Cape Diamonds
A Detective Story
With four other masculine fellow-sufferers—one of whom was a small, spectacled, inoffensive-looking man—Ned Girard and myself were the suffering inmates of a nondescript vehicle of the stage wagon pattern, drawn by six small cape horses, en route from the Bloemfontein diamond fields of South Africa for Wellington, thence by rail to Cape Town.
Two-thirds of the truly terrible journey had been already accomplished, yet there were still two hundred and fifty miles of travel over sun-beat plain and arid desert before us, with the mercury at 102 degrees, in such shade as our tired conveyance afforded—for, in truth, there was no other.
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