'We don't see you often enough, Mr. Ralph. Is it still Glenlivet whisky, sir, water and no ice?' In the dining-room they both ordered from the carving trolley, juicy young lamb, with the subtle taste of the Karroo herbs on which it had barely been weaned, served with parsleyed baby new potatoes. Jordan declined the champagne that Ralph suggested.
'I am a working man,' he smiled, 'my tastes are simpler than yours, something like Chliteau Margaux '73 would suit me better.' The twenty-year-old claret cost four times more than any champagne on the wine list.
'By GodV said Ralph ruefully. 'Under that urban veneer, you are a true Ballantyne, after all.' 'And you must be neck-deep in filthy lucre after that timely sale. It's my brotherly duty to help you get rid of it.' 'Fire sale price,' Ralph demurred, but nodded in appreciation of the claret. They ate in contented silence for a few minutes, then Ralph picked up his glass.
'What does Mr. Rhodes think of the coal deposits that Harry and I pegged?' he asked mildly, pretending to study the ruby lights in the wine, but watching his brother's reaction.
He saw the corners of Jordan's mouth quiver with surprise, saw his eyes flare with some other emotion which he could not read before it was masked, then Jordan lifted a pink morsel of the lamb on the silver fork, chewed it fastidiously and swallowed before he asked. 'Coal?'
'Yes, coal. Ralph agreed. 'Harry Mellow and I pegged a huge deposit of high-grade coal in northern Matabeleland haven't you seen the filing yet? Hasn't the Board approved the register? You must know about it, Jordan.' 'What a fine wine this is.' Jordan inhaled the bouquet. 'A big, spicy perfume.' 'Oh, of course, the telegraph line has been down.
You haven't received it yet?' 'Ralph, I happen to know through my spies,' Jordan said carefully, and Ralph leaned closer to him, 'that the club secretary has just received a twenty-pound Stilton front Fortnum's. It should be perfect after the voyage.' 'Jordan.' Ralph stared at him, but Jordan would not look up.
'You know I can't say anything,' he whispered miserably, so instead they ate the Stilton on water biscuits and accompanied it with a port from the cask that was not listed on the wine card, its existence known only to the privileged members.
At last Jordan took the gold hunter from his fob pocket.
'I should be getting back, Mr. Rhodes and I are leaving for London at noon tomorrow. There is a great deal to do before we go.' However, as they stepped out of the front door of the club, Ralph took his brother's elbow firmly and steered him into De Beers Road, lulling him with a flow of family gossip until they were opposite a pretty redbrick cottage almost hidden by dog roses, its diamond-paned windows curtained with frilled lace, and its demure little sign on the gate. 'French dressmakers. Haute Couture. Continental Seamstresses. Specialities for individual tastes.' Before Jordan had realized what his brother was about, Ralph had lifted the latch of the gate and was leading him down the walk. Ralph felt that on top of good food and wine, the company of one of the young ladies whom Diamond Lil chose with such taste and care to ornament Rose Cottage could not fail to soften and relax the tongue of even such A loyal servant as Jordan into indiscreet comment on his master's affairs.
Jordan took one pace beyond the gate, before he pulled back from Ralph's grasp with unnecessary violence.
'Where are you going?' he demanded. He had gone as pale as though a mamba had crossed the path at his feet. 'Do you know what this place is?' 'Yes, I do,' Ralph nodded. 'It's the only whorehouse I know of where a doctor checks the goods on offer at least once a week.'
'Ralph, you can't go in there.' 'Oh, come now, Jordie,' Ralph smiled, and took his arm again. 'It's me, your brother Ralph. You don't have to put on a show. A salty young bachelor like you, by God, I'll bet there is a plaque on the wall above every bed in there with your name on it-' He stopped, as he recognized Jordan's real consternation. 'What is it, Jordie?' For once Ralph was uncertain of himself. 'Don't tell me you have never had your cuff turned back for you by one of Lil's seamstresses?' 'I have never set foot in that place.' Jordan shook his head vehemently. He had gone pale and his lips trembled. 'And nor should you, Ralph. You are a married man!' 'Oh Lord, Jordie, don't be daft, lad. Even a solid diet of caviar and champagne can pall after a while. A hunk of country ham and a jug of rough cider makes a nice change.' 'That's your business,' Jordan flashed at him. 'And I don't propose to stand in the street in front of this this institution, discussing it.' He turned on his heel and strode away down the sidewalk a half-dozen paces before looking back over his shoulder. 'You would do better to consult your lawyer about your damned coal than-' Jordan broke off with a stricken expression, clearly horrified by his indiscretion, then he hurried away towards Market Square.
Ralph's jaw hardened, his eyes went cold and hard as polished emeralds. He had got his hint from Jordan, and it hadn't cost him the price of one of Diamond Lil's fancy girls either. The lace curtain in the front window of Rose Cottage lifted, and a pretty dark-eyed lass with a creamy oval face and soft red mouth smiled out at him, shaking her ringlets in invitation to enter.
'Sit on it, dearie,' Ralph told her grimly. 'And keep it warm for me. I'll be back later.' He ground out the half-smoked Romeo y Julieta under his heel, and strode away towards Aaron Fagan's office building. aran Fagan called them the 'wolf pack.'
'Mr. Rhodes keeps them chained in specially Aconstructed kennels, but lets them run every now and then, just to get a little taste of human flesh.' They did not look particularly lupine. There were four of them, soberly dressed men whose ages ranged from late thirties to mid- fifties.
Aaron introduced each of them individually, and then collectively.
'These gentlemen are the De Beers Company permanent legal advisers. I think I am correct in saying that they also act on behalf of the British South Africa Company?' 'That is correct, Mr. Fagan,' said the senior counsellor, and his colleagues arranged themselves down the opposite side of the long table. Each of them placed his pigskin folder of papers neatly in front of him, and then, like a rehearsed vaudeville team, they looked up in unison. It was only then that Ralph recognized the wolflike glitter in their eyes.
'In what way can we be of assistance?' 'My client is seeking clarification of the mining laws promulgated by the BSA Company,' Aaron replied, and two hours later Ralph was groping desperately through a maze of jargon and convoluted legal-side-roads as he tried to follow the discussion, and his irritation was becoming increasingly obvious.
Aaron made a silent plea for patience, and with an effort Ralph stopped the angry words reaching his lips, instead he hunched further down in his chair, and in a deliberately boorish gesture of defiance, he placed one boot on the polished table top amongst the scattered legal papers and crossed his other ankle on top of it.
For another hour he listened, sinking lower and still lower in his chair and scowling at the lawyers opposite him, until Aaron Fagan asked humbly. 'Does that mean in your opinion my client has not fulfilled the requirements of Section 27 B Clause Five read in conjunction with Section 7 Bis?' 'Well, Mr. Fagan, we would first have to examine the question of due performance as set out in Section 31,' replied the pack leader carefully, smoothing his moustache and glancing at his assistants who nodded brightly again in concert. 'In terms of that section-- 2
Abruptly Ralph reached the far frontier of his patience. He brought his boots down off the table onto the floor with a crash that startled the four grey-suited men across the table. One of them knocked his folder onto the floor, and papers flew like the feathers when a red caracal cat gets into the henhouse.
'I may not know the difference between 'due performance' and the aperture between your buttocks,' announced Ralph in a voice that made the leader pale and shrink in size. Like all men of words, he had a horror Of violence, and that was what he sensed in the gaze with which Ralph fixed him. 'However, I do know a wagonload of horse manure when I see one. And this, gentlemen, is grade-one horse manure you are giving me.' 'Mr. Ballantyne.' One of the younger assistants was bolder than his chief. 'I must protest your use of language! Your insinuation-' 'It is not an insinuation,' Ralph rounded on him. 'I am telling you outright that you are a bunch of bandits, is that still not clear enough? How about robbers then, or pirates?' 'Sir-' The assitant sprang to his feet, flushed with indignation, and Ralph reached across the table and caught him by the front of his stock. He twisted it sharply, cutting off the man's protest before it emerged.
'Pray be silent, my good fellow, I am speaking,' Ralph admonished him, and then went on, 'I am sick of dealing with little thieves. I want to speak to the head bandit. Where is Mr. Rhodes?' At that moment a locomotive down in the shunting yards whistled. The sound only just carried even in the silence which followed Ralph's question, and Ralph remembered Jordan's excuse for ending lunch the previous day. He released the struggling lawyer so abruptly that the man collapsed back into his chair, fighting for breath.
'Aaron,' Ralph demanded. 'What time is it?' 'Eight minutes of noon.' 'He was fobbing me off the cunning bastard was fobbing me off!' Ralph whirled and ran from the boardroom.
There were half a dozen horses at the hitching rack outside the front of the De Beers building. Without checking his speed, Ralph decided on a big strong looking bay and ran to it. He clinched the girth, unhitched the reins, and turned its head out into the road.
'Hey, you,' shouted the janitor. 'That's Sir Randolph's mound' 'Tell Sir Randolph he can have his suite back,' Ralph called, and
