That it was a dream mine, the merest rumour of an Eldorado, unconfirmed save by the ravings of a dying man, and a chart which he did not possess, and by no means could secure, he did not admit in the florid little prospectus which was distributed privately, but thoroughly, to the easy investors of Britain. Rather he suggested that the mine was located and its rights acquired. The prospectus had dealt vaguely with “certain difficulties of transport which the company would overcome,” and at the end came a learned and technical report from the “resident engineer” (no name), who spoke of garnets, and “pipes,” and contained all the conversational terminology of such reports. No attempt need be made to disguise the fact that Lambaire was without scruple. Few men are wholly bad, but, reading his record, one is inclined to the judgment that such good seed as humanity had implanted within him never germinated. He had descended to the little vestibule of the building, and was stepping into the street without, when a taxi-cab drove up and deposited the dapper Whitey. “I want you,” he piped. Lambaire frowned. “I haven’t any time----” he began. “Come back,” urged Whitey, catching his arm, “come back into the office; I’ve got something important to say to you.” Reluctantly the big man retraced his steps. Mr. Secretary Grene had a narrow shave, for he was examining a private drawer of his employers when the footsteps of the men sounded in the stone-flagged corridor without. With an agility and deftness that would have delighted Lambaire, had these qualities been exercised on his behalf, instead of being to his detriment, the secretary closed and locked the drawer with one motion, slipped the key into his pocket, and was busily engaged in reading his notes when the two entered. “You can go, Grene,” said Lambaire. “I’ve got a little business to transact with Mr. White--have your lunch and come back in half an hour.” When the door had closed on the secretary, Lambaire turned to the other. “Well?” he demanded. Whitey had taken the most comfortable chair in the room, and had crossed his elegantly cased legs. He had the pleasant air of one who by reason of superior knowledge was master of the situation. “When you have finished looking like a smirking jackass, perhaps you will tell me why you have made me postpone my lunch,” said Lambaire unpleasantly. Whitey’s legs uncurled, and he sat up. “This is news, Lambaire,” his impressive hand upraised emphasized the importance of the communication he had to convey. “It’s an idea and news together,” he said. “I’ve seen the Suttons.” Lambaire nodded. The audacity of Whitey was a constant surprise to him, but it was the big man’s practice never to betray that surprise. Whitey was obviously disappointed that his great tidings had fallen so flat. “You take a dashed lot for granted,” he grumbled. “I’ve seen the Suttons, Lambaire--seen ’em after the affair at the Whistlers; it wanted a bit of doing.”