The Angels Weep - Smith Wilbur (бесплатные онлайн книги читаем полные версии txt) 📗
Ralph's progress was slow, half a dozen acquaintances stopped him to enquire solicitously after his health, and then seek confirmation of the sale of his transport company, or to find out if he intended making a public issue of Harkness Mine shares.
"Give me a nod when you decide, Ralph." "Any help I can give, it will be my pleasure, Mr. Ballantyne." Rumours of the "payable" values of the Harkness ore put it as high as sixty ounces to the ton, and everybody he met wanted to be let in, so it took him almost an hour to cover the five hundred yards to the offices of the De Beers Consolidated Mines Company.
It was a magnificent edifice, a temple dedicated to the worship of diamonds. The open balconies on all three floors were laced with white grilles of delicate ironwork, the walls were of redbrick with corners picked out in worked stone blocks, the windows were of stained glass and the doors were oiled teak with polished brass fittings.
Ralph signed his name in the visitors" book and a uniformed janitor with white gloves led him up the spiral staircase to the top floor. There was a brass plate on the teak door, a name only, with no title to accompany it. "Mr. Jordan Ballantyne. But the grandeur of the office beyond the door gave some indication of Jordan's importance in the hierarchy of De Beers Diamond Company.
The double windows looked out over the Kimberley mine, the excavation was almost a mile across, and it was impossible even from this height to see into its depth. It seemed as though a meteor had struck and ploughed this crater through the earth's crust. Each day saw it driven deeper and deeper still, as the miners followed the fabulous cone of blue kimberlite conglomerate downwards. Already that hole had delivered up almost ten million carats of fine diamonds, and Mr. Rhodes Company owned it all. Ralph merely glanced once at this view of the pit in which he had spent most of his youth grovelling and scratching for the elusive stones, and then he surveyed the room appraisingly. The panelling was of seasoned oak, the intricate carving worked by craftsmen, the carpets over the floor were silk Quin, and the books in the shelves were matching sets bound in morocco and stamped in gold leaf.
There was the sound of running water from the open door of the bathroom, and a voice asked, "Who is it?" Ralph spun his hat onto the. stand, and turned to face the door as Jordan came through it. He was in his shirtsleeves with protectors over his cuffs, his shirt was the finest Irish linen and the cravat under his stock was watered silk.
He was drying his hands on a monogrammed towel, but he froze when he saw Ralph, then he threw the towel aside and crossed to him with three long lithe strides and a cry of delight.
At last Ralph broke the brotherly embrace and held Jordan off at arm's length to study him.
"Always the dandy," Ralph teased him, and ruffled his thick fashionably dressed golden curls.
No amount of brotherly familiarity could dim the fact that Jordan was still one of the most handsome men that Ralph had ever met. No, he was more than handsome, he was beautiful, and his evident pleasure at seeing Ralph heightened the glow of his skin and the lively sparkle of green behind his long curved fringe of lashes. As always, his younger brother's charisma and gentle nature recaptivated Ralph.
"And you," Jordan laughed, "you look so hard and brown and lean, what on earth happened to that prosperous paunch?" "I left it on the road from Matabeleland." "Matabeleland!" Jordan's expression changed.
"Then you'll have brought the terrible news with you." Jordan hurried to the leather-topped desk. "The telegraph line has been down for over a week, this is the first message to come through. I finished decoding it not an hour ago." He handed Ralph the flimsy, and he scanned it swiftly. The translation was written in Jordan's fair hand between the lines of tele printing The addressee was "Jove', Mr. Rhodes" private code name, and it was from General Mungo St. John in his capacity as acting Administrator of Matabeleland in the absence of Doctor Jameson.
"Outbreak of cattle disease reported from northern Matabeleland.
Losses sixty per cent repeat sixty per cent. Company veterinarian recognizes symptoms similar to Peste bovine epidemic Italy 1880.
Disease also known as rinderpest. No known treatment. Possible losses 100 per cent failing isolation and control. Urgently request authority to destroy and burn all cattle in central province to prevent southward spread." While he feigned astonishment and shock at the first paragraph, Ralph ran his eye swiftly down the remaining text. It was a rare opportunity to read a decoded BSA Company report, the fact that Jordan had handed it to him was a measure of his agitation.
There were lists of police strengths and dispositions, summaries of monies -held and dispensed, administrative requisitions, recommendations for trading-licences, and the roster of mineral claims filed in Bulawayo. Ralph passed the sheet back to his brother with a suitably solemn expression.
At the head of the roster of new claims, he had seen a block of forty square miles registered in the name of Wankie Coal Mining Company. That was the name that he and Harry Mellow had agreed upon for their company, and Ralph glowed with satisfaction that did not show on his face. Harry must have got the,-women and Jonathan safely back to Bulawayo, and he had wasted no time in filing the claims. Once again- Ralph congratulated himself on his choice of partner and brother-in-law. The only prickle of uncertainty was the rider to the roster that St. John had sent.
Advise soonest Company policy regarding coal and base metals claims register 198 in favour of Wankie Coal Mining Co. held in abeyance pending clarification.
The claims were filed but not yet confirmed, however, Ralph would have to worry about that later. Right now, he had to concentrate on Jordan's apprehensions.
"Papa is right in the path of this thing, this rinderpest. He has worked so hard all his life, and had such rotten luck oh Ralph, it can't happen to him, not again." Jordan stopped as another thought occurred to him. "And you, too. How many bullock teams did you have in Matabeleland, Ralph?" "None." "None? I don't understand." "I sold every last ox and wagon to the Zeederbergs." Jordan stared at him.
