“I am thinking of starting shortly in the mail boat Cyprian,” said Ezra.  “I should be at the diamond fields in little more than a month.  I dare say Langworthy won’t show any signs for some time yet, but I may as well be there as here.  It will give me a little while to find my way about.  You see, if the tidings and I were to come almost simultaneously, it might arouse suspicions.  In the meantime, no one knows our little game.”

“Except your friend Clutterbuck.”

A dark shadow passed over Ezra’s handsome face, and his cruel lip tightened in a way which boded little good to the old soldier should he ever lie at his mercy.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE FIRST STEP.

It was a proud day for the ex-medical student when he first entered the counting-house of the African firm and realized that he was one of the governing powers in that busy establishment.  Tom Dimsdale’s mind was an intensely practical one, and although he had found the study of science an irksome matter, he was able to throw himself into business with uncommon energy and devotion.  The clerks soon found that the sunburnt, athletic-looking young man intended to be anything but a sleeping partner, and both they and old Gilray respected him accordingly.

The latter had at first been inclined to resent the new arrangement as far as his gentle down-trodden nature could resent anything.  Hitherto he had been the monarch of the counting-house in the absence of the Girdlestones, but now a higher desk had been erected in a more central portion of the room, and this was for the accommodation of the new comer.  Gilray, after his thirty years of service, felt this usurpation of his rights very keenly; but there was such a simple kindness about the invader, and he was so grateful for any assistance in his new duties, that the old clerk’s resentment soon melted away.

A little incident occurred which strengthened this kindly feeling.  It chanced that some few days after Tom’s first appearance in the office several of the clerks, who had not yet quite gauged what manner of man this young gentleman might be, took advantage of the absence of the Girdlestones to take a rise out of the manager.  One of them, a great rawboned Scotchman, named McCalister, after one or two minor exhibitions of wit concluded by dropping a heavy ruler over the partition of the old man’s desk in such a way that it crashed down upon his head as he sat stooping over his writing.  Tom, who had been watching the proceedings with a baleful eye, sprang off his stool and made across the office at the offender.  McCalister seemed inclined for a moment to brazen it out, but there was a dangerous sling about Tom’s shoulders and a flush of honest indignation upon his face.  “I didn’t mean to hurt him,” said the Scotchman.  “Don’t hit him, sir!” cried the little manager.  “Beg his pardon,” said Tom between his teeth.  McCalister stammered