The River of Diamonds

4

'Mazy Zed?'

Mr Justice de Villiers presented his inquisitorial features to the world. Perhaps he hadn't slept any better than I had; the incident with Shelborne kept chasing through my head. The tall, gaunt prospector was in his place near Mary Caldwell, detached, although he had smiled back at her when he came in. I had told Rhennin only of his refusal, nothing of the fight. I could see no sign of a bruise on his head, which was turned sideways from me. It was our day, the Mazy Zed's day, and Rhennin was in the witness-box, but the Judge had pulled him up before he got into his stride.

'I am head of the Mazy Zed.'

The Judge professed ignorance: 'Mazy Zed?'

'Mazy Zed is a name, my lord.'

'I am well aware of that. I am seeking some meaning behind what you will agree is rather unusual nomenclature.'

'A Mazy Zed is a step in an old-time minuet, my lord.'

'Why not something modern like the Twist?'

A titter ran round the court. 'Perhaps if I explained…'

'That is what I have been trying to elicit from you for some time.'

The ship — or rather barge — which we intend for undersea mining operations is rather an ungainly craft. In fact, I have taken the liberty of bringing a model to the court. There are no engines. The barge will therefore roll and pitch heavily.'

'What has this to do with an old-time minuet?'

'My lord, I thought the bobbing and curtsying movement of the barge had a parallel in the bobbing and curtsying step in the minuet known as the Mazy Zed.'

The Judge snorted. Shardelow took up the running smoothly.

'You are Felix Rhennin?'

'Yes.'

'Occupation?'

'Farmer, promoter of companies.'

'A karakul farmer, I should add, my lord. My client has a large ranch in the southern part of South-west Africa. He was responsible for the introduction of several prize-winning strains of karakul ewes after the war, when he settled here permanently from Germany. Mr Rhennin was a Rhodes Scholar at Oxford, hence his fluency in what is, in fact, a foreign tongue to him. Age?'

'Forty-eight.'

The slightly world-weary droop of the eyelids belied the dynamic go-getter beneath. He'd make a fortune out of karakul, but his heart was in diamonds. He was Spartan in his tastes, although his bachelor estate near Keetmanshoop was a show-place. We'd first met when I was on the Brukkaros job for the Americans, since Keetmanshoop is_ the jumping-off place for the extinct volcano.

'The object of your project, Mr Rhennin?'

To mine diamonds from the sea off the Sperrgebiet coast.'

'You consider this a feasible proposition?'

'Yes. I am prepared to sink about a million dollars into it.'

'Your own, Mr Rhennin'

'The Mazy Zed is to be financed by floating a company in which I shall be the major shareholder.'

'Which brings me automatically to my next question: this is a big venture?'

'Very big.'

'You would agree with Mr Shelborne that capital — lots of it — as well as pioneering enterprise, are required for a unique undertaking of this nature?'

'Yes. I consider Mr Shelborne's estimate of half a million sterling to be conservative. This is the first time in the history of mining — in South Africa or anywhere else — that diamonds are to be mined from the sea.'

The fudge was carping: 'You say mined, Mr Rhennin. You mean, to be mined or, if we take Mr Stratton literally, not to be mined in the conventional sense at all?'

'That is correct, my lord.'

Shardelow eased the Judge away from his man. 'You are aware that in the past the South African Government, which exercises complete control over the diamond rights along the Sperrgebiet, has set its face against small prospecting enterprises — what one would term, in mining parlance, wildcat ventures?'

'I am.'

'Would you amplify that?'

'I quote a statement from the Minister of Mines, — "In the past few decades the Government, in the face of increasing pressure for diamond prospecting rights to be granted off the coast of South-west Africa, has refused to allow such ventures because it is felt that knowledge, equipment and finance are prerequisites. I should like to explain that, having regard to the marine hazards and to the scale of operations required to make a success of such a huge venture, the Government feels convinced that it would be doing a disservice not only to the country but to the persons concerned if they were thus induced to risk their capital — perhaps with more enthusiasm than understanding of the magnitude of the task involved — in a project of this nature".'

'Do you feel that the Government's stated policy would apply to the previous two applicants, namely, Mr Shelborne and Miss Caldwell?'

'Yes.'

'But not to the Mazy Zed?'

'No.'

These are wide and generalized asseverations, Mr Rhennin,' snapped the Judge. 'You are prepared to go into detailed technicalities?'

Rhennin said dryly, 'I had barely started, my lord. I was clearing the ground…'

'Prospecting the overburden, rather, Mr Rhennin?'

'Your lordship could put it that way. Here at Oranjemund they move twenty tons of sand to win one carat of diamonds, which weighs 1/142nd part of an ounce. The ratio is eighty million parts of sand to one of diamonds. The major part is rubbish.'

'Diamond mining and court proceedings seem to have a lot in common.'

'I bow to your lordship's superior experience.'

The two glared at one another. The girl and Shelborne were amused. They could afford to be. A few more cracks like that and the Mazy Zed project would be as good as in Davy Jones's locker.

Shardelow rushed to the rescue. He whipped an opaque plastic covering from the object which had intrigued everyone but us, a model of the Mazy Zed. It was about four feet long and eighteen inches high. Even as a model it looked more like a block of flats than a ship.

Rhennin stepped down and pointed with a ruler.

'You will notice at first the complete lack of gunnels and the low freeboard, my lord.'

'I had not done so. Why?'

'The Mazy Zed has no engines. She has to be towed and manoeuvred by a tug. Here are her six anchors.'

'Six?'

'Yes. The seas along the Sperrgebiet are persistently heavy. The water will break right across the barge.'

'Will it float, Mr Rhennin? It seems top-heavy.'

It was a question we had asked ourselves.

'We have carried out tank tests under simulated conditions of wind and sea. She floats all right.'

'I'd say she'd roll like — like…'

Shardelow grinned. 'The correct sea term, my lord, in case your lordship does not see fit to use it as coming from the bench, is "she rolls like a bitch".'

'Thank you, Mr Shardelow: the expression will go under your name in the record.'

'I was saving your lordship that embarrassment.'

Rhennin pointed to the box-like structures. 'These are the living quarters for fifty-five men. Under these big ventilators are kitchens, — five-course meals will be standard. Water is distilled from the sea by electric separators, like car battery plates. Stores are for three months. There will be expert technicians both for mining and maintenance of this floating mining unit, which is what I prefer to call the Mazy Zed.'

'What are those curious-looking cranes and hoses on the deck?' asked the Judge.

Those are the heart of the Mazy Zed, so to speak. The thick rubber hoses will be lowered on to the ocean floor by means of derricks and gantries.'

'I think it would be easier if my client explained the underlying principle,' said Shardelow.

The Judge nodded and Rhennin resumed. 'The rubber hose will go down about 200 feet. Attached to the end are heavy steel nozzles. The apparatus is known as a jet lift.'

'You could say that the principle is similar in operation to a vacuum cleaner?'

'Yes. In fact, we have coined the phrase, Hoovering the sea-bed.'

'In practice, how do the hoses operate?'

'When the pipes fill with water, highly compressed air is forced through the nozzles into the mud and gravel on the ocean floor. As it is disturbed, it whirls about and moves up the pipe. The outside pressure of the ocean forces gravel and diamonds to the top where processing and sorting take place. The residue is dumped. The air forced into the hose creates a siphon effect and at the same time stirs up the sea-bed.'

'It amounts then to diamond mining by suction? This is not simply theory, Mr Rhennin? — you've tested the idea?'

Rhennin smiled. It illuminated the rather drawn, authoritative face. 'When one is staking a million dollars, one does test beforehand, my lord.'

'Thank you, Mr Rhennin. You may return to the witness-box.' He peered at the model. 'An extraordinary craft, Mr Shardelow.'

'If I might revert to my expression earlier, my lord, a bitch.'

A glow overlaid for a moment the medieval chill., 'I might almost agree in my private capacity, though not of course as an officer of the law.'

Shardelow turned to Rhennin. 'The Mazy Zed application covers prospecting and mining rights over about 2500 square miles of open sea, does it not?'

That is correct.'

'What size do you estimate the undersea field?'

'About sixty million cubic yards of diamond-bearing gravel. If my calculations are correct, the Mazy Zed may recover up to fifty tons of gem-quality diamonds.'

'A net yield of about twelve pounds ten shillings per carat. How many carats per day must you bring up to pay your way?'

'Roughly 150.'

'How long will it be until the field is exhausted?'

That is impossible to say until operations get under way. At Oranjemund it has taken thirty years to scrape away 150 million tons of overburden.'

'A final question, Mr Rhennin: do you consider your new method superior to grabs and dredges?'

'The Mazy Zed will employ a revolutionary principle. Grabs and dredges have been used for two centuries and any improvement has been purely superficial.'

I felt sorry for Shelborne and the girl. As Rhennin spoke, they involuntarily turned towards each other, in a curious spontaneous gesture which I was to remember later.

Shardelow sat down.

The Judge said, 'Mr Rhennin, there are still one or two points which have arisen in the mind of the court. The first is security. The prevention of illicit diamond buying and smuggling of stones from what proposes to be a very large venture is the concern of this court; it is indeed the concern of any such court to prevent crime and the infringement of the diamond laws.'

'Security aboard the Mazy Zed will be much easier than ashore,' replied Rhennin. 'The barge is a self-contained unit completely cut off from the shore. Leave will be granted only once in three months. There are no harbours where we will operate. If a man were rash enough to steal our diamonds and by some means got ashore, the desert…'

Rhennin paused and glanced at Shelborne.

'Yes, Mr Rhennin?'

'The desert would take care of him, as it did of Caldwell.'

It was an unnecessary thrust. The girl turned white. I didn't care for the look on Shelborne's face.

The Judge did not miss it either. 'Yes — I see. The second question is, how far from the shore do you intend to operate?'

'Up to the thirty-fathom line. The sea-bed mud persists…'

'You miss my point. How far, in terms of miles, from the shore?'

'Within territorial limits.'

Three miles in other words?'

Rhennin looked uneasy. 'Well, the South African Government has recently extended the limit of territorial waters from three to twelve miles for trawlers. It is not generally recognized by some other countries, however.'

'What have other countries to do with it, Mr Rhennin?'

'To be frank, my lord, we are not happy about the presence of so-called Russian trawling fleets off the Sperrgebiet. Fishermen say their fishing gear lies rusting on deck while they pursue… ah… other activities. The Poles have spent large sums on improving the port of Conakry, in Guinea near Freetown, which they use as a trawler base for these waters…'

Shardelow got to his feet. 'I have here a statement from the Chief of the South African Naval Staff. It says that the Russian ships belong to the Second Atlantic Group of the Kalingrad People's Sea Administration.'

'Whatever that might mean.' The Judge continued his questions: 'You expect trouble, then, outside the three-mile limit, Mr Rhennin?'

'We are taking precautions.'

Shardelow softened the blunt words: 'Perhaps it would be better to say that the Mazy Zed will be protected by local measures…'

'What precautions, Mr Rhennin?'

'Patrol boats — radar — radio listening devices.'

Mr Justice de Villiers leaned back. 'Maybe you'll have a private war on your hands.'

Shardelow played it down. 'Scarcely, my lord. Inside territorial waters we are assured of the protection of the South African naval forces. The two patrol boats are just in case…'

'Of a surprise raid, Mr Shardelow?'

The reporter was writing furiously. Shardelow tried to steer the Judge away from the subject. 'No. Just so that no one will think the Mazy Zed is a sitting duck, so to speak. There will be a fortune in diamonds aboard if we are successful. As an additional safety measure, we have had special brass containers manufactured to hold the diamonds. These have buoys attached in case they have to be thrown overboard if there is trouble…'

'The court wishes to hear more about your patrol boats and radar.'

Rhennin said, 'I have an option on two hydrofoil highspeed boats at Messrs Samuel White's, of Cowes. They were originally ordered for the Royal Navy, but are now redundant because of budgetary considerations.'

I grinned to myself. Rhennin wasn't telling the Judge that both boats were armed with heavy-calibre machine-guns forrad.

'Speed?'

'Fifty, maybe fifty-five knots.'

The Judge's eyebrows went up. 'They must be absorbing a slice of capital, Mr Rhennin.'

'It was fortunate that they were redundant and the price… Like the radar, it is first-class equipment, but cheap.'

'You seem to have thought of everything, Mr Rhennin.'

'I hope so. There is a lot at stake, and we know that the sea and the Sperrgebiet in themselves will present major problems.'

'Thank you, Mr Rhennin.' He stepped down. The Judge addressed the court generally. 'The Consolidated Diamond Mining Company has kindly arranged for those concerned in these proceedings to make a visit to the site of the diamond workings this afternoon. I and my learned assessors feel that an inspection in loco may give us all an insight into the problems and rewards of diamond mining on this unfriendly coast. We will proceed in parties by Land-Rover to the field plants. Colonel Duvenhage has arranged to make the security search purely nominal.'

I grinned to myself. The fudge was really taking time off; there was no need to inspect the Oranjemund workings since they bore no relation to sea-bed mining, but the trip would give us a welcome break to the cut-and-thrust of the court proceedings.

When MacDonald came to collect me in the afternoon, however, my anticipation turned to dismay. With him were Shelborne and Mary Caldwell. It is one thing to be opposed in a court of law where a buffer of formality takes the edge off the hostility, quite another to be confined in a small vehicle with a man who pulled a gun on you. The Gquma's cabin was too fresh in my mind for me to be anything but hostile, although Shelborne nodded formally to me.

I drew MacDonald angrily on one side. 'What the devil is this — I want to go with Rhennin.'

'Orders. You three stay together with me.'

'Whose orders?'

'Colonel Duvenhage's.'

Did the security chief think my chat with Shelborne in the boat had something more to it than met the eye?

'And under orders, we're all to be friends together now? You too?'

'I hope so.'

The mailed fist. The velvet glove was very velvet still, but I reckoned MacDonald could become pretty tough if he wanted to.

'All right,' I snapped. 'But don't expect anything from my side. I'm going purely for the ride.'

He smiled. 'I wonder.'

Shelborne sat in front with him, and Mary and I behind.

'We'll make for Area G first,' called MacDonald.

Approaching the mining area, I saw the mast of the Gquma above Anvil Creek. To the right was Oranjemund, unbelievably green; to the left, the wild agglomeration of sea, sandbars and surf which is the mouth of the Orange. The fog from the sea had lifted, and the light was direct, brutal, flanking the high dunes with black shadow.

Shelborne peered out, searching for something. He was shaking, as if from blackwater fever. His concentration was so intense that I found that I too was looking among the grey-white dunes riding endlessly to the horizon, though I did not know what for.

'Hold her north-west by a half north — there's something I want to see.' The lapse into seafaring terminology showed how preoccupied he was.

MacDonald laughed good-naturedly. 'Come again, chum, it don't make sense.'

Mary had changed from the elegant outfit of the courtroom into a pair of white slacks with a green Paisley top. She broke the tension — deliberately, I felt. 'He's a windjammer captain — ask him in terms of degrees.'

MacDonald took his cue, grinning. He wasn't the sort to keep up the strained atmosphere. 'Come again, Captain! I have to hold the tiller, or else we'll be pooped!'

Shelborne relaxed, too, although his eyes were on the seaward side. I couldn't see anything. 'Steady on three-two-zero degrees, then,' he smiled.

Close to the beach, quite near to the first workings he called out, 'Stop! This is the place.'

The surrounding dunes were featureless, but to the north the dun of the desert was torn yellow. As far as the eye could see into the dust-and-spray-hazed horizon were rows of undulations like a draped evening gown. On the left lay the sea. The diamond workings reched to the high-water mark. The area was laagered for its first part by a wall of sand at right angles to the sea, but about a mile inland it turned parallel with the coastline. A road intersected the workings on the seaward side and next to it was a gigantic horseshoe-shaped dump from the field screening plant, which stood out orange and red against the dun dunes, like a surrealist Coney Island roller-coaster. A succession of dumps receded northwards along the road, giving a curious quilted effect to the desert, like a Tibetan Sherpa's jacket. Here the Namib had been violated by huge tournadozers, tourna-pull scrapers and spitting rotary bucket excavators; bright yellow salt-proofed chassis and blue tyres made a moving line of colour thirty feet down in the diamond trenches. Everything has to be protected against sand and sea at Oranjemund, for the blowing sand is abrasive enough to strip a car of its paint within hours. Past the machinery, from the desert as far as the sea, a conveyor-belt ran the length of the field screening plant carrying its precious gravel. Grease tables and electro-static separators take the stones mechanically from the gravel, but the final sorting is by human hand and eye. Still farther north, where Area G tailed off, there was a succession of other workings: Uub-Vley, Mittag, Kerbe Huk and Affenrucken.

We got out and stood ankle-deep in the warm sand. I cursed Duvenhage inwardly, although I admitted to myself it was hard to think of our relaxed companion as the same man as my formidable opponent in the yacht's cabin. I tried to keep out of the conversation. Shelborne picked up a big horn-shaped shell, weighing it in his hand.

'I saw these here four years before Merensky.'

MacDonald gasped. 'You were here before Merensky?'

'Yes. Caldwell and I camped right here.'

Mary said, 'Tell me about those early days with my father. Did he really find diamonds here before the Oyster Line? Did he know it was a major strike? Is the legend true?'

Shelbome said softly: 'If he didn't actually prove it before his luck called him away, at least he guessed. More than guessed. You see, we had our next trip to Oranjemund all planned. Our first big find here had made it possible — a beautiful 16 1/2 — carat stone, a pure blue-white, which we took from the surface just over there.' (He pointed to a spot about a hundred yards away.) 'It was enough to finance our next journey.' He shrugged. 'You know the rest. Caldwell's usual destiny. When he came back later there were 1000 claims pegged, and Merensky had taken a fortune from a small trench at the start of the Oyster Line.'

'You returned with my father?'

He said with strange sadness: 'Yes, I was always with Caldwell.'

MacDonald interrupted. 'What are you looking for, Mr Shelborne? I want still to show you something of the new prospecting area, but we won't have time if we hang around here.'

'Come,' said Shelborne. We trailed through heavy sand to the crest of the dune. 'There it is. I'm glad they didn't disturb it.'

There was a small cairn about fifty yards away.

'My wife's grave.'

'My God!' exclaimed MacDonald. 'You didn't bring a woman up here in the old days!'

'I did. For nearly forty years now I have regretted it.'

'You mean to say,' said Mary, 'that your wife died here while, you and my father were prospecting? You didn't leave her alone…'

He went to her side with a curious affectionate gesture. 'No, my dear. It was only a short, three-day trip with your father. She had a tent and plenty of water and supplies. Of course, there wasn't a thing here then. It was desert, nothing but unadorned desert. When we came back we found her dead and the babe gone.'

'Baby? There was a baby too?… How?'

'Mary had been shot and the camp looted. There must have been more than one of them, whoever murdered her, for there were a lot of tracks, human and horses', leading away into the desert. The little boy was gone.'

'Didn't you look for him…?'

'He wasn't very old, maybe eight or nine months. We searched, of course, but we never found the body. It haunts me still. Maybe a strandwolf…'

MacDonald was shaken too by Shelborne's story, and asked him if he wanted to go over to the grave. Shelborne said yes.

'I'll wait here,' Mary said.

'So will I,' I murmured. Despite everything, I found myself drawn to Shelborne. Deep down, I respected him for his refusal, and his curious air of inner power fascinated me. We watched the two trudge down the dune towards the forlorn cairn.

'By comparison, it makes my being born in a train seem pretty civilized,' she said. The amber flecks in her eyes were blurred with tears. I noticed for the first time a tiny vein close to the surface of the skin between the bridge of her nose and right eyebrow. Later I came to recognize it as a signal flag of her emotions.

I gave a short laugh. 'That puts me nowhere. I don't know where I was born, or who my parents were, even.'

She put her hand on my arm. For the first time I was aware of her warmth. 'John Tregard…'

I'd lived with it too long to be unduly concerned. Tregard was a missionary — in these parts, actually, south of the big bend in the Orange River in the Richtersveld — and you know what that means. He thought there were a lot of souls in need of salvation among the Hottentot gangs. He adopted me after finding me running wild.'

'And your parents?'

'It was pretty rough up here then. I haven't a clue who they were. The Tregards were kind — while they lasted. Then the usual pattern: orphanage, Sunday visits out to kind old ladies, fight for education — you know, it's been repeated a thousand times.'

'But only once for John Tregard, and that's what counts.'

That's a strange thing to say.'

'Now you're a surveyor, a skilled professional.'

I smiled at her defence of me. All the penniless years, the frantic fight for schooling, the dreary digs, the endless study — somehow it all seemed worth while then.

'I got there in the end.'

'I'd guess sooner, not later.'

'I was the youngest graduate of my year at Cape Town University.'

She said impetuously, 'I hope the Mazy Zed wins — for your sake.'

'I'm a freelance…' I started to say, but she broke in.

'You're a loner, aren't you, both in your job — and in yourself.'

I shrugged, but it made me feel good to tell her, none the less. 'You heard the John Tregard story.'

She said slowly, 'I thought you seemed pretty intense in court, especially today. I'd say this was more than a job to you.'

I was back in the Gquma's cabin. I was seeing that name engraved deeply on the ornate butt of the Borchardt. It was her father. I could not bring myself to tell her.

I said lightly, 'I'm the sort of John the Baptist of the outfit — the one who goes before.'

She wasn't deceived. 'What you mean is that at the first opportunity you'll strike out for Mercury…'

'And Strandloper's Water.'

She turned seawards and wrinkled her eyes against the sun, as if seeking an answer out across the white-green water.

'Why? Why should I?' she demanded, coming close to me. 'Why should I accept Shelborne's account of my father's death…? Yet I do.'

I told her about Shelborne's flat rejection of our offer aboard the cutter, not the rest.

'I would have sold. I… I like him — I like you both.'

'I don't believe his story of your father's death,' I said flatly.

'Yes, but why, even if you don't, should you involve yourself in something which can't possibly do any good, whichever way you look at it?'

I could not have answered her very explicitly at that stage myself. If Atacama and Takla Makan rang for me, then Mercury and Strandloper's Water were like those old-time wreckers' bells placed on the rocks to draw the victim's ship, although he himself might be fairly sure of his position. I had to go.

She said, 'You didn't approach me with an offer.'

'You heard what Shardelow said: for the purposes of the Mazy Zed application we are treating you as one.'

She didn't reply, but went on staring at me with a curious, searching look. I took refuge in words. 'You didn't make much of your case, did you? You let him get away with all the handwriting doubts and didn't press him about Strandloper's Water.'

'Strandloper's Water again,' she echoed.

I wanted to be out of that quiet, deep scrutiny. I bent down and picked up a handful of sand, letting it trickle through my fingers. She squatted down next to me. 'The sand — it holds so many secrets: my father, Shelborne, the woman they killed over there, the baby. You don't think Shelborne told the truth about my father?'

She had to know what I felt: 'I believe he extracted the cession and then murdered him.'

'No! no! He wouldn't have, not him…'

'Maybe simply left him to die in the dunes.'

'He is not that sort of man…'

'Listen,' I said harshly, thinking of the Borchardt, 'Shelborne is tough, mighty tough. But I admit there's a lot more to him than mere toughness. There's that spark, that "beyond the ranges" spark, which I cannot put my finger on. I admit that I cannot reconcile that side of him with what I've just said. There's a kindliness, too — but the fascination is that — that…'

'Adventurer of the spirit.'

'Yes, yes, that's it. There's a sort of mortification of the body about him, he endures in order to humble the body — deliberately — in some greater cause.'

'Lawrence of Arabia's camel ride.'

'Shelborne's Atacama. Shelborne's Takla Makan.'

'Shelborne's Namib.'

She, too, let the sand run through her fingers, the only break in our long silence. Then she ended it abruptly with a curious gesture to the north, which in my hypersensitive frame of mind I took to include Mercury and its dangers, the evil of which Shelborne had spoken, and — wonderfully — a care within herself for me.

Her words did not cover the compass of her gesture. 'I like Shelborne and I like you — it's as if I were falling back on… on… a bond already forged. But put diamonds on the table, and we're fighting like a pack of dogs.'

I replied drily, 'It happens. Look at your father and Shelborne.'

The two men were returning. She stood up, looking down at me. I can still see her. 'For God's sake be careful when you go near Mercury, John.'

I looked up at her. I said nothing.

'For my sake too, John.'

Shelborne and MacDonald came within earshot. I don't think either she or I heard much of MacDonald's expositions of diamond mining, from prospecting trenches to sweeping out potholes with brooms for the precious stones, — we were as silent as the great machines which, electric-powered, tear away soundlessly at the desert. The power is fed in in the face of immense technical difficulties: salt, corrosion, salt fogs, distance, sand, but they have all been beaten by the backroom boys of Oranjemund.

We returned to our security-hedged fortress as dark was falling.

Next day the tension in the courtroom was heightened by a late start. Shelborne sat drawn and haggard, his faded clothes carefully pressed. Mary, elegant in black suit and small hat, said a brief word to me and hurried past. Rhennin was glum after a long session the previous night with Shardelow.

'Silence in court!'

Mr Justice de Villiers gave full weight to the drama, walking slowly to the bench, inclining his head gravely to Shardelow, Mennin and the rest of us.

He sat down and said briefly: 'Mr Shelborne, I shall not require to re-examine you, as I had thought earlier.

There is nothing more to be gained by questioning Miss Caldwell further either.'

He paused meaningfully and consulted some notes.

Shardelow whispered, The bastard! Every time he plays that trick I get a new ulcer!'

The Judge said in formal tones: 'The court has before it the application of Frederick Shelborne, prospector, for the maintenance of rights granted and ceded to him by Frederick William Caldwell, prospector, in 1930 in pursuance of a German Imperial Decree vesting those rights in Mr Caldwell in 1913. The court finds there is no reason to doubt the authenticity of the document submitted by Mr Shelborne.'

'Christ!' muttered Rhennin to me. 'Listen to his tone. Here we go for a ride!'

Shardelow muttered urgently: 'You'll appeal, of course?'

Rhennin nodded. It looked as if the gamble had paid off for Shelborne. We'd fight, of course, and perhaps come to terms; one of those neat out-of-court settlements when counsel, bland and suave with extra fees, announce that the parties have mutually agreed…

'The court, however, cannot accept the deed of cession. There are serious discrepancies…'

Rhennin said under his breath, 'Will the girl sell, John?'

'Yes, she said she would. She'll take Ј5000 any day.'

Rhennin passed my message on to Shardelow. Mary was white-faced. The shadows round her eyes, skilfully concealed by make-up, were visible nevertheless — under the courtroom lights, which were on because the sea fog was still down. The courtroom felt cold and alien to me.

'Look at the old man,' said Rhennin quietly.

Shelborne leaned forward, and to the top of his bald head his colour was like lead. His hands were twitching and he coughed — a sharp, rattling, nervous cough.

'The court has heard the application of the organization which styles itself the Mazy Zed, an odd name. Unfortunately the court has no jurisdiction over the naming of companies. I find it is duly registered…'

'Thank God for that!' Rhennin whispered to me. 'He'd have called us the Undermarine Octahedron Exploration Company!'

'The court is called upon to assess the value of the present application in terms of a past concession. I note there is no pro forma application by either of the other two parties in respect of present-day rights. After the First World War the South African Government allowed certain German diamond companies to continue mining in the territory. In law, however, such an ex parte dispensation cannot be construed as allowing of the reverse, namely, that the grant of a prospecting concession by the previous German regime should have force and effect in law.'

'Jesus!' exclaimed Rhennin softly. He was sweating, despite the coldness of the court. The pendulum had swung back to our side; small wonder Shardelow had ulcers.

The Treaty of Versailles, to which the then South African Government under General Smuts was signatory, makes no mention of this. No principle is laid down by either the treaty proper or by subsequent codicils.'

Rhennin pushed me a note from Shardelow. It read: 'I want a blue-white, five carats, first one out of the sea as a memento — and no charge!'

I nodded and grinned. It was practically in the bag now.

The validity of the concession submitted by the first applicant, namely, Frederick Caldwell, is therefore irrelevant…'

Shelborne was on his feet, his face livid. He was trying to say something. Everyone's eyes were upon him.

The Judge went on. 'I beg your pardon, a slip of the tongue. The first application was in the name of Frederick Shelborne. I ask the recorder to take special note: Frederick Shelborne, not Frederick William Caldwell.'

Shelborne sank back into his chair, his eyes staring.

'Likewise the second application, that of Mary Caldwell, fails. The German concession, in the eyes of myself and of my two learned assessors, lapsed when the armed forces of Germany signed the surrender to General Botha's army in July 1915.

There remains only the Mazy Zed application. This not only has the scope, but is in accordance with certain prerequisites of capital and outlay specified by the authorities. The Mazy Zed application is accordingly granted. May I take this opportunity of wishing the venture — a unique venture in the history of mining — success.'

I went that afternoon with MacDonald to Anvil Creek. He had been assigned to make sure that Shelborne and the Gquma left the security area. I waited in the parked Land-Rover while he made his search. It did not surprise me when he came back empty-handed, without the Borchardt or its diamonds. I had not mentioned either to MacDonald — I felt it was something between Shelborne and myself. Shelborne spoke neither to him nor to me. Then, with almost frightening skill, he tacked the beautiful cutter down the narrow waterway to the river proper. He sat, hard-faced, in the open cockpit at the tiller; we followed him in our vehicle along the river bank to the sandbars, where the spindrift broke over us on the wind. The Gquma, head reaching on the starboard tack, merged her white sails in the white of broken water and bars at the river mouth. Would she live? For more than an hour we watched and wondered. Then, against the green of the sea; we saw the topsail emerge, a sail as unmistakably individual as the lonely man who sailed her. Round she came, close-hauled, and disappeared to the north.