So, having arranged all the details of their little plan, these three gentlemen departed in different directions—­Farintosh to the Central Hotel, to give Ezra his evening report, and the others to the mining-camps, which were the scene of their labours.

The meeting just described took place upon a Tuesday, early in November.  On the Saturday Ezra Girdlestone had fully made up his mind to turn his back upon the diggings and begin his homeward journey.  He was pining for the pleasures of his old London life, and was weary of the monotonous expanse of the South African veldt.  His task was done, too, and it would be well for him to be at a distance before the diggers discovered the manner in which they had been hoaxed.  He began to pack his boxes, therefore, and to make every preparation for his departure.

He was busily engaged in this employment upon the Wednesday evening when there was a tap at the door and Farintosh walked in, accompanied by Burt and Williams.  Girdlestone glanced up at them, and greeted them briefly.  He was not surprised at their visit, for they had come together several times before to report progress or make arrangements.  Farintosh bowed as he entered the room, Burt nodded, and Williams rubbed his hands together and looked amiably bilious.

“We looked in, Mr. Girdlestone,” Farintosh began, “to learn if you had any commands for us.”

“I told you before that I had not,” Ezra said curtly.  “I am going on Saturday.  I have made a mistake in speculating on those diamonds.  Prices are sinking lower and lower.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” said Farintosh sympathetically.  “Maybe the market will take a turn.”

“Let us hope so,” the merchant answered.  “It doesn’t look like it.”

“But you are satisfied with us, guv’nor,” Burt struck in, pushing his bulky form in front of Farintosh.  “We have done our work all right, haven’t we?”

“I have nothing to complain of,” Ezra said coldly.

“Well then, guv’nor, you surely ain’t going away without leaving us nothing to remembrance you with, seeing that we’ve stood by you and never gone back on you.”

“You have been paid every week for what you have done,” the young man said.  “You won’t get another penny out of me, so you set your mind at rest about that.”

“You won’t give us nothing?” cried the navvy angrily.

“No, I won’t; and I’ll tell you what it is, Burt, big as you are, if you dare to raise your voice in my presence I’ll give you the soundest hiding that ever you had in your life.”

Ezra had stood up and showed every indication of being as good as his word.

“Don’t let us quarrel the last time we may meet,” Farintosh cried, intervening between the two.  “It is not money we expect from you.  All we want is a drain of rum to drink success to you with.”

“Oh, if that’s all,” said the young merchant—­and turned round to pick up the bottle which stood on a table behind him.  Quick as a flash Burt sprang upon him and struck him down with a life-preserver.  With a gasping cry and a heavy thud Ezra fell face downwards upon the floor, the bottle still clutched in his senseless hand, and the escaping rum forming a horrible mixture with the blood which streamed from a great gash in his head.