“Ah, well, a few hundred thousand pounds will buy quite a quantity of half-crown shares, and if we act simultaneously, as the king struck, we will acquire everything in sight before the stuff has time to rise. Come along, Mr. Mackeller, there’s not a moment to lose. If you organize this sortie in silence and effectively, you will show the savage seven there’s life in the old dog yet.” At ten minutes after one that day a large red automobile drew up in front of the Camperdown Club on Pall Mall, and Mackeller with his son stepped out of it. Lord Stranleigh met them in the hall apparently cool and unexcited, but he was coming away from the tape machine, which was recording that Red Shallows were leaping up toward par. Lord Stranleigh led his visitors in to the Strangers’ Room, which was empty, and closed the door. “Well, my lord,” said Mackeller, “those fools have sold some fifty thousand shares more of stock than there is in existence.” “It seems to me,” drawled his lordship, “although I know nothing of city ways, that such overselling is injudicious.” “Injudicious!” shouted young Mackeller, “why, you’ve got them like that,” and he raised his huge fist into the air and clenched it with a force resembling hydraulic pressure. “You can smash them. They can’t deliver. They’ve not only lost the mine, but you can ruin them by placing any price you please on the shares they’ve sold and cannot produce.” “That’s true,” corroborated old Mackeller, nodding his head, “and the bank didn’t use your five-thousand-pound check after all.” “Here it is,” said the young man, producing it. “Ah, well,” said Lord Stranleigh, slipping the paper into his waistcoat pocket. “Let us be thankful you two are just in time to join me at an excellent meal. I’ve been expecting you, and I’ve ordered a French lunch in honor of the late Philippe le Bel. He burned his syndicate of seven at the stake, but we’ll merely burn our syndicate’s fingers.” CHAPTER II--THE PREMATURE COMPROMISE THE Camperdown Club in Pall Mall is famous for its cuisine, and young Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood provided a lunch on the day of the great coup that was notable even in the Camperdown. The elder Mackeller did justice to the prime vintage which his lordship shared with him, but young Mackeller proved to be a water drinker. After lunch they retired to a small private smoking room, where they could review the situation without being interrupted, and here coffee, liquors, cigars, and cigarettes were set out, and the waiter retired. “It would seem, then,” began his lordship, “that you and I, Mr. Mackeller, are owners of a property situated somewhere along the west coast of Africa, a dozen miles or so up a river whose name I do not remember, and which I could not pronounce if I did.” “The Paramakaboo,” interjected Mackeller, junior. “Thanks,” drawled Lord Stranleigh. “The property is known as the Red Shallows: I suppose because gold is red and the deposit is on the surface.”