Is possible that she walks as one who still sleeps. Go quickly among

your friends and tell them to search for her, tell them that there's ten

pounds in gold for the one who finds her. Then come back here and care

for Dirk until I return. Sean led the horse from the stable and Mbejane

hurried off to spread the word. Sean knew that within minutes half the

Zulus in Johannesburg would be looking for Katrina, tribal loyalty and

ten pounds in gold were strong incentives. He swung up onto the horse

and galloped out of the yard. He tried the Pretoria road first. Three

miles out of town a native herd boy grazing sheep beside the road

convinced him that Katrina did not passed that way.

He turned back. He paid a visit to the police station at Marshal

Square. The Kommandant remembered him from the old days; Sean could

rely on his cooperation.

Sean left him and rode fast through the streets that were starting to

fill with the bustle of a working day. He hitched his horse outside the

hotel and took the front steps three at a time. The clerk had no news

for him. He ran up the stairs and along the passage to his suite.

Mbejane was feeding Dirk his breakfast. Dirk beamed at Sean through a

faceful of egg and spread his arms to be picked up but Sean had no time

for him. Has she come back?

Mbejane shook his head. They will find her, Nkosi.

Fifty men are searching for her now. Stay with the child, said Sean and

went down to his horse. He stood beside it ready to mount but not

knowing which way to go. Where the hell has she got to? he demanded

aloud. In her night clothes with no money, where the hell had she gone?

He mounted and rode with aimless urgency through the streets, searching

the faces of the people along the sidewalks, turning down the sanitary

lanes and peering into backyards and vacant plots. By midday he had

tired his horse and worked himself into a ferment of worry and bad

temper. He had searched every street in Johannesburg, made a nuisance

of himself at the police station and sworn at the hotel clerk, but there

was still no sign of Katrina. He was riding down Jeppe Street for the

fifth time when the imposing double-storey of Candy's Hotel registered

through his preoccupation. Candy, he whispered. She can help. He

found her in her office among Persian rugs and Ot furniture, walls

covered with pink and blue patterned wallpaper, a mirrored ceiling hung

with six crystal waterfalls of chandeliers and a desk with an Indian

mosaic top.

Sean pushed aside the little man in the black alpaca coat who tried to

stop him entering and burst into the room.

Candy looked up and her small frown of -annoyance smoothed as she saw

who it was. Sean. . . oh, how nice to see you She came round from

behind the desk, the bell tent of her skirts covering the movement of

her legs so she seemed to float. Her skin was smooth white and her eyes

were happy blue. She held out her hand to him, but hesitated as she saw

his face. What is it, Sean? He told her in a rush and she listened and

when he had finished she rang the bell on her desk. There's brandy in

the cabinet by the fireplace, she said, I expect you are in need of one.

The little man in the alpaca coat came quickly to the bell. Sean poured

himself a large brandy and listened to Candy giving orders. Check the

railway station. Telegraph the coach stages on each of the main roads.

Send someone up to the hospital. Check the registers of every hotel and

boarding-house in town. Very well, madame. The little man bobbed his

head as he acknowledged each instruction and then he was gone.

Candy turned back to Sean. You can pour a drink for me also and then

sit down and simmer down. You're behaving just the way she wanted you

to What do you mean? demanded Sean. You are being given a little bit

of wifely discipline, my dear. Surely you have been married long enough

to recognize thatV Sean carried the glass across to her and Candy patted

the sofa next to her. Sit down, she said. We'll find your little

Cinderella for youWhat do you mean wifely discipline? he demanded

again. Punishment for bad behaviour. You may have eaten with your

mouth open, answered back, taken more than your share of the blankets,

not said good morning with the right inflection or committed one of the

other mortal sins of matrimony, but -- Candy sipped her drink and gasped

slightly, I see that time has not given you a lighter hand with the

brandy bottle. One Courtney tot always did equal an imperial gallon . .

. but, as I was saying, my guess is that little Katy is having an acute

attack of jealousy.

Probably her first, seeing that the two of you have spent your whole

married life out in the deep sticks and she has never had an opportunity

of watching the Courtney charm work on any other female before.

Nonsense, said Sean. Who's she got to be jealous of? Me, said Candy.

Every time she looked at me the other night I felt as though I'd been

hit in the chest with an axe Candy touched her magnificent bosom with

her fingertips, skilfully drawing Sean's attention to it. Sean looked

at it. It was deeply cleft and smelt of fresh violets.

He shifted restlessly and looked away. Nonsense, he said again. We're

just old friends, almost like - he hesitated. I hope, my dear, that you

weren't going to say "brother and sister". . . I'll not be party to

any incestuous relationship. . . or had you forgotten about that?

Sean had not forgotten. Every detail of it was still clear.

He blushed and stood up. I'd better be going, he said. I'm going to

keep looking for her. Thanks for your help, Candy, and for the drink.

Whatever I have is yours, sir, she murmured, lifting an eyebrow at him,

enjoying the way he blushed. I'll let you know as soon as we hear

anything. The assurance that Candy had given him wore thinner as the

afternoon went by with no news of Katrina. By nightfall Sean was again

wild with worry, it had completely swamped his bad temper and even

anaesthetized his fatigue. One by one Mbejane's tribesmen came in to

report a blank score, one by one the avenues Candy's men were exploring

proved empty, and long before midnight Sean was the only hunter left. He

rode hunched in the saddle, a lantern in his hand, riding the ground

that had already been covered a dozen times, visiting the mining camps

along the ridge, stopping to question late travellers he met along the

network of roads between the mines.

But the answer was always the same. Some thought he was joking: they

laughed until they saw that his face was haunted and dark-eyed in the

lantern light, then they stopped laughing and moved hurriedly on. Others

had heard about the missing woman; they started to question him, but as

soon as Sean realized they could not help him, he pushed past them and

went on searching. At dawn he was back at the hotel. Mbejane was

waiting for him.

Nkosi I have had food ready for you since last night.

Eat now and sleep a little. I will send the men out to search again

today, they will find her. Tell them, I will give one hundred pounds to

the one who finds her. Sean passed his hand wearily across his face.

Tell them to hunt the open veld beyond the ridges, she may not have

followed a road. I will tell them . . . but now you must eat.

Sean blinked his eyes, they were red-veined and each had a little lump

of yellow mucus in the corner.

Dirk? he asked. He is well, Nkosi, I have stayed with him all the

while Mbejane took Sean firmly by the arm. There is food ready. You

must eat. Saddle me another horse, said Sean. I will eat while you do

it.

Without sleep, unsteady in the saddle as the day wore on, Sean widened

the circle of his search until he was out into the treeless veld and the

mine headgears, were small spidery triangles on the horizon.

A dozen times he met Zulus from the city, big black men in loin cloths,

moving at their businesslike trot, hunting the ground like hounds. There

was a concealed sympathy behind their greetings. Mbejane has told us,

Nkosi. We will find her. And Sean left them and rode on alone, more

alone than he had ever been in his LIFE before. After dark he rode back

into Johannesburg, the faint flutter of hope inside him stilled as he

limped stiffly into the gas-lit lobby, of the hotel and saw the pity in

the reception clerk's face. No word, I'm afraid, Mr Courtney Sean

nodded. Thanks anyway. is my son all right? Your servant has taken

good care of him, sir. I sent dinner up to him an hour ago The stairs

seemed endless as he climbed them. By God, he was tired, sick-tired and

sick with worry. He pushed open the door of his suite and Candy stood

up from a chair across the room. The hope flared up in him again Have

you he started eagerly. No, she said quickly. No, Sean, I'm sorry. He

flopped into one of the chairs and Candy poured a drink for him from a

decanter that was waiting on the writing desk. He smiled his thanks and

took a big gulp at the glass. Candy lifted his legs one at a time and

pulled off his boots, ignoring his faint protest. Then she took up her

own glass and went to sit across the room from him.