The Jew--of Da Souza's nationality it was impossible to have any doubt--was coarse and large of his type, he wore soiled linen clothes and was smoking a black cigar.

On the little finger of each hand, thickly encrusted with dirt, was a diamond ring, on his thick, protruding lips a complacent smile.
The concession, already soiled and dog-eared, was spread out before them.
It was Da Souza who did most of the talking.

Trent indeed had the appearance of a man only indirectly interested in the proceedings.
"You see, my dear sir," Da Souza was saying, "this little concession of yours is, after all, a very risky business.

These niggers have absolutely no sense honour.

Do I not know it--alas--to my cost ?" Trent listened in contemptuous silence.