"
"Yes," he answered rather uneasily; "but, you see, Benita, we shall not
be quite alone there. My partner, Jacob Meyer, lives with me."
"Jacob Meyer? Ah! I remember," and she winced. "He is a German, is he
not--and odd?"
"German Jew, I imagine, and very odd. Should have made his fortune a
dozen times over, and yet has never done anything. Too unpractical, too
visionary, with all his brains and scheming. Not a good man, Benita,
although he suits me, and, for the matter of that, under our agreement I
cannot get rid of him."
"How did he become your partner?" she asked.
"Oh! a good many years ago he turned up at the place with a doleful
story. Said that he had been trading among the Zulus; he was what we
call a 'smouse' out here, and got into a row with them, I don't
know how. The end of it was that they burned his waggon, looted his
trade-goods and oxen, and killed his servants. They would have killed
him too, only, according to his own account, he escaped in a very queer
fashion."
"How?"
"Well, he says by mesmerising the chief and making the man lead him
through his followers. An odd story enough, but I can quite believe
it of Jacob. He worked for me for six months, and showed himself very
clever. Then one night, I remember it was a few days after I had told
him of the story of the Portuguese treasure in Matabeleland, he produced
L500 in Bank of England notes out of the lining of his waistcoat, and
offered to buy a half interest in the farm.
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