I made out that I was a mining magnate from Kimberley, who had had a lot of trouble with I.D.B.

and had shown up a gang.

They had pursued me across the ocean, and had killed my best friend, and were now on my tracks.
I told the story well, though I say it who shouldn't.

I pictured a flight across the Kalahari to German Africa, the crackling, parching days, the wonderful blue-velvet nights.

I described an attack on my life on the voyage home, and I made a really horrid affair of the Portland Place murder.