I distrusted and disliked you from the moment I first met you in Bekwando village with poor old Monty for a partner, and read the agreement you had drawn up and the clause about the death of either making the survivor sole legatee.

In a regular fever swamp Monty was drinking poison like water--and you were watching.

That may have seemed all right to you.

To me it was very much like murder.

It was my mistrust of you which made me send men after you both through the bush, and, sure enough, they found poor Monty abandoned, left to die while you had hastened off to claim your booty.