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           SuddenlyasthesememorieschasedacrossmybrainIthoughtofmypresentcaseandappliedthemoral.TheBlackStonedidn’tneedtobolt.Theywerequietlyabsorbedintothelandscape.Iwasontherighttrack,andIjammedthatdowninmymindandvowednevertoforgetit.ThelastwordwaswithPeterPienaar.

           Scaife’smenwouldbepostednow,buttherewasnosignofasoul.Thehousestoodasopenasamarket-placeforanybodytoobserve.Athree-footrailingseparateditfromthecliffroad;thewindowsontheground-floorwereallopen,andshadedlightsandthelowsoundofvoicesrevealedwheretheoccupantswerefinishingdinner.Everythingwasaspublicandabove-boardasacharitybazaar.Feelingthegreatestfoolonearth,Iopenedthegateandrangthebell.

           Amanofmysort,whohastravelledabouttheworldinroughplaces,getsonperfectlywellwithtwoclasses,whatyoumaycalltheupperandthelower.Heunderstandsthemandtheyunderstandhim.Iwasathomewithherdsandtrampsandroadmen,andIwassufficientlyatmyeasewithpeoplelikeSirWalterandthemenIhadmetthenightbefore.Ican’texplainwhy,butitisafact.Butwhatfellowslikemedon’tunderstandisthegreatcomfortable,satisfiedmiddle-classworld,thefolkthatliveinvillasandsuburbs.Hedoesn’tknowhowtheylookatthings,hedoesn’tunderstandtheirconventions,andheisasshyofthemasofablackmamba.Whenatrimparlour-maidopenedthedoor,Icouldhardlyfindmyvoice.

           IaskedforMrAppleton,andwasusheredin.