“That was neighborly, I’m sure,” returned the master of arts, catching the step. “Am I to infer that you are going to let me be of some service to you?” Tregarvon’s laugh was a trifle strained. “It’s a little that way,” he confessed. “But first I wish to say that I believe we have been doing you an injustice--Carfax and I.” “About the small cube of the metal known commercially as steel?” was the gentle inquiry. “Precisely. I’m sorry we were not broad-minded enough to take your word in explanation.” “Then you have discovered the real culprit?” For answer Tregarvon briefed the story of Tryon’s findings. “Ah!” said the listener; “then my own impression wasn’t at fault, after all. I saw the man under the drill derrick: I thought it was Sawyer, but I couldn’t be certain. I assume you don’t need to be told why he did it, or who bribed him to do it?” “No. For some reason best known to themselves, the C. C. & I. people do not wish me to drill that test-hole in the old burying-ground. Do you know the reason, Professor Hartridge?” It was too nearly dark for Tregarvon to see the quizzical smile which this query evoked, but he knew it was there. “You are asking me as man to man, Mr. Tregarvon?” “I am--just that. I have been condemning you unjustly, and you now have a most excellent chance to heap coals of fire upon my head.” “You are making it impossible for me to hold malice,” was the genial response. “I wish I could answer your question definitely; but I cannot. I do _not_ know why Thaxter should wish to prevent you from drilling that particular test-hole.” “You mean that I am not going to find the paying vein of coal under the old burying-ground?” “I am practically certain that you are not.” “Would you mind giving me your reasons?” “They are geological--and conclusive. The strata under the glade are precisely the same as those occurring at your tramhead. Moreover, if you will take the trouble to examine the ground at the foot of the cliff below your present location you will find the coal outcrop: a single vein, not over twenty inches thick. A little lower down you will find another, still thinner.” Tregarvon laughed mirthlessly. “I asked you for bread, and you have given me a stone,” he protested. “Am I to assume that Consolidated Coal is better informed than you are, professor?” Hartridge’s reply was guarded. “No man is infallible, Mr. Tregarvon. I speak only of the things I know.” “Then there is a chance that, in spite of your geological deduction, Thaxter and the men he represents have more accurate data?” This time the professor’s rejoinder was fairly cryptic. “The earth holds many secrets. During the long interval in which the Ocoee properties were allowed to lie idle and uncared for, it was anybody’s privilege to investigate them. I am violating no confidence in saying that the people who are now trying to induce you to sell have made a number of surveys. They probably know your ground foot by foot.”