"It was worth a finger," he murmured aloud, and still searching for road signs he drove on slowly.

He smiled again comfortably, shaking his head with amus.e.m.e.nt as he remembered his hurt and disappointment when the Old Man had walked away and left him lying on the beach. He had not expected the Old Man to fall on his shoulders sobbing his grat.i.tude and begging forgiveness for all the years of misery and loneliness - but he had expected something more than that.

After a two-hundred-mile round Jeep-journey through the desert night to the nearest hospital where they had trimmed and bound the stump, Johnny was back at the workings the next day in time to watch the first run of gravel from the beach.

In his absence, the gravel had been screened to sieve off all the over-size rock and stone, then it had been puddled through a tank of silicon mud to float off all the material with a specific gravity less than 2.5, then finally what was left had been run through a ball mill a long steel cylinder containing steel b.a.l.l.s the size of baseb.a.l.l.s.

The cylinder revolved continually and the steel b.a.l.l.s crushed to powder all substance softer than 4 on Mohs hardness scale.

Now there was a residue, a thousandth part of the gravel they had won from the sea. In this remainder would be the diamonds - if diamonds there were.

When Johnny arrived back at the shed of galvanized iron and wood on the cliff above the beach that housed his separation plant, he was still half groggy from the anaesthetic and lack of sleep.

His hand throbbed with the persistence of a lighthouse, his eyes were reddened and a thick black stubble covered his jaws.

He went to stand beside the grease table that filled half the shed. He was swaying a little on his feet, as he looked around at the preparations. The ma.s.sive bin at the head of the table was filled with the concentrated diamond gravels, the plates greased down, and his crew was standing ready.

"Let's go!" Johnny nodded at his foreman, who immediately threw in the lever that set the table shaking like an old man with palsy.

The table was a series of steel plates, each slightly inclined and thickly coated with dirty yellow grease. From the bin at the head of the shuddering table a mixture of gravel and water began to dribble, its consistency and rate of flow carefully regulated by the foreman.

It spread over the greased table like spilled treacle, dropping from one plate to the next, and finally into the waste bin at the end of the table.

A diamond is unwettable, immerse it in water, scrub it, but it comes out dry. A coat of grease on a steel plate is also unwettable, so wet gravel and sea sh.e.l.l will slide over it and keep moving across the agitating, sloping table.

But a diamond when it hits grease sticks like a halfsucked toffee to a woollen blanket.

In the excitement and anxiety of the moment Johnny felt his weariness recede, even the pain in his stump was muted by it. His eyes and whole attention were fastened on that glistening yellow sheet of grease.

The little stuff under a carat in weight, or the industrial black diamond and boart would not be visible on the table; the agitation was too rapid - blurring with speed, and the flow of loose material would disguise them.

So complete was his absorption that it was some seconds before he was aware of a presence beside him. He glanced up quickly.

The Old Man was there, standing with the wide stance and tension-charged att.i.tude that was his own special way.

Johnny was acutely conscious of the Old Man's bulk beside him and he felt the first flicker of alarm. What if this was a barren run?

He needed diamonds now - as he had never needed anything in his life.

He scanned the blurring plates of yellow grease, seeking the purchase price that could buy back the Old Man's esteem. The speckled gravel flowed imperturbably across the plates, and Johnny felt a flutter of panic.

Then from across the table the foreman let out a whoop, and pointed.

"Thor she blows!" Johnny's eyes darted to the head of the table.

There beneath the outlet from the bin, half buried in the thick grease by its own weight, anch.o.r.ed solidly while. the worthless gravel washed past it, was a diamond.

A big fat five-carat thing, that glowed sulky and yellow, like a wild animal resenting its captivity.

Johnny sighed softly and darted a sideways glance at the Old Man.

The Old Man was watching the table without expression, and though he must have been conscious of Johnny's scrutiny, he did not look up. Johnny's eyes were dragged irresistibly back to the table.

By some freakish chance, the next diamond fell from the bin directly on to the one already anch.o.r.ed in the grease.

When diamond strikes diamond it bounces like a golf ball off a tarmac road.

The second diamond, a white beauty the size of a peach pip, clicked loudly as it struck the other then spun head high in the air.

Both Johnny and the foreman laughed involuntarily with delight at the beauty of that twinkling drop of solid sunlight.

Johnny reached across the table with his good hand, and s.n.a.t.c.hed it out of the air. He rubbed it between his fingers revelling in the soapy feel of it, then turned and offered it to the Old Man.

The Old Man looked at the diamond, nodded in acknowledgement.

Then-he pulled back the cuff of his coat and checked his wrist watch.

"It's late. I must get back to Cape Town."

"Won't you stay for the rest of the run, sir?" Johnny realized his tone was too eager. "We could have a drink together afterwards." He remembered that the Old Man abhorred alcohol.

"No." The Old Man shook his head. "I have to get back by this evening." Now he looked steadily into Johnny's eyes.

"You see, Tracey is getting married tomorrow afternoon and I must be there." Then he smiled, watching Johnny's face, but n.o.body could ever guess the meaning of a smile on the Old Man's lips - for it never showed in his eyes.

"Didn't you know?" he asked, still smiling. "I thought you had received an invitation." And he went out of the shed to where his jeep stood in the bright sunshine waiting to take him out to the aircraft landing-strip among the sand dunes.

The pain in his injured hand, and the Old Man's words denied Johnny the sleep he so desperately needed, but it was two o'clock in the morning before he threw back his blankets and lit the lamp beside his camp bed.

"He said I had been invited - and, by G.o.d, I'll be there." He drove through the night, and the next morning. The first two hundred miles were on desert tracks of sand and stone, then he reached the metalled highway in the dawn and turned south across the great plains an dover the mountains. It was noon before he saw the squat blue silhouette of Table Mountain on the skyline dwarfing the city that huddled beneath it.

He checked in at the Vineyard Hotel, and hurried to his room to bath and shave and change into a suit.

The grounds of the old house were crowded with expensive automobiles, and the overflow was parked along both sides of the street outside, but he found a s.p.a.ce for the dusty Land-Rover. He walked up through the white gates and across the green lawns.

There was a band playing in the house, and a hubbub of voices and laughter drifted out through the windows of the ballroom.

He went in through the side door. The pa.s.sages were thronged with guests, and he made his way amongst them seeking a familiar face in the groups of loud-voiced gesticulating men and giggling women. At last he found one.

"Michael." And Michael Shapiro looked round, recognizing him and letting the conflicting emotions of pleasure, surprise and alarm show clearly on his face.

"Johnny. It's good to see you."

"Is the ceremony over?"

"Yes, and the speeches also - thank G.o.d." He took Johnny's arm and led him aside.

"Let me get you a gla.s.s of champagne." Michael hailed a waiter and put a crystal gla.s.s into Johnny's hand.

"Here's to the bride,"Johnny murmured and drank.

"Does the Old Man know you are here?" Michael came out with the question that was burning his mouth, and when Johnny shook his head, Michael's expression became thoughtful.

"What's he like, Michael, Tracey's husband?"

"Kenny Hartford?"

Michael considered the question. "He's all right, I suppose.

Nice-looking boy, plenty of money."

"What's he do for a crust of bread?"

"His daddy left him the whole loaf - but to fill in the time he does fashion photography." And Johnny pulled down the corners of his mouth.

Michael frowned. "He's all right, Johnny. The Old Man picked him carefully."

"The Old Man?"Johnny's jaw thrust out.

"Of course, you know him - he wouldn't leave an important decision like that to anybody else." Johnny finished his champagne in silence, and Michael watched his face anxiously.

"Where is she? Have they left yet?"

"No." Michael shook his head.

"They're still in the ballroom."

"I think I'll go and wish luck to the bride."

"Johnny." Michael caught hold of his elbow. "Don't do anything stupid will you?" Johnny stood at the head of the marble staircase that led down into the ballroom. The floor was crowded with dancing couples and the music was loud and merry. The bridal party sat at a raised table across the floor.

Benedict van der Byl saw Johnny first. His face flushed and he leaned quickly to whisper to the Old Man, then began to rise from his seat. The Old Man placed a restraining hand on Benedict's shoulder, and smiled across the room at Johnny.

A Johnny went down the stairs and made his way through the dancers. Tracey had not seen him. She was talking to the silky-faced young man who sat beside her. He had wavy blond hair.

"h.e.l.lo, Tracey." She looked up at Johnny and caught her breath.

She was more beautiful than he remembered.

"h.e.l.lo, Johnny." Her voice was almost a whisper.

"May I dance with you?" She was pale now, and her eyes went to the Old Man, not to her new husband. The gleaming white bush of hair nodded slightly, and Tracey stood up.

They made one circuit of the dance floor before the band stopped playing. Johnny had planned a hundred different things to say to her, but he was dumb until the music ended and the opportunity was pa.s.sing.

Hurriedly now in the few seconds that were left Johnny told her: "I hope you will be happy, Tracey. But if you ever need help - ever - I will come, I promise you that."

"Thank you." Her voice was husky, and for a moment she looked like the little girl who had cried in the night. Then he took her back to her husband.

The promise had been made five years ago, and now he had come to London to honour it.

Number 23 Stark Street was a neat double-storeyed cottage with a narrow front. He parked outside it. It was dark now and lights burned on both floors. He sat in the parked Jaguar, suddenly reluctant to go further. Somehow he knew that Tracey was here, and he knew it would not be pretty.

For a moment he recaptured the image of her as a lovely young woman in a wedding dress of white satin, then he climbed out of the Jaguar and went up the steps to the front door. He reached for the bell before he noticed with surprise that the door was ajar. He pushed it open and walked into a small sitting-room furnished with feminine taste.

The room had been hastily ransacked, one of the curtains was spread on the floor and on it were piled books and ornaments. Pictures had been taken down from the walls and stacked ready for removal.

Johnny picked up one of the books, and opened the cover. On the fly leaf was a handwritten name. "Tracey van der Byl He dropped it back on the pile as he heard footsteps on the stairs from the floor above.

A man came down the stairs. He was dressed in soiled green velvet trousers, sheepskin boots, and shabby frock coat of military cut fragged. with tarnished gold braid. He was carrying an armful of women's dresses.

He saw Johnny and stopped nervously, his pink lips opened in vacant surprise but his eyes were beady and bright under the thatch of lank blond hair.

"h.e.l.lo," Johnny smiled pleasantly. "Are you moving out?" And he drifted quietly closer to the man on the stairs and stood looking up at him.

Suddenly from the floor above a low wail echoed down the stairs.

It was an eerie sound, without pa.s.sion or pain, as though steam were escaping from a jet, only just recognizable as human. Johnny went rigid at the sound, and the man on the stairs glanced nervously over his shoulder.

"What have you done to her?" Johnny asked softly, without menace.

. "No. Nothing! She's on a trip. A bad trip." The man's denial was frantic. "It's her first time on acid."

"So you're cleaning the place out, are you?"Johnny asked mildly.

"She owes me plenty. She can't pay. She promised - and she can't pay."

"Oh," said Johnny. "That's different. I thought you were hitting the place." He reached into his overcoat and brought out his wallet, riffling the wad of banknotes. "I'm a friend of hers. How much does she owe you?"

"Fifty nicker." The man's eyes sparkled when he saw the wallet. "I gave her credit." Johnny counted off ten fivers, and held them out. The man dropped the bundle of clothing over the banisters and came eagerly down the last few stairs.

"Did you sell her the stuff - the acid?"Johnny asked, and the man stopped a pace from him, his expression stiffening with suspicion.

"Oh, for G.o.d's sake." Johnny grinned. "We are not children - I know the score." He offered the banknotes. "Did you get the stuff for her?" The man grinned back at him weakly, and nodded as he reached for the money. Johnny's free hand snapped closed on the thin wrist and he swung him off his feet, forcing his wrist up between his shoulder-blades.

Johnny stuffed the money into his pocket, and marched him up the stairs.

"Let's go and have a look, shall we?" There was a mattress on the iron bedstead covered with a grey army blanket. Tracey sat cross-legged on the blanket.

She wore only a thin cotton slip and her hair hung lank and l.u.s.treless to her waist. Her arms crossed over her chest were thin and white as sticks of chalk. Her face also was pale, the skin translucent in the light of the electric bulb.

She was rocking gently back and forth and wailing softly, her breath steaming in the icy cold room.

It was her eyes that shocked Johnny the most. The eye seemed to have expanded to an enormous size, and beneath each was a dark bruised-looking smear. The pupils of the eyes were distended and glittery with the same adamant sheen as uncut diamonds.

The big glittery green eyes fastened on Johnny and the man in the doorway, and the wail rose abruptly to a shriek.

The shriek died away, and she bowed for-ward and buried her face in her hands, covering her eyes.