"The document," Trent said, "is signed by the King and witnessed by
Captain Francis, who is Agent-General out here, or something of the
sort, for the English Government. It was no gift and don't you
think it, but a piece of hard bartering. Forty bearers carried our
presents to Bekwando and it took us three months to get through.
There is enough in it to make us both millionaires.

"Then why," Da Souza asked, looking up with twinkling eyes, "do you
want to sell me a share in it?"

"Because I haven't a darned cent to bless myself with," Trent
answered curtly. "I've got to have ready money. I've never had my
fist on five thousand pounds before - no, nor five thousand pence,
but, as I'm a living man, let me have my start and I'll hold my own
with you all."

Da Souza threw himself back m his chair with uplifted hands.

"But my dear friend," he cried, "my dear young friend, you were not
thinking - do not say that you were thinking of asking such a sum
as five thousand pounds for this little piece of paper!"

The amazement, half sorrowful, half reproachful, on the man's face
was perfectly done. But Trent only snorted.

"That piece of paper, as you call it, cost us the hard savings of
years, it cost us weeks and months in the bush and amongst the
swamps - it cost a man's life, not to mention the niggers we lost.
Come, I'm not here to play skittles. Are you on for a deal or not?