Sir Stephen threw out his hand.

“I heard you were dead,” he said, hoarsely.  “I heard that you had died in a street row—­in Melbourne.”

Falconer’s heavy face was distorted by a sneer.

“Yes?  Of course, I don’t believe you:  who would?”

“As Heaven is my witness—!” exclaimed Sir Stephen; but Falconer went on: 

“You didn’t wait to see if it were true or not; you cleared out before I’d time to get back, and you took precious good care not to make enquiries.  No; directly your partner’s back was turned you—­sold him; got the price and levanted.”

Sir Stephen paced up and done, his hands clenched behind him; his fine leonine head bent; then he stopped in front of the chair, and frowned down into the scowling face.

“Falconer, you wrong me—­it was not so bad, so black as it looked.  It’s true I sold the claim; but I swear that I intended saving half for you.  But news was brought in that you were dead—­a man said that he had seen you fall, that you were dead and buried.  I had to leave the camp the night the money was paid:  it would not have been safe to remain:  you know what the place was, and that the man who was known to have money carried his life in his hand.  I left the camp and tramped south.  Before a month had passed, the money had gone; if I had had any doubts of your death, it was too late to enquire; it would have been useless; as I tell you, the money was gone.  But I hadn’t any doubts; in simple truth, I thought you were dead.”

Falconer looked round the luxurious room.

“You lost the money?  But you appear to have picked it up again; you seem to be pretty flourishing, my friend; when you got on your feet again and made your pile, why didn’t you find out whether your old pal was alive or dead?”

Sir Stephen was silent for a space, then he raised his head and met the other’s accusing gaze unflinchingly.

“I’ll tell you—­I’ll tell you the whole truth, Falconer; and if you can make excuse for me, if you can put yourself in my place—­”

He drew his hand across his brow as if the sweat had broken out upon it.  “The luck was dead against me for a time, the old luck that had haunted you and me; then it swung round completely—­as it generally does when it changes at all.  I was out in Africa, on the tramp, picking up a day’s work now and again at the farms—­you know the life!  One day I saw a Kaffir boy playing with some rough stones—­”

Falconer nodded.

“Diamonds.  I fancy I’ve read an account of the great Sir Stephen Orme’s first beginnings,” he put in with a touch of sarcasm.

Sir Stephen reddened.

“I daresay.  It was the start, the commencement of the luck.  From the evening I took those stones in my hands—­great Heaven!  I can see the place now, the sunset on the hill; the dirty brat playing in the dust!—­the luck has stood by me.  Everything I touched turned out right.  I left the diamond business and went in for land:  wherever I bought land towns sprang up and the land increased in value a thousandfold.  Then I stood in with the natives:  you’ve heard of the treaty—­”