"Don't take it so confoundedly cool, sir. I was obliged to do the best I could, and I put myself in his hands." "Well?" "And he went out and brought the speculative person--a Mr Wrigley, a solicitor." "Well?" "Well! Ill, man, ill!" "But what did my worthy brother's friend say?" "Shrugged his shoulders--said it was throwing money away--mere gambling. He did not want them, but to oblige his old friend, Mr Jessop Reed, he would take them at a pound apiece, and the chance of making an eighth out of them." "And you laughed at him?" "Laughed? I nearly cried at him, and was only too glad to get the little bit of salvage from a man who bought as a speculation, and would not care so much if he lost." "But you said you had let Jessop have them to try and sell." "Did I? Yes, I think I did." "And asked me if you got them back, whether I could deal better with them." "Yes, I suppose I did, but I don't want to swindle any one into buying worthless stock." "Look here, Doctor, you are not yourself." "Not myself? How can a man be himself under such circumstances. Suppose, though, that I could get them back from the man. He only took them as a favour." "Did he pay you?" said Clive eagerly. "Yes." "A cheque?" "No," said the Doctor. "I was not going to run any more risks. No cheque: for the residue I insisted upon Bank of England notes and gold." "And you were paid like that?" "Yes." "Then you have gone too far to retreat." "Oh no, not if we offer the man what he said he would be content with-- an eighth. That's half-a-crown to the hundred pounds, isn't it?" "Half-a-crown to the hundred pounds!" said Clive furiously. "Why, as soon as the truth's known--" "They won't be worth that, eh?" said the Doctor dolefully. "Oh, Doctor Praed!" cried Clive furiously. "You telegraph to me to come and help you when you have thrown your money into the gutter, and it has been picked up and is gone. It is a swindle--an imposition." "Yes, I've found out that," said the Doctor bitterly. "But what are the shares worth then, really?" "What I told you, sir--double the price they were when so many were apportioned to you. This is some cursed jugglery: a trick--a scare--a false alarm to influence the price of the `White Virgin' shares in the market." "What!" "There isn't a word of truth in the report." "Not a word of truth in the report?" "No, sir. The mine is exceeding my greatest hopes. She teems with ore which grows richer in silver every day. In six months' time the shares will be worth four times what they are now." "But--but--the papers!--look at the papers," cried the Doctor. "What for? They only give the reports on 'Change--the facts that the mine is reported to be in a state of collapse, and that consequently every one has rushed to realise, and make what little he could for what is supposed to be nearly worthless paper." "But--tell me again--are you sure that the report is false?"