“Well,” said Whitey, “man to man, and between gentlemen, what do you say to this: you join our board, an’ we’ll give you £4,000 in cash an’ £10,000 in shares?” Amber’s fingers drummed the table thoughtfully. “No,” he said, after a while, “my interest in the Company is quite big enough.” “What Company?” asked Whitey. “The River of Stars Diamonds, Ltd.,” said Amber. Whitey leant over the table and eyed him narrowly. “You’ve no interest in our Company,” he said shortly. Amber laughed. “On the contrary,” he said, “I have an interest in the River of Stars Diamond Fields, Ltd.” “That’s not my Company,” said Whitey. “Nor your Diamond Field either,” said Amber. CHAPTER XVII WHITEY HAS A PLAN Whitey met Lambaire by appointment at the Whistlers. Lambaire was the sole occupant of the card-room when the other entered. He was sitting at one of the green baize-covered tables dressed in evening kit, and was enlivening his solitude with a game of Chinese Patience. He looked up. “Hullo, Whitey,” he said lazily, “aren’t you going to dress for dinner?” Whitey closed the door carefully. “Nobody can hear us?” he asked shortly. Lambaire frowned. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Everything’s wrong.” Whitey was unusually vehement. “I’ve seen Amber.” “That doesn’t make everything wrong, does it?” It was a characteristic of Lambaire’s that alarm found expression in petulance. “Don’t bark, Lambaire,” said Whitey, “don’t get funny--I tell you that Amber knows.” “Knows what?” “That we didn’t find the mine.” Lambaire laughed scornfully. “Any fool can guess that,--how’s he going to prove it?” “There’s only one way,” replied Whitey grimly, “and he’s found it.” “Well,” demanded Lambaire as his friend paused. “He’s located the real mine. Lambaire, I know it. Look here.” He pulled up a chair to the table. “You know why Amber came out?” “With the girl, I suppose,” said Lambaire. “Girl nothing--” said Whitey. “He came out because the Government thought the mine was in Portuguese territory--your infernal compasses puzzled ’em, Lambaire; all your cursed precautions were useless. All our schemin’ to get hold of the plan was waste of time. It was a faked plan.” “Fake! Fake! Fake!” Whitey thumped the table with his fist. “I don’t attempt to explain it--I don’t know whether old Sutton did it for a purpose, but he did it. You gave him compasses so that he couldn’t find his way back after he’d located it. Lambaire--he knew those compasses were wrong. It was tit for tat. You gave him a false compass--he gave you a spoof plan.” Lambaire rose. “You’re mad,” he said roughly, “and what does it matter, anyway?”