“Well,” the old soldier confessed, “it seemed to me that if he wanted to fool his money away at cards or any other divilment, Tobias Clutterbuck might as well have the handling of it as any one else.  Bedad, he’s as cunning as a basketful of monkeys.  He plays a safe game for low stakes, and never throws away a chance.  Demned if I don’t think I’ve been a loser in pocket by knowing him, while as to me character, I’m very sure I’m the worse there.”

“Vat’s de matter mit him?”

“What’s not the matter with him.  If he’s agrayable he’s not natural, and if he’s natural he’s not agrayable.  I don’t pretind to be a saint.  I’ve seen some fun in me day, and hope to see some more before I die; but there are some things that I wouldn’t do.  If I live be cards it’s all fair and aboveboard.  I never play anything but games o’ skill, and I reckon on me skill bringing me out on the right side, taking one night with another through the year.  Again, at billiards I may not always play me best, but that’s gineralship.  You don’t want a whole room to know to a point what your game is.  I’m the last man to preach, but, bedad, I don’t like that chap, and I don’t like that handsome, brazen face of his.  I’ve spint the greater part of my life reading folks’ faces, and never very far out either.”

Von Baumser made no remark, and the two continued to smoke silently, with an occasional pull at their flagons.

“Besides, it’s no good to me socially,” the major continued.  “The fellow can’t keep quiet, else he might pass in a crowd; but that demned commercial instinct will show itself.  If he went to heaven he’d start an agency for harps and crowns.  Did I tell you what the Honourable Jack Gibbs said to me at the club?  Ged, he let me have it straight!  ‘Buck,’ he said, ‘I don’t mind you.  You’re one o’ the right sort when all’s said and done, but if you ever inthroduce such a chap as that to me again, I’ll cut you as well as him for the future.’  I’d inthroduced them to put the young spalpeen in a good humour, for, being short, as ye know, I thought it might be necessary to negotiate a loan from him.”

“Vat did you say his name vas?” Von Baumser asked suddenly.

“Girdlestone.”

“Is his father a Kauffmann?”

“What the divil is a Kauffmann?” the major asked impatiently.  “Is it a merchant you mean?”

“Ah, a merchant.  One who trades with the Afrikaner?”

“The same.”

Von Baumser took a bulky pocket-book from his inside pocket, and scanned a long list of names therein.  “Ah, it is the same,” he cried at last triumphantly, shutting up the book and replacing it.  “Girdlestone & Co., African kauf—­dat is, merchants—­Fenchurch Street, City.”

“Those are they.”

“And you say dey are rich?”

“Yes.”

“Very rich?”

“Yes.”

The major began to think that his companion had been imbibing in his absence, for there was an unfathomable smile upon his face, and his red beard and towsy hair seemed to bristle from some internal excitement.