Handsome drew back suspiciously. Always a.s.sociated with evil himself, he looked for only evil from others. Bitterly he retorted:
"My friend--what do your kind care for poor devils like me?"
For answer, Kenneth removed his helmet, suddenly revealing the solitary lock of white hair. Handsome fell back in surprise. For the first time he realized the extraordinary resemblance. He had noticed a marked likeness before, but now the diamond promoter"s helmet was off, it was positively startling. Hoa.r.s.ely he exclaimed:
"The devil! Who are you? You look just like----"
Kenneth looked at him keenly for a moment. Then he said calmly:
"Yes--I look just like you. No wonder. You are--my brother!"
[Ill.u.s.tration: "Yes, you are my brother. We are twins."]
"Your brother?"
"Yes--my brother. We are twins. You were kidnapped by gypsies thirty-two years ago. Our old nurse told me the story for the first time the day before I sailed from New York. She also told me about that scar on your hand. You cut it badly when you were a year old and the scar has remained ever since. Everybody believed you dead. Where have you been all these years?"
Handsome made no answer but fell back a few steps, and pa.s.sed his hand over his brow as if bewildered. This astonishing revelation had been made so suddenly that it had left him dazed. A wild, improbable tale, it seemed, yet perhaps there was some truth in it. He had never known who his parents were and it had always seemed to him that he came of better stock than those with whom he a.s.sociated. Then again, there was the ridiculous likeness. One had only to look at them both--it was the same face.
Slowly, gradually, as he looked more closely at Kenneth the conviction grew stronger that this, indeed, was his brother, his own flesh and blood, yet it aroused within him no emotion and left him entirely cold.
No impulse seized him to throw himself into this man"s arms and embrace him. His heart was steeled against the world. Human affection and sympathy had dried up in his breast years ago. What he saw was not a kinsman, a brother, but a man who had succeeded in life where he had failed, a man who was rich and happy while he was poor and miserable, a man who had everything while he had nothing. And if the tale were true, if indeed, he were this rich man"s brother, it only made matters worse, for he had been robbed of his rightful inheritance. This rich man was enjoying wealth half of which rightfully belonged to him.
Again Kenneth demanded:
"Where have you been all these years?"
"Here, there, everywhere," was the sullen answer. "London, Paris, Brussels, Vienna, New York, Boston, Chicago, Havana, Buenos Ayres. I know them all and they know me--perhaps too well. My earliest recollection is of the Italian quarter in New York, a long narrow always dirty street, bordered on either side by dilapidated greasy tenements, ricketty fire escapes filled with biddy and garbage. Pietro lived there and kept his organ in the bas.e.m.e.nt cellar. When Pietro went out with the organ he took me along to excite sympathy. Until I was fifteen years old I begged to support Pietro. One day he beat me and I ran away and shipped as cabin boy on a sailing vessel bound for Liverpool. I reached London and found employment as stable boy at Ascot. There I learned the fatal fascination of gambling. With what I saved from my wages I bet on the horses. I won and won again. I went back to London and frequented the gambling houses. I won, always won.
One day there was a row. Someone complained I had cheated. The police arrested me. When I left jail I went to the continent and began gambling again. I have gambled ever since." Pointing in the direction of the mines he added bitterly:
"That was my last gamble and I lost. That"s all I have to tell."
Kenneth listened with keen interest. When the other stopped speaking he asked:
"And now--what will you do?"
Handsome shrugged his shoulders and made no answer. Kenneth went on:
"You can"t keep up the old life--that is impossible. You owe something to the blood that"s running in your veins. There is only one thing for you to do. You must break off with the past for good, and come home with me. Are you known in New York?"
Handsome shook his head.
"No, I never returned there since I was a child."
"Your operations in America were confined to San Francisco, Chicago and St. Louis----"
"Yes."
Kenneth breathed more freely.
"That makes matters easier. No one in New York, therefore, has anything against you. There it will be possible to live down your past. You will cease being an outcast, a wanderer on the face of the earth. You will take the place in society for which Nature intended you."
Handsome smiled cynically. Grimly he replied:
"I guess Nature never expected much of me."
"You never can tell," said Kenneth quickly. "Your environments no doubt were responsible for your downfall. You have been a victim of circ.u.mstances."
Handsome was silent. This free roving life had come second nature to him. He looked with suspicion on any other. After a pause, he asked:
"What can I do in New York?"
"I will dress and house you like a gentleman. For a time you can make your home with us. If we find we can"t agree, well--we"ll part. I will find you employment----"
Handsome laughed. Mockingly he said:
"Then I am to be dependent on you----"
"No--not on me----. On your own efforts. There is no reason why, if given a chance, you will not make a success in the world. You are still young and energetic. I will give you a start in any line you wish to enter. I will make you a present of $10,000. It should be enough capital to start in any business."
Handsome shrugged his shoulders.
"Charity?" he exclaimed.
"No--not charity--brotherly affection."
His brother laughed mockingly. Bitterly he exclaimed:
"Maybe it"s conscience money."
"What do you mean?"
"You inherited from our father, didn"t you?"
"Yes--but I"ve increased it a hundred-fold by my own efforts."
"How much did he leave you?"
"Twenty thousand dollars."
"Why didn"t he leave me some?"
"He believed you dead. The sum I offer you is the sum you would have inherited from our father had he known you were living. Do you accept?"
Handsome was silent. His brain was working fast. What this man offered him was the merest pittance. Put out at interest, it would give him the princely income of $10 a week. What did he care for the good opinion of the world? He had knocked about so long, roughing it everywhere, that he might as well end as he had begun--an adventurer.
Suddenly there flashed across his brain a wild, audacious idea--a scheme so fantastic, so fraught with adventure and peril that the very thought gave him a thrill. It involved violence, possibly a crime.
Well, what of it? He was not the kind to be deterred by trifles. This man was nothing to him. Brotherly love, family ties--these were simply phrases to one who had never known them. He knew and obeyed only one instinct--the fight for life, the survival of the fittest. Society had waged war on him; he would be merciless in his war on society. This man--this alleged brother, threw him a sop, insulted him by offering him charity. Why should he hesitate? It was his life or another"s.
There was a big prize to be won. Life was sweet when one has millions to enjoy it with. This man had now on his person diamonds worth over a million and he had more millions at home. Suppose something happened to this man here in South Africa and he went home in his stead to take his place in his household and enjoy his millions? Who would know the difference?