“The flotation was carried out successfully, my father’s friends subscribing largely on his mere word that Red Shallows was a good thing. Only fifty thousand pounds’ worth of shares were sold, that being considered enough to purchase the machinery, and send out men in a chartered steamer, with materials for the erection of whatever buildings and appliances as were supposed to be necessary. The rest of the stock was held by the syndicate, with the exception of the amount allotted to my father as compensation for his work. I was to have been appointed engineer of the mine, and had gone to Southampton to charter a suitable steamer, when suddenly an attack was opened upon the new company. Several of the financial papers led this attack, saying that the public had been grossly misled; that there was no gold or other minerals within hundreds of miles of the spot, and that all who had invested in the venture would lose their money. Immediately after this the syndicate dumped its shares on the market, and their price went down with a run.” “Wait a moment,” interrupted his lordship. “I think I have given you more than the promised ten minutes, but I believe I have been able to follow you up to the present point. Now, I should like to ask a question or two. Didn’t the seven men know that throwing their shares on the market would lower the price?” “Oh, they knew it perfectly well.” “Then why should they wish to disparage their own property?” “To freeze out my father and his friends.” “How could they do that if your father and his friends refused to sell?” “As a matter of fact many of my father’s friends have sold. They became frightened, and preferred to lose part rather than the whole. You see, my father had placed every security he possessed into the bank, but with the persistent pounding down of the stock it’s going lower and lower every day; in fact, it is unsalable at the present moment. The bank has called upon him to put in further securities, or cash, otherwise it will sell all his possessions for what they will bring.” “But in ruining your father, does not this syndicate ruin itself?” “No. The financiers have held their annual meeting, appointed a president, board of directors, and all that, and this board is securely in office for a year. As soon as my father and his friends are wiped out the syndicate will quietly buy back the stock at a much lower price than that at which they sold it, and even in crushing my father they will have made a pot of money for themselves.” “Killing two birds with one stone, eh? Isn’t there such a thing as gratitude in the City at all?” “I fear, my lord, there isn’t very much of it.” “What amount of money do you need to protect your father’s stock?” “I think five thousand pounds would do.”