whistling stopped as he contorted his face for the razor.
Through his mind ran page after page of the report that Andrew had delivered that morning to his hotel room.
Manfred had total recall when it came to written material.
Although the report was in the briefcase beside him, in his mind's eye he could review it word for word, figure for figure.
It was a stupendous piece of work. How the authors had gained access to the drilling and exploration reports of the five Kitchenerville field companies he could not even guess, for the gold mining companies' security was as tight as that of any national intelligence agency. But the figures were genuine. He had checked those purporting to be from CRC carefully. They were correct. So therefore the other four must also be genuine.
The names of the authors of the report were legend.
They were the top men in the field. Their opinions were the best in Harley Street. The conclusion that they reached was completely convincing. In effect it was this: If a haulage was driven from 66 level of the Sander Ditch No. 1 shaft through the Big Dipper dyke, it would pass under the limestone water-bearing foundations, and just beyond the fault it would intersect a reef of almost unbelievable value.
It had not needed the lecture that Manfred had received from his corpulent creditor to show him the Possibilities.
The man, who gave the order to drive through the Big Dipper would receive the credit. He would certainly be elected to the chairmanship of the Group when that office fell vacant.
There was another possibility. A person who purchased a big packet of Sander Ditch shares immediately before the reef was intersected would be a very rich man when he came to sell those shares later. He would be so rich that he would no longer be dependent on his wife for the means to live the kind of life he wanted, and indulge his own special tastes.
Manfred blew the hairs from his razor and returned it to his brief case. Then as he took out a fresh shirt and vest, he began to sing the words to the tune: 'Heute 1st der schenste Tag In mein em Leben.' He would telephone Ironsides from Jan Smuts Airport as soon as he had passed through customs. Ironsides would come up to the house on Sunday morning and receive his orders.
As he knotted the silk of his tie Manfred knew that he stood at the threshold of a whole new world, the events of the next few months would lift him high above the level of ordinary men. It was the channce for which he had worked and waited all these years. Circumstances had changed completely since his last visit, Rod reflected, as he took the Maserati up the drive towards the Dutch gabled house.
He parked the car and switched off the ignition, sitting a while, reluctant to face the man who had sponsored his career and whom Rod in return had presented with a fine pair of horns.
'Courage, Ironsides!' he muttered and climbed out of the Maserati and went up the path across the lawns.
Terry was on the veranda in a gay print dress, with her hair loose, sprawled in a canvas chair with the Sunday papers scattered about her.
'Good morning, Mr. Ironsides,' she greeted him as he 'came up the steps. 'My husband is in his study. You know the way, don't you?'
'Thank you, Mrs. Steyner.' Rod kept his voice friendly but disinterested, then as he passed her chair he growled softly, 'I could eat you without salt.'
'Don't waste it, you gorgeous beast,' Terry murmured and ran the tip of her tongue over her lips.
Fifteen minutes later, Rod sat stony-faced and internally chilled before Manfred Steyner's desk. When at last he forced himself to speak, it felt as though the skin on his lips would tear with the effort.
'You want me to drive through the Big Dipper,' he croaked.
'More than that, Mr. Ironsides. I want you to complete the drive within three months, and I want a complete security blanket on the development,' Manfred told him primly. Despite the fact that it was Sunday he was formally dressed, white shirt and dark suit. 'You will commence the drive from No. 1 shaft 66 level and make an intersect on reef at 6,600 feet with the SD No. 3 borehole 250 feet beyond the calculated extremity of the serpentine intrusion of the Big Dipper.'
'No,' Rod shook his head. 'You can't go through that.
No one can take the chance. God alone knows what is on the other side, we only know that is bad ground. Stinking rotten ground.'
'How do you know that?' Manfred asked softly.
'Everybody on the Kitchenerville field knows it.'
'How?'
'Little things.' Rod found it hard to put into words. 'You get a feeling, the signs are there and when you've been in the game long enough you have a sixth sense that warns you when-'
'Nonsense,' Manfred interrupted brusquely. 'We no longer live in the days of witchcraft.'
'Not witchcraft, experience,' Rod snapped angrily.
'You've seen the drilling results from the other side of the fault?'
'Of course,' Manfred nodded. 'SD No. 3 found values of thousands of penny-weights.'
'And the other holes went dry and twisted off, or had water squirting out of them like a pissing horse!' Manfred flushed fiercely. 'You will be good enough not to employ bar-room terminology in this house.'
Rod was taken off balance, and before he could answer Manfred went on.
'Would you put the considered opinions of,' Manfred named three men, 'before your own vague intuitions?'
'They are the best in the business,' Rod conceded reluctantly.
'Read that,' snapped Manfred. He tossed a manila folder onto the desk top, then stood up and went to wash his hands at the concealed basin.
Rod picked up the folder, opened it and was immediately engrossed.
Ten minutes later, without looking up from the report, he fumbled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
'Please do not smoke!' Manfred stopped him sharply.
Three quarters of an hour later, Rod closed the folder.
During that time Manfred Steyner had sat with reptilian stillness behind his desk, with the glitter of his eyes the only signs of life.
'How the hell did you get hold of those figures and reports?' Rod asked with wonder.
'It does not concern you.' Manfred retrieved the folder from him, his first movement in forty-five minutes.
'So that's it!' muttered Rod. 'The water is in the limestone near the surface. We go in under it!' He stood up from the chair abruptly and began to pace up and down in front of Manfred's desk.
'Are you convinced?' Manfred asked, and Rod did not answer.
'I have promoted you above older and more experienced men,' said Manfred softly. 'If I tear you down again, and tell the world you were not man enough for the job, then, Rodney Ironsides, you are finished.
No one else would take a chance on you again, ever!' It was true. Rod knew it.
'However, if you were to follow my instructions and we intersected this highly enriched reef, then part of the glory would rub off on you.'
That was also true. Rod stopped pacing, he stood with shoulders hunched, in an agony of indecision. Could he trust that report beyond his own deep intuition? When he thought about that ground beyond the dyke, his skin tickled with gooseflesh. He almost had the stink of it in his nostrils.
Yet he could be wrong, and the weight of the opposition was heavy.
The eminent names on the report, the threats which he knew Manfred would not hesitate to put into effect.
'Will you give me a written instruction' Rod demanded harshly.
'What effect would that have?' Manfred asked mildly.
'As General Manager, the decision to work certain ground or not to work it is technically yours. In the very unlikely event that you encountered trouble beyond the fault, it would be no defence to produce a written instruction from me. just as if you murdered my wife you could not defend yourself by producing a written instruction from me to do SO.' This again was true. Rod knew he was trapped. He could refuse, and wreck his career. Or he could comply and take the consequences whatever they may be.
'No,' said Manfred, 'I will not give you a written instruction.' 'You bastard,' Rod said softly.
Manfred answered as gently. 'I warned you that you would not be able to refuse to obey me.' And the last twinge of remorse that Rod felt for his association with Terry Steyner faded and was gone.
'You've given me three months to hit the Big Dipper.
All right, Steyner. You've got it!' Rod turned on his heel and walked out of the room.
Terry was waiting for him among the Protea plants on the bottom lawn.
She saw his face and dropped all pretence.
She went to meet him.
'Rod, what is it?' Her hand on his arm, looking up into his eyes.
'Careful!' he warmed her, and she dropped her hand and stood back.
