At the back of these bushes there was a hole large enough for a man to creep through.  I crept through with the object of ascertaining whether the marble veins continued.  To my surprise I found a stout yellow-wood door within feet of the mouth of the hole.  Reflecting that no doubt it was here that the quarrymen kept, or had kept tools and explosives, I gave it a push.  I suppose it had been left unfastened accidentally, or that something had gone wrong with the lock; at any rate it swung open.  Pursuing my researches as to the depth of the marble I advanced boldly and, the place being dark, struck a match.  Evidently the marble did continue, as I could see by the glittering roof of a cavern, for such it was.  But the floor attracted my attention as well as the roof, for on it were numerous cases not unlike coffins, bearing the stamp of a well-known Birmingham firm, labelled “fencing iron” and addressed to Messrs. Marnham & Rodd, Transvaal, via Delagoa Bay.

I knew at once what they were, having seen the like before, but if any doubt remained in my mind it was easy to solve, for as it chanced one of the cases was open and half emptied.  I slipped my hand into it.  As I thought it contained the ordinary Kaffir gun of commerce, cost delivered in Africa, say 35s.; cost delivered to native chief in cash or cattle, say #10, which, when the market is eager, allows for a decent profit.  Contemplating those cases, survivors probably of a much larger stock, I understood how it came about that Sekukuni had dared to show fight against the Government.  Doubtless it was hence that the guns had come which sent a bullet through Anscombe’s foot and nearly polished off both of us.

Moreover, as further matches showed me, that cave contained other stores—­item, kegs of gunpowder; item, casks of cheap spirit; item, bars of lead, also a box marked “bullet moulds” and another marked “Percussion caps.”  I think, too, there were some innocent bags full of beads and a few packages of Birmingham-made assegai blades.  There may have been other things, but if so I did not wait to investigate them.  Gathering up the ends of my matches and, in case there should be any dust in the place that would show footmarks, flapping the stone floor behind me with my pocket handkerchief, I retired and continued my investigations of that wonderful marble deposit from the bottom of the quarry, to which, having re-arranged the bushes, I descended by another route, leaping like a buck from stone to stone.

It was just as well that I did so, for a few minutes later Dr. Rodd appeared.

“Made a good job of your operation?” I asked cheerfully.

“Pretty fair, thanks,” he answered, “although that Kaffir tried to brain the nurse-man when he was coming out of the anesthetic.  But are you interested in geology?”

“A little,” I replied, “that is if there is any chance of making money out of it, which there ought to be here, as this marble looks almost as good as that of Carrara.  But flint instruments are more my line, that is in an ignorant and amateur way, as I think they are in yours, for I saw some in your room.  Tell me, what do you think of this.  Is it a scraper?” and I produced a stone out of my pocket which I had found a week before in the bush-veld.