"What's there to understand?" asked William Bailey. "There are the Anapootra Ruby Mines, and you just talk about them; that's easy enough. You bring them up at dinner; you add a postscript when you write a letter: 'By the way, have you heard about the Anapootra Ruby Mines?' Or you open a paper and say to the company: 'It's funny, but I don't see anything about the Anapootra Ruby Mines to-day.' You mayn't see _why_ it will work wonders, but it will. By the way, have you ever seen the name in a paper?" "I seem to have seen it somewhere," said Mr. Clutterbuck, not liking to confess his ignorance. "Well, you haven't," replied William Bailey rudely. "You may bet your hat on that. If they'd been in the papers, there'd be nothing to talk about. But _you_ talk about them long enough, and they'll get in the papers all right." "But I don't see the connection," quavered Mr. Clutterbuck. "Well, there it is," said William Bailey sighing, "there's the tip. If you try it and let it work, it will do marvels; and then you'll see what I've done." "But what are they?" persisted Mr. Clutterbuck. "Oh, ruby mines!" almost shouted William Bailey. "Yes, certainly, but where?" "In Anapootra of course," said Bailey. Mr. Clutterbuck rose to go with a joyless face. "You come back to me when it begins to work, and I'll see you through," were the last words of William Bailey, and his guest heard them ringing in his ears as he went mournfully to the train. In The Plâs that very evening he tried it on. They were at their lonely meal, all three, Charlie Fitzgerald, who inwardly wished he had got away, Mrs. Clutterbuck, and the master of the house. They dared not have friends under such a cloud. Mr. Clutterbuck said casually to Mrs. Clutterbuck: "My dear, do you know anything of the Anapootra Ruby Mines?" "No," said Mrs. Clutterbuck sharply, and at the same time in a manner that clearly showed she was bored. The City had always wearied her since her husband's success; she hardly thought it quite the thing to speak of it before Charlie Fitzgerald. As for that well-born youth, he remained quite silent and ate with singular rapidity the Mousseline Braganza à la Polignac which he had before him. "Do you know anything about them?" said Mr. Clutterbuck undaunted, and turning to Charlie Fitzgerald. His wife issued one of her commanding glances, but he avoided it. "The--Anapootra--Ruby--Mines?" said Charlie Fitzgerald, hesitating between each syllable. "No, I don't. I know about the _Brah_mapootra: it's a river." "Yes," said Mr. Clutterbuck, and this singularly unfruitful conversation ended. But Charlie Fitzgerald wondered and wondered more deeply what on earth he was to do. His task had been difficult enough already; it was becoming impossible.