Hundreds of natives left in their track were sawing down palm-trees, cutting away the bush, digging and making ready everywhere for that straight, wide thoroughfare which was to lead from Bekwando village to the sea-coast.
Cables as to his progress had already been sent back to London.

Apart from any other result, Trent knew that he had saved the Syndicate a fortune by his journey here.
The light of the moon grew stronger--the country lay stretched out before him like a map.

With folded arms and a freshly-lit pipe Trent leaned with his back against the tree and fixed eyes.

At first he saw nothing but that road, broad and white, stretching to the horizon and thronged with oxen-drawn wagons.

Then the fancy suddenly left him and a girl's face seemed to be laughing into his--a face which was ever changing, gay and brilliant one moment, calm and seductively beautiful the next.