14

June 1896

From the front stoep of his summer cottage at Muizenberg, some ten miles from Groote Schuur in distance over the winding mountain road, but a million miles from it in influence and power, Cecil John Rhodes sat, wrapped in a shawl, and stared bleakly out over the ocean. Beneath him the road that rimmed the sea leading from Cape Town east to Port Elizabeth and Durban was busy with morning traffic, but neither the wagons that passed along the twisting highway, raising dust, nor the many small pleasure craft that beat their way either into or out of Vaalsbai before him, held his attention. His mind was far from the beauty about him. God! Forced to resign the premiership at his young age, and to be in his poor state of health at that same young age? There was no possible chance of ever coming back to power; his dream of a British Africa stretching from Cape Town to Cairo undoubtedly smashed, if not for all time, certainly for the few years he had remaining in his disease-racked body! It would have been better for everyone concerned had he died while still at Groote Schuur, still in power, before his old friend Jameson had stupidly been able—admittedly with the best of intentions—to ruin his career and with it his plans. How could the man have possibly made that ill-considered invasion of the Transvaal against all orders? At least had he died while still at Groote Schuur he would never have known of the fiasco. Had he died it was even possible that Jameson might have delayed while more intelligent men set a new course for the Reform Committee, and for the plan to add the Boer territory to the British Empire. To Rhodes, his own life was unimportant; the life of the empire was all that counted.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted. A trap had turned into the narrow entranceway leading from the main road below, up the slope to the front of the small cottage, a most unusual event. Tradesmen came to the rear of the house, and visitors were rare since he was no longer in power and practically hidden away in Muizenberg. Neville Pickering had come from the house at the sound of the trap and stood beside him on the stoep, one hand on his shoulder as if for support, also watching the small vehicle make its way to the end of the entranceway and stop. The driver’s identity was not immediately discernible, his face being hidden by a wide-brimmed hat as he came down and started to climb the remaining distance to the elevated cottage. Pickering frowned.

“Who do you suppose that could be?”

Rhodes had recognized the man as he came closer. He made a grimace. “Luckner.” He reached back with one hand to pat the hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, Neville. I know the man. I can handle him. I’d rather handle him alone, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” Pickering went back into the house as Luckner mounted the steps to the stoep. The mustached, scarfaced man pushed his hat to the back of his head and stood, staring down at the seated man, studying the drawn face, noting the obvious signs of ill health. So much for the high and mighty! Luckner thought with an inner sneer, but his voice was properly respectful when he spoke. Disrespect was no way to gain favors.

“Hello, Mr. Rhodes.”

“Mr. Luckner. What brings you here?”

Luckner looked around, saw a chair, pulled it up, and sat down a few feet from Rhodes, facing him. “Why shouldn’t I come here? After all, if you want to look at it fairly, it’s because of you that I’m not allowed in the Transvaal any longer.” Might as well establish the conditions of responsibility at the very start, Luckner thought, and reached into his pocket for a cigar, lighting it and leaning back.

Rhodes’ lips quirked in a humorless smile. “I might say, with far more justice, that because of Jameson and you I’m not allowed at Groote Schuur anymore. At least you’re welcome in the Cape Colony, and I’m barely welcome here. Or, of course, you’re perfectly free to go back to Bechuanaland, or Rhodesia.” He drew his shawl a bit tighter about his shoulders. “With my poor state of health, I probably wouldn’t make it there if I wanted to go.”

“I’ve about had all of bloody Bechuanaland or Rhodesia that I want,” Luckner said harshly. “All that I ever had there, or anywhere else as far as that goes, is hard cheese. Bad luck.”

“I’d say you had rather good luck in Pretoria,” Rhodes said, wondering where the conversation was leading. “Thanks to Barney Barnato. I hate to give the man credit for anything, but he did save a few necks from stretching. Including my brother’s. And yours.”

Luckner cursed. “That miserable bastard Jew! He wanted to save that worthless nephew, so he had no choice but to save the rest of us, your brother included, as far as that goes! If that little sheeny nephew of his, Solly Loeb, hadn’t been involved, your precious Barney Barnato would have left the rest of us hang, and even been happy to drop the trap himself, don’t worry!” He grinned cruelly. “Which is a joke in its own way. Solly Loeb has been robbing him blind for years, is what I hear, and the damned fool just got wise a while ago—”

Rhodes considered the man curiously. “You don’t appear to have a very grateful attitude for a man whose life has been saved, it seems to me—”

Luckner sneered. “Grateful? For what? To who? That lying, cheating little kike? If it hadn’t been for him cheating me out of my rightful share of the Paris Hotel, and then throwing me out when he knew it was throw me out or pay me what I rightfully had coming—and he certainly had no intention of ever paying me—if it wasn’t for Barney Barnato, I’d never been in your bloody army in Rhodesia, or up in Pitsani with Jameson, in the first place!”

Rhodes was staring at him. The paranoid maniac actually believes what he’s saying! Rhodes thought with wonder. Luckner was going on.

“Why would I have been there? I had nothing to do with politics. Never. I don’t give a bucket of piss who runs the damned Transvaal, or the Free State or the bloody Cape, either. I’m off to England.”

He suddenly seemed to remember the purpose of his visit. His voice dropped in volume, became more respectful.

“That’s what I wanted to see you about, Mr. Rhodes. The Scott sails on the tide this evening. I don’t have the money for passage. I—” He suddenly held up his hand. “Wait! I’m not asking for money, Mr. Rhodes. I never begged in my life. There aren’t any cabins left, anyway. I tried to sign on as crew, but they said they were full. I’m a good sailor, Mr. Rhodes. And I’m sure that a note from you to the captain and he’d manage to find room for me on the crew somehow.”

Rhodes considered the man for several moments. Then, with a sigh, he nodded. At least it would remove a very disagreeable person from South Africa, be it the Transvaal, the Orange Free State, the Cape Colony, or anywhere else. And probably save some innocent person in South Africa from being booted to death sometime in the future. A note to his old friend the captain of the Scott was a small price to pay for such a rich dividend. He only hoped his friendship with the captain would not be impaired by some act of idiocy or violence on the part of Luckner during the voyage, but that was a chance he was willing to take. It did seem a shame, though, to inflict a man like Luckner on his beloved England; but one thing was sure: no Barney Barnato would be able to save him from the penalty of his next capital offense. In England he’d probably be swinging from a gibbet in a matter of months. He raised his hand. Pickering, who had been watching from a window as Rhodes had been sure he had, was at his side in seconds.

“Sir?”

“Paper, and a pen and ink.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pickering was back in moments. He pulled up a table for Rhodes to write upon, placed down the articles he had brought, and disappeared into the house. Rhodes scribbled for several seconds, blotted the ink, reread what he had written, and handed it over. Luckner read the note, smiled, folded the paper, and tucked it into his pocket. He came to his feet and started down the steps, and then paused, turning.

“I imagine you wrote this just to get me out of Africa, eh?”

Rhodes looked at him without expression. “Yes,” he said.

Luckner chuckled and went on down to his trap. As he climbed in and started to turn his horse, the chuckle died in his throat. A grim look came to his face. What old Rhodes didn’t know was that Barney Barnato and his family were also sailing on the Scott. If he had, and knowing how Luckner felt about the man, would he still have written that note? Probably, Luckner thought, dwelling on the heady feeling of revenge he would extract from Barnato for having ruined his life with his cheating, and remembering how Rhodes had once hired him in an attempt to put the little Jew on the Cape Breakwater as an illegal diamond trader. Had he known Barnato was sailing on the Scott, would Rhodes still have written that note? Not probably, Luckner thought, giving another the worst of intentions, as always; undoubtedly.

His chuckle returned as he whipped his horse back toward Cape Town.

Fay was belowdecks in their cabin, directing their stewardess and steward in the unpacking of their luggage for the long trip. Leah Primrose, now a grown-up four years of age, had taken her maid by the hand and was dragging her all about the ship, getting in everyone’s way but not worrying about it particularly, exploring the wonderful vessel with its odd corners and narrow, steep steps, its strange odors and queer passageways. Solly Loeb, unpacking his bags himself—for he never trusted servants with his finery—had come upon a bottle of whiskey in one of his suitcases and had paused in his unpacking to sample it. Barney Barnato, on deck, was leaning on the rail of the ship still anchored in Table Bay, remembering the first time he had seen the sight now spread out before him.

There had been changes in Cape Town, undoubtedly, but far from as many changes as there had been in himself, he knew. He tried to picture himself as he had been twenty-five years before, a callow boy of eighteen, dragging his two heavy cardboard suitcases from that doss house down by the docks to the Parade and then to Riebeeck Square, his clothes an outrage, his speech a disaster, his knowledge of anything the little he had picked up in his short years, the street wisdom of survival, and little else. He had been most fortunate in having run into Andries Pirow in Riebeeck Square, and fortunate that Andries not only had been going to Kimberley but had taken him along. And taught him so much. At least Barney had the satisfaction of knowing he had at least partially repaid that debt, for Andries was now a successful and respected member of the Volksraad, held a seat on kruger’s cabinet, and was a successful rancher. But he had been more than fortunate in having met and eventually married Fay. He tried to imagine what life might have been without her, but found it completely impossible.

He stared up at Table Mountain, there as always, and he suddenly knew that regardless of how landscapes changed, or cities changed, or people changed, a part of them remained the same from the beginning, never changing, and these were the things that counted. There must have been something within him, something inherited from his parents as they had inherited it from their parents, that he carried and which he had passed on to Leah Primrose as he would to the future Jason or Michelle; his small contribution to the endless flow of life that was as vital to the formation of a person as the genes that colored one’s eyes or determined the shape of one’s nose, as important to that person as the beating of his heart or the flow of blood along his arteries.

He felt a hand about his waist and turned his head to face Fay. There must have been an introspective look on his face, for Fay frowned slightly, and said, “What are you thinking?”

He smiled. “How lucky I’ve been all my life.”

“We’ve both been lucky.”

“But I’ve been luckier. I’ve got you, and all you have is me.” He squirmed as she dug her fingers into his ribs, laughing. “All right, we’ve both been lucky. We have Leah Primrose and we’ll soon have Jason or Michelle.”

“Or both at the same time,” she added, smiling.

“Or both at the same time,” Barney agreed cheerfully. “We have money, we have our health. That’s luck.” He pointed out across the water of the bay, toward the land. “We have Table Mountain, we have Cape Town, we have Kimberley, we have Johannesburg. We have friends. That’s luck.” We also have enemies, he thought bitterly, considering Solly Loeb in his cabin below, and then forced the disagreeable thought away. Time enough for that unpleasantness when they reached London. The trip was to enjoy.

Fay removed her hand from his waist and leaned on the railing, looking at the tiny white buildings that edged the city, considering them pensively. “It’s a pity we can’t have all those things forever.”

Barney shrugged. “Forever is only so long as you have something. Forever is simply all the time there is, if it’s a day or a thousand years. If a man dies at—say—forty-two, he’s lived forever; the same as if he died at ninety-nine. Or if he died at ten.”

Fay looked at him and smiled, but it was a doubtful smile. “My husband the philosopher.”

“Your husband the luckiest man alive, just because he is your husband,” Barney said, and reached for her hand, squeezing it.

The first glass of whiskey had eased some of the tension from Solly Loeb; the second had furthered that relaxation. He well knew that Barney Barnato could be vindictive; look what Barney had done to J. R. Robinson’s Central Mine properties in Kimberley when his cousin Jack Joel had had to leave town to avoid prosecution as an illegal diamond dealer. Others might doubt that Barney had a hand in that explosion at the Big Hole, and Barney might deny it even within the family until he was blue in the face, but Solly was sure. No, Barney Barnato could be very vindictive when he wanted to be, there was no doubt of that.

But on the other hand, look what else Barney had done in that very same instance: he had smuggled Jack out of the country, not only at the cost of the considerable bail he had deposited with the court, but undoubtedly also at a considerable loss of influence in the community, because the stigma of illicit diamond dealing still stuck faintly, even after all these years. So there was no doubt that Barney Barnato had a very soft spot in his heart where family was concerned; it had been demonstrated a hundred times. No; before the journey to England was over, Solly was sure that Barney would have changed his mind about dragging Solly’s name in the dirt. Solly’s mother was, after all, the eldest of the Isaacs children, while Barney was the youngest, and Barney had always shown that Solly’s mother was his favorite of them all. Would Barney hurt his sister by harming her only child, the apple of her eye? It was difficult to imagine. No; all of Solly’s previous worries were needless. His uncle was simply trying to give him a skrik, a fright, to teach him a lesson. Once this was all over, Barney would probably suggest a combine, an amalgamation between Barnato Investment and Reef…

Of course. Of course! That was what Barney had been after all along! How foolish of Solly not to have seen it before! Barney wasn’t interested in punishing him; his prime reason for all this foolishness wasn’t even to give him a fright. It was to get control of Reef Investment as easily and as cheaply as possible! Foxy old Barney Barnato! Well, old foxy would find it wasn’t all that easy, wresting control of his company from him; he hadn’t exactly been born yesterday. They would dicker, of course; it was the East End Jew in Barney that made dickering a vital part of any negotiation, Solly thought with an inner sneer, whether the dickering was essential to the outcome or not. Well, when the dickering was over, old Foxy Barnato would have discovered he had met not only his equal but his superior where dickering was concerned. Properly handled, he, Solly, could even end up ahead, possibly not only in control of Reef, but of Barnato Investment, as well. Oh, there would have to be concessions made, that was obvious, and possibly even a major concession for him having been smart enough to milk Barnato Investment while establishing Reef Investment. But really, the stockholders ought to give him a medal for that, rather than condemning him. Maybe, when the full story came out, and the profits from the combine were made public in the form of dividends, they would at that. He smiled at the thought.

Should he go to Barney’s cabin at once, invite him up to the saloon bar for a drink, and put the entire matter to the other man? Bring it out in the open? There was no sense in spending the entire voyage under the strain of pretending that Barney was serious in his threat to expose Solly, to ruin him, to make him pay back huge sums of money. They might as well discuss it early on, make their deal consolidating the two companies, and then both of them would be able to relax and enjoy the voyage. He could picture the embarrassed smile on Barney’s face when he learned that his ploy had been properly analyzed and interpreted; it might teach him a bit more respect for his nephew and his ability in matters relating to business.

But it might be better to wait awhile. Solly recognized that he had had a few drinks, and that his thinking, while still excellent—as witness his analysis of Barney’s motives—might not be as clear as it ought to be for serious bargaining. I’ll hit him up in a week or so, Solly thought, once I get my sea legs. I’ll go to him after lunch one day; Barney is always more mellow with a good meal under his belt. I’ll take him into the bar, sit him down in a corner where we can talk privately, get him a proper brandy, tell him I know exactly what he’s thinking as far as Reef Investment is concerned—leading up to the subject carefully, of course, which should prove to him I’m no child in these matters—and see what he says. There’s very little he can say if he wants Reef as badly as I’m sure he does. And after that, it’ll be my terms or there won’t be any deal. I’ll admit he had me frightened there for a few days, but only for a few days, until I had the time to think it over. Now that I think about it, it should have been obvious from the start what his purpose was. No; Barney Barnato seldom met his match, but on the other hand he seldom had an opponent as intelligent as Solly Loeb. And to think the foxy old bastard really had me wondering there for a bit! I won’t say worrying, because I wasn’t really worried at all; but it’s only fair to admit I did wonder …

Solly Loeb smiled at the thought of his coming victory, and poured himself another drink.

Carl Luckner, stripped to the waist and wearing a seaman’s cap pulled low over his brow, was working forward near the anchor-chain capstan, greasing the heavy chain as it took a bight about the capstan and then dropped into the chain well belowdecks as the steam-driven capstan slowly raised the dripping anchor. The single-screw of the steam launch Scott churned the water sluggishly as the captain on the bridge waited for the anchor to be firmed against the ship’s prow and the chain stored before signaling the engine room for more power to send them on their way.

Above the crew working forward, lining the rail, the passengers watched the ship prepare to leave the roadstead, studying the customs men in their small hand-propelled dinghy pull for shore, seeing the beauty of Cape Town as the ship finally turned and steamed for England, the white buildings slowly receding against the evening dusk, leaving majestic Table Mountain, at last, as the lone shadow on the night sky. Luckner finished the final links of the now stationary chain, rubbing the grease through the links still on the capstan, and then glanced up. From under the peak of his concealing cap he could see Barney Barnato standing at the rail just above him, Fay beside him, neither paying the slightest attention to the men working below; the two were taking in the last of Cape Town as it slowly faded into the night, the last of its lights flickering into oblivion. Let the bastard enjoy himself, Luckner said to himself with a cruel twist to his lips. Let him go on thinking he’s king of the hill for a few more days, anyway. Him up there with everything his fortune can buy—some of which money is rightfully mine—and me down here as broke as a sixty-year-old tart with the pox, mucking about in filthy grease! And her, his wife, big as a house with the coming kid, but not a bad piece for all of that. Beautiful face with golden hair a man’d want to run his fingers through, blue eyes to drive a man crazy, a wide mouth made for kissing, and lovely tits for nursing a baby or exciting a man!

He wiped his hands on a bit of waste, unconsciously flexing his muscles as he did so, and climbed down the companionway to the ’neath-decks and further chores connected with the sailing. The mills grind slow, he reminded himself, but they grind exceeding fine. Well, the day was coming, and not too far away, when Barney Barnato was going to learn the bitter truth of that old saying. And maybe, in England after the kid was born and Barney long forgotten, that lovely Fay will realize the difference between a real man and a short, runty, half-blind Jew, and decide to be sensible for the first time in her life…

It was a week into the voyage when Solly Loeb decided it was time to do something to bring matters to a head, to resolve the problem for all time. He had seen Barney occasionally on his strolls about the deck, but Barney had failed to even nod on these occasions. You’d think I hadn’t been instrumental in a large part of his success! Solly thought resentfully the first time it happened; but then he smiled to himself. It’s all part of his scheme, he thought. Well, Reef Investment isn’t going to be all that easy to steal, not with empty threats nor with a cold shoulder when passing on a deck stroll.

Solly occasionally stopped for a brief word with Fay when she was alone or with Leah Primrose on deck, and Barney was elsewhere. It was apparent on those occasions that Fay knew nothing of the reason for the obvious differences between the two men and was completely puzzled by it, but Solly knew Fay to be sufficiently loyal a wife never to question one of Barney’s decisions. Besides, it had to be obvious to Fay that the coolness between the two men was due in some way to business, and Solly knew that Fay left business exclusively to Barney. When they met on deck and Solly ruffled Leah’s hair or picked her up and nuzzled her cheek, Fay made sure the conversation dealt with innocuous subjects, leaving anything connected to business aside. To Solly, this was more than satisfactory; the more Barney thought he had been taken in by Barney’s ploy, the greater the surprise when he advised the foxy little man that he had known his intentions from the start. And the better deal he undoubtedly could make for himself in those circumstances.

It was as the Scott was leaving Walvis Bay after a half day’s pause there for fuel and to replenish a few food supplies, that Solly decided the time was ripe. He had seen that Barney was in a good mood after taking Leah Primrose and Fay for a visit to the town and a shore lunch there; the sea was smooth, the sky was clear, and apparently Leah Primrose had behaved in exemplary fashion ashore. As the anchor was being raised and the ship trembled slightly from the pulsing of the new steam engine, Solly watched Barney kiss the child before her nurse collected her for her nap; then watched Barney step into the saloon bar and seat himself at a corner table. The privacy was perfect; it almost seemed to Solly to be an omen of his success. He sat down beside Barney.

“Barney,” he said.

Barney turned. “Ah. Solly.”

The very friendliness—or at least lack of open enmity—in his tone encouraged Solly to continue, convinced that he had indeed picked the proper time for the meeting.

“Barney,” Solly said in man-to-man fashion, “may I buy you a drink?”

“I’ve already ordered,” Barney said pleasantly, and proceeded to deny his words by turning to the steward waiting patiently beside their table. “A brandy, please.”

Solly held back his temper. He was fully aware in his mind of what Barney was attempting to do. Making a man lose his temper was a sure way of putting him at a disadvantage. It was a smart move when it worked, but Solly determined that it would not work with him. Instead, Solly also ordered a brandy and turned back to Barney once the steward had left, his voice suave.

“Barney,” he said, “I think it’s time we had a talk.”

“Oh?” said Barney, as if rather surprised by the suggestion. “About what?”

“About Reef Investment Company.”

“What about Reef Investment Company?”

To his own complete surprise, Solly heard himself blurt out words he had figured would not be spoken until much further along in the discussion. “You want to buy it, don’t you?”

To Solly’s amazement, Barney laughed in what appeared to be honest and pure enjoyment. “And why would I want to do that?”

Despite his best effort and despite his sworn resolution, Solly could feel himself losing his temper.

“Because it’s a damned good buy!” he said angrily, “and you damned well know it! Have you seen its books?”

“Nobody offered to show them to me,” Barney said a bit sardonically, “but I did take a look at Barnato Investment books—a trifle late, but better late than never—and I must say you did a fair job on the company.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I assume that Barnato’s losses are Reef’s gains, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to say,” Solly said, trying not to sound vicious. “So therefore you know that Reef is a damned strong company! And you can no more avoid trying to get hold of any strong company where you think you have an edge, especially when that company is a competitor, than you can avoid breathing! I know you, Barney!”

Barney waited until the two brandies had been served and the steward had withdrawn. Then he sipped a portion of his brandy and set his glass down. When he looked at Solly there was pity in the glance, but his voice was conversational when he spoke.

“Solly,” he said gently, “you are a fool. So you think my whole plan in confronting you with the Reef situation was simply to try and put myself in a strong position to get control of the company from you? And as cheaply as possible, of course. No doubt you thought that a brilliant negotiator such as you, with a strong company such as Reef behind you, could easily tie poor old Barney Barnato in knots, and end up possibly even controlling both companies, Reef and Barnato Investment.” He shook his head almost sadly. “My dear nephew, I have been trying to put you in a position where you might pay an honest debt—a dishonest debt, really, but never mind—and still escape with some semblance of respect, as well as possibly a small portion of your fortune. When I get finished with your precious Reef Investment Company, I’ll be able to buy their shares for a shilling on the pound, if that. Out of love for your mother and in consideration of our family name, I was not intending to attack the company until after you had made proper restitution to Barnato Investment, and had severed all connections with Reef. However, you tempt me strongly to ask the captain to put in to the first port with telegraphic facilities and to wire Harry explaining matters and leaving it to him to begin to raid Reef Investment at once. One consideration in not doing so is that it probably would not leave you enough money to pay back Barnato Investment by the time we dock; but if that’s what you really want, I’ll be glad to accommodate you and Barnato will simply take the loss. Is this what you really wish?”

Solly had grown increasingly pale as Barney had gone on. Barney, rightly considering his question rhetorical, went on.

“If that’s what you want, just say so, and by the time we dock in London I promise you that Reef shares will have fallen to a point where I can picture some of your stockholders waiting for you at the Thameside pier with tar and feathers.” Solly was staring at him as if he were hypnotized. Barney shook his head sadly. “Solly, you were stupid. You were also greedy, as well as vicious. You bit the hand that fed you, a hand that was of your own flesh and blood yet, of your own family. You cheated the people who made you what you are. What kind of a person are you? Do you think I would forgive a person like you, or forget what you did, for the control of ten companies like Reef? You are going to pay your debt to Barnato Investment, to Barnato Brothers, to the Isaacs family, to me personally, and to everything you have disgraced, to the last penny; and if you think being my sister’s son is going to make the slightest difference, you are living in loony heaven!” He finished his drink, signed the chit on the table, and came to his feet. “And now, if you’ll pardon me, I have better things to do with my time than explaining the facts of business ethics to someone like you.”

Barney nodded pleasantly in the general direction of the bartender and walked calmly from the saloon. Solly sat and stared at his drink for several seconds and then finished it with shaking hands. He rose and left the saloon rather unsteadily, and climbed down the companionway, making his way to his cabin. He closed the door behind him and automatically reached for the whiskey bottle, pouring himself a large drink.

He sat down on his berth, sipping the whiskey, thinking furiously. One thing was certain: Barney had to be made to change his mind before the ship docked, before, in fact, the ship made port anywhere that had a telegraph, in case the miserable little runt changed his mind and cabled Harry the facts, starting a raid on Reef at once. Damn, damn, damn! Why had that damnable uncle of his ever discovered the truth about Reef? Why couldn’t he at least have waited to discover the truth until Barnato Investment was completely finished? Then he might not have been strong enough to raid Reef successfully and would only have gotten his fingers burned in trying. Or—a sudden hopeful thought came to Solly—or maybe Barney wasn’t strong enough to raid Reef successfully right now! But it was an extremely dangerous hope, and Solly knew it. He was certainly in no position to test that wild possibility, certainly not before Barney could act.

No. There was only one solution to the problem. Barney had to be stopped, somehow, before the ship docked anywhere. That was the tragic fact…

“No!” Fay said. She was sitting at her dressing table in her chemise, putting on her makeup. Barney, standing behind her and trying to tie his white tie, could not keep his eyes from straying to her décolletage and then to the beauty of her face in the mirror, with the result that the ends of the tie kept coming out uneven.

“Yes,” Barney said pleasantly, and finally concentrated on the tie, managing at last to make a reasonable bow out of it.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“My darling,” Fay said, turning on the small bench and looking up at him imploringly. “Do you want to embarrass Leah Primrose and myself in front of all those people?” She turned back to the mirror, applying lip rouge. “I still say no.”

“Yes,” Barney said, and bent to kiss the top of her head.

“But does it have to be Mathias in The Bells again?”

“I’m a bit old for Romeo and Juliet,” Barney said logically, smiling at Fay’s image in the mirror, “especially Juliet. And I’m just getting to the proper age for Mathias. Besides, it won’t be ‘again’ for the crowd on the Scott. They never heard it before.” He struck a pose and went into Cockney. “It’ll lay ’em in th’ bloomin’ aisles! Knock ’em orf their bloomin’ chairs! Get ’em singin’ ’God Syve ’Er Bloomin’ Majesty’!”

“Get them singing ‘What’ll We Do with a Drunken Sailor,’” Fay said with a grin. “‘Toss Him in a Longboat Till He’s Sober.’ Just don’t expect me to rescue you.”

“My darling,” Barney said reasonably, “tonight is just the first of the two ship’s concerts. When we have the second, the night before we dock in London, I promised the captain some Shakespeare. I was thinking of doing something from The Tempest.”

Fay stared. “The Tempest? At a ship’s concert?”

“Sure. We’ll be in the channel and it’ll be appropriate. Gets pretty rough there at times.” Barney laughed; he was feeling good. “I was just joking, darling. I’ll probably do somethin’ from ’Amlet. ‘T’ be er not t’ be, that’s th’ stumper what gravels me—’”

“You are mad,” Fay said complacently, and came to her feet to put on her dress.

“I’ll go up on deck and have a cigar while you finish getting ready,” Barney said, and leaned forward to kiss her cheek, respecting the job she had just done on her cosmetics. “You are beautiful.”

“And you are mad,” Fay said, and leaned forward to kiss him again, this time on the lips, disregarding her makeup, holding him tightly. She looked at herself in the mirror. “Now see what you’ve done! I’ll have to do it all over again—”

“All me bloomin’ fault,” Barney acknowledged airily, and let himself from the room, wiping the lip rouge away with a handkerchief, smiling proudly. It was going to be quite an evening, and he knew he was going to enjoy doing Mathias, whether the crowd liked it or not. But he was sure they would like it. Of course, it was some time since he had done it, although he had done it once for Leah Primrose on her fourth birthday, and she seemed to have enjoyed it, crowing and clapping, although admittedly she had been both a prejudiced and a captive audience. He laughed at the memory and went up on deck, taking a cigar from his pocket case and lighting it in the passageway before making his way to the windier deck.

Yes, yes, I have crossed the fields! Here is the old bridge, and there below, the frozen rivulet! How the dogs howl at Daniel’s farm—how they howl! And old Finck’s forge, how brightly it glows upon the hillock!

It all came back to him as he spoke the words softly under his breath. He remembered the first time he had recited those words for Fay on the trail, with Andries and old Gustave Bees sitting and watching him curiously, the oxen grazing quietly, paying no attention, the campfire fading, and Fay laughing at his atrocious accent. Barney paused in the shadow of a lifeboat. The moon was a knife thrust through the curdled clouds; the light it imposed came and went as the heavy clouds scudded before the growing wind. The lifeboat stirred and creaked slightly on its overhead lowering davits as the wind, increasing in strength, took the smoke from Barney’s cigar, sending it swirling into the darkness.

Kill a man—kill a man! You will not do that, Mathias—you will not do that! Heaven forbids it! Barney began to pace the darkened, deserted deck beneath the creaking lifeboats above; his voice had unconsciously risen, dramatic, intense. You are a fool! Listen, you will be rich, your wife and child will want for nothing! The Jew came; so much the worse—so much the worse. He ought not to have come! You will pay all you owe; you will no more be in debt—

There was a movement in the shadow of the deck-mounted davit, the sound of a foot scraping. A hoarse voice, unidentifiable, came in a harsh whisper. “You’ll pay, all right…”

“What—”

A form came out of the darkness. The clouds parted long enough for the glint of moonlight to reflect itself from steel. There was a thrust, a gasp, a harsh screaming cry. Then there was the mixture of shadows in confused array; the final glimmer as light from a stateroom caught the bit of steel as it fell into the water to disappear. Then the hurried labor as something heavy was lifted to the top of the railing…

Fourth Officer W. T. Clifford was tired. The duties of seeing that the provisions obtained in Walvis Bay were brought aboard had fallen to him, and no more had he seen to their storage to the satisfaction of the principal chef than he had been called upon to verify the arrangements for the ship’s concert that night. He lay back in a deck chair on the windy and deserted deck and reviewed the program for the evening, satisfied that the decorations in the large saloon were adequate, at least for such short notice. The fat lady—whatever her name was—would begin the evening with several songs; he only hoped the orchestra had rehearsed them with her. Then there was to be an exhibit of amateur magic by the passenger from Cabin 16; Clifford only hoped no animals would be involved, as the last time animals had appeared in a ship’s concert, one of them had committed a nuisance. It was something he really ought to check—but later. Then Mr. Barnato was scheduled to do a recitation. It was said that Mr. Barnato at one time had been an acrobat, and a juggler; possibly he could be talked into doing a little juggling, afterward, or even some acrobatics—

He sat up suddenly with a frown; had he heard the cry of “Murder”? There seemed to be a scuffling sound in the area and he came to his feet wondering, now, if he had indeed heard the word “Murder” or whether it had been his imagination. There seemed to be some sort of a disturbance over in the shadows beneath the lifeboats; then he heard—and this cry was clear and tinged with the edge of hysteria—“Man overboard!”

Clifford immediately raised his own deep voice in repeating the cry, and ran for the rail. Two men were there, a second seeming to have just joined the first; the newcomer was staring down into the water and Clifford recognized him as one of the crew, a seaman named Luckner. The other man had turned his back to the rail and, hands cupped about his mouth, was screaming “Man overboard!” at the top of his voice in the direction of the bridge. Solly Loeb, Clifford thought automatically, and pushed his way between the two men, staring down. In the lights cast by the stateroom portholes he could see a man being swept away from the ship’s side in the rough sea. Clifford wasted no time; he tore off his uniform jacket, threw aside his cap, and sprang over the rail, landing in the water feet first. He came to the surface and struck out for the body, now barely seen in the darkness as the waves between them crested and then fell away.

The waves whipped at him; above him the ship’s decks were now alight with flares. People were coming from within the ship to line the rails. He could imagine the davits beginning to lower a lifeboat, almost hear the creaking of the cables as he forced himself through the rough sea. Then, almost to his own amazement, he topped a wave and saw the body before him, face downward in the water. He reached out and turned it over, staring in shock at the face of their most famous passenger, Barney Barnato; then he put one arm about the flaccid body and began towing it back to the ship. He paused to tread water once, looking over his shoulder toward the ship, and then shook his head, clearing water from his eyes. One davit had stuck, the lifeboat was tilted sharply, almost unshipping its crew, and there it seemed to remain. Clifford felt himself growing weaker, the weight of his uniform dragging him down; the waves seemed to be drawing him farther from the ship. He paused again, gulping air and drawing in a bit of water at the same time. A paroxysm of coughing overtook him; he loosened his grip on the body momentarily to take a better hold. The sea responded with a higher wave, and Clifford found himself alone, the body he had been towing swept from his sight.

He tried to tread water and get a better view, but a cloud now covered the moon and in the darkness all he could see was the ship ablaze with lights and the bareness of the water between him and it. He swam a few sluggish strokes farther from the ship, trying to spot the body, but then he knew it was hopeless. If he wanted to save himself he would have to forget the search until the lifeboat was in the water. He turned back to the ship and saw the problem with the faulty davit had been corrected; the lifeboat was in the water and pulling in his direction. He was just able to get a hand on the gunwale; then men pulled him in as he lost consciousness.

Clifford was assisted up the ship’s ladder and sent to the hospital. The lifeboat returned to the search and searched the waters in the vicinity of the ship for several hours before the captain of the Scott conceded defeat and gave orders for the ship to proceed, and as the screw began to push the vessel on its way once again, he wrote in his log: June 14, 8 P.M., Lost at sea, a passenger, B. Barnato. And that night, instead of the gala ship’s concert, the saloon was used for an official inquiry into the tragedy.

Fay Barnato sat unhearing, her face pale, her eyes slightly unfocused, for the ship’s surgeon had given her a large dose of laudanum to ease some of the pain and shock of the unexpected blow. The words of the inquiry seemed to come to her as from a distance, through a buzzing as if the room were full of insects.

Fourth Officer Clifford was testifying. He was still pale from the ordeal of the sea. “I was dozing off in a deck chair, and I heard a scream. I thought what I heard was—” He hesitated and wet his lips.

The captain’s eyes were upon him, steady, his voice calming. “You thought you heard what?”

“I heard—at least I thought I heard—someone scream the word”—he glanced at Fay apologetically, as if disliking to use the word in her presence—“I thought I heard the word … ‘Murder’ … sir.” He shrugged deprecatingly. “I must have been wrong.”

Fay sat unmoving, her mind blank to the proceedings.

“And then?” the captain prompted.

“Then, when I got to the rail, there were two men there, sir. Luckner, a crew member, and Mr. Loeb.” His eyes went to each man in turn as he mentioned their names. “I looked down and saw a man in the water, and I—I went in after him.”

“You deserve great credit for that, Mr. Clifford, especially in that sea,” the captain said approvingly. “And then?”

“I—I had him, but I—I lost him, sir. But”—again there was the apologetic look in Fay’s direction—“but I’m pretty sure he was already dead when I reached him …”

Fay suddenly spoke. It was if the words were forced from her subconscious without her volition. “Barney couldn’t swim,” she said, and returned to her impassive, stunned state.

The captain glanced at her sympathetically, and then back to the fourth officer. “Thank you, Mr. Clifford. Your actions this evening shall be reported to the proper authorities together with my commendations. I wish to thank you personally for your efforts.” He turned his head. “Mr. Loeb?”

Solly Loeb, pale and with his hands twitching, took the chair abandoned by Officer Clifford. “Sir?”

“What can you tell us of this tragedy, Mr. Loeb?”

“He—my uncle—Barney, that is—” He wet his lips, avoiding looking at Fay. “I don’t know what happened, Captain. It seems to me a plain case of suicide. He’s been, well, depressed, lately. The condition of the market, certain business reversals, the possiblity of war in South Africa between the Boers and the English, the end of his friendship with President Kruger of the Transvaal …” He spread his hands. “It got to be too much for him, as I see it, Captain.”

“But what actually happened? What brought you to the scene, Mr. Loeb?”

“I—I was walking on deck, having a cigar, when I thought I heard some sounds or a sort, a—ah—” He looked about the room helplessly, as if searching for something better to say, something more accurately descriptive. “A sound like a—well, a scraping of some sort over in the shadows under one of the lifeboats. But when I walked over to see what it was I’d heard, Barney was all alone and half over the railing, as if he were trying to climb it and jump into the sea. I called out, ‘Barney!’—” He paused, frowning, thinking. “Possibly that was what Mr. Clifford heard; the wind was gusting and my voice may have been distorted—anyway, I ran over to try and stop him, but he was over too far. I tried to grab his jacket sleeve but I couldn’t hold it, and he dropped into the water. And I started to yell ‘Man overboard!’” He paused to wipe his damp forehead.

“And then?”

“Then a crew member—Mr. Luckner—came up; he must have been standing in the shadows, fairly close by, because he was there so quickly, and I hadn’t seen him on deck, and then Mr. Clifford came, and—and—well, you know the rest.”

“I see. You never heard the word ‘Murder’?”

“No, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Loeb. I think that’s all. You may step down.” The captain’s head swiveled again. “Mr. Luckner?”

Luckner took the seat. The captain considered the scarred face without much enthusiasm; it had struck the captain from the first that an able seaman such as Luckner, first of the crew on the scene, should not have waited for the fourth officer to go to the rescue. On the other hand, maybe the man couldn’t swim; many of the crew couldn’t.

“Mr. Luckner, what can you tell us of this tragedy?”

Fay broke in, staring at the floor, her face blank. Her voice sounded drugged. “He wasn’t depressed at all. He was happy. He was looking forward …” Her voice faded into silence.

The captain swung about, surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

But Fay had gone back into her narcosis. The captain sighed and came back to Carl Luckner.

“Mr. Luckner, what can you tell us of this tragedy?”

Luckner spread his hands, all servility. “Very little, sir. I was taking a breather on deck, sir—oh, out of sight of the passengers, I assure you, sir—and I also heard sounds—”

“Sounds?”

“Like Mr. Loeb, the gentleman there, said, a sort of scraping sound—”

“Did you hear any voices?” The captain leaned forward a bit. “Did you hear, for instance, the word, ‘Murder’?”

“No, sir. I did hear something called out, but I couldn’t swear it was any particular word.”

“Could the word have been, ‘Barney’?”

“It—it could have been anything, sir. I couldn’t say. The wind was picking up, you see, sir …”

“I see. Go on.”

“Yes, sir. Well, sir, I heard this sound so I walked aft to see what was going on, and I saw what looked like Mr. Loeb here, trying to assist another man who was partly over the rail, sir. And then, just as I came up, the man seemed to slip out of Mr. Loeb’s hands and fall into the sea, and then Mr. Clifford came up while Mr. Loeb was shouting, ‘Man overboard!’ and—” He paused. “Well, sir, that’s about it. Mr. Clifford jumped into the sea after him. I threw a life preserver after him, sir, but Mr. Clifford apparently didn’t see it—”

“Very commendable,” the captain said dryly.

“Thank you, sir.”

The captain looked about the saloon, from one quiet face to another. “Did anyone else here see anything? From your stateroom porthole, for example?”

There was silence. The captain heaved a great sigh.

“Death by misadventure,” he said, almost as if to himself. He wrote in his log for several minutes while the deadly silence held, and then came to his feet, his eyes on the dazed Fay Barnato, sitting in a slump in her chair. He looked up. “Ladies and gentlemen, the inquiry is over. If any of you have any second thoughts, or recall any further details at a later date, my cabin is open to you at all times.” He looked at Fay with sympathy and then looked up again. “Doctor, if you would be so kind as to see Mrs. Barnato to her cabin …”

The morning sun reflected itself from the now-calm sea; the Scott moved steadily on the glasslike waters, with land a mere faint line on the horizon to the east. Solly Loeb, his after-breakfast cigar in his mouth, leaned on the taffrail and stared thoughtfully down at the ship’s wake without seeing it. With Barney gone, his problems were not necessarily ended; it was essential that he get back to Johannesburg as soon as possible and straighten things out, make sure that rumors didn’t reach London before he could get things in hand once again. Of course he could scarcely be in London without spending time with the family, and there was the matter of Fay; it was essential that she be gotten on his side, but simple commiseration with her loss should do that. It was lucky that Barney had not had a chance to inform Harry or the others of the facts, but the fact was he hadn’t. But getting back to Jo’burg as soon as possible was still essential. A telegraph arranged to call him back for something urgent ought to do the trick—

“Mr. Loeb?”

Solly looked up, annoyed to have his thoughts interrupted. Standing beside him with a smirk on his scarred face, was Carl Luckner. Solly frowned. “Yes? What is it?”

“I thought we might have a few words,” Luckner said smoothly, “in view of the fact that my testimony was so helpful to you last night. In fact, I should think it would be worth quite a bit to you.”

Solly’s frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

Luckner shrugged. “I mean I could just as easily have testified that you were pushing old Barney over the rail rather than trying to save him—”

“What!”

“You heard me!” Luckner said harshly, all smoothness gone, his scarred face hard. “I can go to the captain right now and say that, now that I think about it, it looked more like you were pushing him over rather than trying to pull him back! I can say that now that I think about it, it very well might have been the word ‘Murder’ I heard! And how would you like that?”

Solly had been listening with only half his attention; his mind had been racing.

“I see!” he said softly. “You’ve hated Barney since the Paris Hotel! And last night I thought you got there in a hurry! You killed him and started to push him over the rail, and then got away and hid in the shadows when you heard me coming! And then you suddenly thought how smart it would be to be a witness, and you came back!”

Luckner smiled grimly.

“If you think you can get away with a story that thin,” he said with a sneer, “just try it! And I’ll be pleased to watch you hang. All Jo’burg knows you’ve been putting the screws to Barnato for years, and that he finally got wise. He was taking you back to England to face the music; you think that was a secret? When it was a newspaperman who put Barnato on the wise, you think it was a secret? You’re a fool, Loeb! So I had a disagreement with Barnato years ago, so what? He saved my life, didn’t he, up in Pretoria? Who would believe I’d do anything to the man who saved my life, eh? But you? Your life was saved when he went over the rail. Think of that when you’re standing in the dock and the judge is putting on that black cap!” He shook his head. “No, I think you would be a lot happier with the ‘death by misadventure’ the captain was kind enough to write in his log!”

Solly stared at him, his face white. “What—what d’you want?”

“I’ll think about it and let you know before we reach England,” Luckner said. He started to turn and then turned back. “And don’t think I’ll ever go over the rail as easily,” he added meaningfully, and swaggered away.

And Fay Barnato sat in her cabin, stunned, thinking of life without Barney Barnato for ever and ever, with Leah Primrose to raise, and a Jason or a Michelle—or both—soon to be added to the fatherless family. She took a deep, shuddering breath and came to her feet. She had faced hard times before, and hard decisions; life had not always been easy. What would Barney have done; what would Barney have wanted her to do? There was still Leah Primrose to raise, and the child she was carrying, and only her to do it. A start had to be made, and telling Leah Primrose in some manner the child might understand that her father was gone and would never be back, was one way to make that start. She looked at herself in the mirror, surprised to see she had not changed appreciably, and opening the cabin door stepped into the companionway.

And the Scott sailed on toward England …