The Greatest Thrillers of Edgar Wallace. Edgar Wallace

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      Mr. Staffen took off his light overcoat and, walking to the table, inspected the ore with sober interest.

      ‘I’ve had the assay,’ he said. ‘The johnny who did it is a friend of mine and didn’t charge a penny; his report is promising-very promising.’

      ‘The company-’ began Art, but Mr. Staffen raised a warning finger.

      ‘I think you know, and it is unnecessary for me to remind you, that I do not intend speculating a dollar in this mine. I’m putting up no money. What I’m prepared to do is to use my influence in the promotion for a quid pro quo. You know what that means?’

      ‘Something for nothing!’ said Art, and in this instance was not entirely wide of the mark.

      ‘Well, no-stock in the company. Maybe I’ll take a directorship later, when the money is up and everything is plain sailing. I can’t lend my name to a-well, unknown quantity.’

      Art agreed.

      ‘My friend has put up the money,’ he said easily. ‘If that guy had another hundred dollars he’d have all the money in the world-he’s that rich. Stands to reason, Mr. Staffen, that I wouldn’t come over here tryin’ to get money from a gentleman who is practically a stranger. We met in Canada-sure we did! But what do you know about me? I might be one large crook-I might be a con man or anything!’

      Some such idea had occurred to Bertie Claude, but the very frankness of his friend dispelled something of his suspicions.

      ‘I’ve often wondered since what you must have thought of me, sittin’ in a game with that bunch of thugs,’ Art went on, puffing a reflective cigar. ‘But I guess you said to yourself, “This guy is a man of the world-he’s gotta mix.” An’ that’s true. In these Canadian mining camps you horn in with some real tough boys-yes, sir. They’re sump’n’ fierce.’

      ‘I quite understood the position,’ said Bertie Claude, who hadn’t. ‘I flatter myself I know men. If I haven’t shown that in “Homo Sum” then I’ve failed in expression.’

      ‘Sure,’ said Mr. Lomer lazily, and added another ‘Sure!’ to ram home the first. ‘That’s a pretty good book. When you give it to me at King Edward Hotel I thought it was sump’n’ about arithmetic. But ’tis mighty good poetry, every line startin’ with big letters an’ the end of every line sounding like the end word in the line before. I said to my secretary, “That Mr. Staffen must have a brain.” How you get the ideas beats me. That one about the princess who comes out of a clam-’

      ‘An oyster-she was the embodiment of the pearl,’ Bertie hastened to explain. ‘You mean “The White Maiden”?’

      Lomer nodded lazily.

      ‘That was grand. I never read poetry till I read that; it just made me want to cry like a great big fool! If I had your gifts I wouldn’t be loafin’ round Ontario prospecting. No, sir.’

      ‘It is a gift,’ said Mr. Staffen after thought. ‘You say you have the money for the company?’

      ‘Every cent. I’m not in a position to offer a single share-that’s true. Not that you need worry about that. I’ve reserved a few from promotion. No, sir, I never had any intention of allowing you to pay a cent.’

      He knocked off the ash of his cigar and frowned.

      ‘You’ve been mighty nice to me, Mr. Staffen,’ he said slowly, ‘and though I don’t feel called upon to tell every man my business, you’re such a square white fellow that I feel sort of confident about you. This mine means nothing.’

      Bertie Claude’s eyebrows rose.

      ‘I don’t quite get you,’ he said.

      Art’s smile was slow and a little sad.

      ‘Doesn’t it occur to you that if I’ve got the capital for that property, it was foolish of me to take a trip to Europe?’

      Bertie had certainly wondered why.

      ‘Selling that mine was like selling bars of gold. It didn’t want any doing; I could have sold it if I’d been living in the Amaganni Forest. No, sir, I’m here on business that would make your hair stand up if you knew.’

      He rose abruptly and paced the room with quick, nervous strides, his brow furrowed in thought.

      ‘You’re a whale of a poet,’ he said suddenly. ‘Maybe you’ve got more imagination than most people. What does the mine mean for me? A few hundred thousand dollars’ profit.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘What are you doing on Wednesday?’

      The brusqueness of the question took Bertie Claude aback.

      ‘On Wednesday? Well, I don’t know that I’m doing anything.’

      Mr. Lomer bit his lip thoughtfully.

      ‘I’ve got a little house on the river. Come down and spend a night with me, and I’ll let you into a secret that these newspapers would give a million dollars to know. If you read it in a book you wouldn’t believe it. Maybe one day you can write it. It would take a man with your imagination to put it over. Say, I’ll tell you now.’

      And then, with some hesitation, Mr. Lomer told his story.

      ‘Politics, and all that, I know nothing about. There has been a sort of revolution in Russia by all accounts, and queer things have been happenin’. I’m not such a dunce that I don’t know that. My interest in Russia was about the same as yours in Piketown, Saskatchewan. But about six months ago I got in touch with a couple of Russkis. They came out of the United States in a hurry, with a sheriff’s posse behind them, and I happened to be staying on a farm near the border when they turned up. And what do you think they’d been doing?’

      Mr. Staffen shook his head.

      ‘Peddling emeralds,’ said the other soberly.

      ‘Emeralds? Peddling? What do you mean-trying to sell emeralds?’

      Art nodded.

      ‘Yes, sir. One had a paper bag full of ‘em, all sizes. I bought the lot for twelve thousand dollars, took ’em down to T’ronto and got them valued at something under a million dollars.’

      Bertie Claude was listening openmouthed.

      ‘These fellows had come from Moscow. They’d been peddlin’ jewellery for four years. Some broken-down Prince was acting as agent for the other swells-I didn’t ask questions too closely, because naturally I’m not inquisitive.’

      He leant forward and tapped the other’s knee to emphasise his words.

      ‘The stuff I bought wasn’t a twentieth of their stock. I sent them back to Russia for the rest of the loot, and they’re due here next I week.’

      ‘Twenty million dollars!’ gasped Bertie Claude. ‘What will it cost you?’

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