble table, for he was the least significant of the three men. His features were indefinite and slightly blurred, his body in expensive clothing was pudgy and shapeless while the colour of his eyes was difficult to fathom. What are we going to do? he asked, and though his hands were clasped in his lap, it seemed that he was actually wringing them plaintively. We? Dirk asked kindly, and crossed to his chair. We, my dear Dennis? he patted the man's shoulder like a father, despite the age difference. We aren't going to do a thing. You just go back to your own office now, and I will tell you about it once it's over. Listen, Dirk. Dennis lifted his chin firmly. No more of that, that rough stuff, do you hear? Then he saw Dirk's eyes and dropped his chin. Please, he mumbled.
Dirk chuckled. Off you go and do your sums, both of you, add up the money. Don't worry about a thing. He helped them from their seats, a hand on each shoulder, and shepherded them towards the door. We have a board meeting tomorrow at nine o'clock, Dennis, I will be discussing the new extraction plant at Stanger. I will want the figures, make sure I have them. Alone for a moment, Dirk Courtney's face changed and the eyes narrowed. He pressed out the stub of the cigar in the onyx ashtray as he crossed to the door that led to the antechamber. Hobday, he called softly. Come in here a moment, please. There are occasions in a hunter's experience when a spoor begins hot and true and then fades. Mark remembered a hunt like that which he and the old man had made up near Chaka's Gate. Dead spoor, gone away, he muttered aloud now, and stood uncertainly in the main street of Ladyburg. There seemed no way that he might find the old man's grave. No way that he could bring the body back and rebury it beside Alice on Andersland.
Less important was the money that the old man had been paid for Andersland. Three thousand pounds. It was a vast fortune in Mark's eyes and it would be good to know what had happened to it. With that amount, he could afford land of his own somewhere.
Then Mark faced the issue he had avoided up until now and admitted that there was just one more faint chance, but he felt his stomach tighten at what he had to do. With a physical effort he steeled himself and set off steadily down the street towards the towering building of the Ladyburg Farmers Bank. He had not reached it before the church clock on the spire at the end of the street sounded the hour, five clear chimes that echoed across the valley, and a dozen bank employees came out in a group through the front door, smiling and chatting gaily in the relief of the day's work ended, while a uniformed guard began closing and locking the solid mahogany doors.
Mark felt a sneaking sense of relief, and he turned away.
I'll come back tomorrow, he told himself firmly.
The boarding house behind the church offered dinner and a bed for seven shillings and sixpence, and Mark
