A Mysterious Disappearance. Louis Tracy
sounds most promising,” said Bruce; “but my principals are more interested in taking up concerns which have been already established, but in which, for want of sufficient capital, the vendors’ shares have, by a process of reconstruction, come into the market. If you have anything of that kind—”
“The very thing,” interrupted Dodge excitedly. “The Springbok Mine will just suit ’em. After all is said and done, Golden Halos are a bit in the air, between you and me. But the Springbok is a genuine article. It was capitalized for a quarter of a million, and the directors went to allotment on a subscription list of about £14,000. This money has been expended, but twice the amount is necessary to develop the property properly. A call was made on the shares, but no one paid up, and there is a talk of compulsory reconstruction. Believe me, money put into it now will yield two hundred per cent in dividends within twelve months.”
“There is a whiff of scent on this trail,” said Claude to himself. He added aloud: “That looks promising. Can you give me details?”
“By all means. Here is the original prospectus.” Bruce glanced through the document, which dealt with the Springbok claims on the Rand with more candor than is usually exhibited in such compilations. Judging from the reports of several mining engineers of repute it really looked as if, this time, Mr. Dodge were speaking with some degree of accuracy.
“This reads well,” said Bruce. “What proportion of share capital is falling in on the reconstruction scheme?”
“I hold fifty thousand shares myself,” cried Dodge, “and though my money is locked up just now I am so convinced about this mine that I will manage to pay the call myself. Roughly speaking, there are one hundred and fifty thousand shares to be underwritten at, say, three shillings each.”
“And who are the present holders?”
The barrister asked the question in the most unconcerned way imaginable, yet upon the answer depended the whole success or otherwise of this hitherto unproductive mission.
Mr. Dodge was manifestly anxious.
“I take it that we are talking with a definite view to business?” he said.
The barrister hesitated. Even in the detection of a crime a man does not care to tell a deliberate lie, and Dodge’s attitude so far had been candid enough. The Springbok Mine honestly looked to be a good speculative investment, so he resolved to place the proposition before one or two friends who dealt with similar matters, and who were fully able to look after their own interests.
“Yes,” he answered, “I am here for that purpose. If my principals like this thing they will go in for it.”
“Then here is the vendors’ list,” said Mr. Dodge, taking a foolscap sheet from a drawer.
Claude perused it nonchalantly. His quick eyes took in each name and address out of half-a-dozen, and rejected all as being in no way connected with the man whose antecedents he was seeking.
Yet, where possible, he left nothing to chance.
“Have you any objection to a copy being made?” he asked.
Mr. Dodge hummed doubtfully.
“You see,” went on the barrister, “it is best to be quite candid with people whom you wish to bring into risky if apparently high promising ventures. I presume these gentlemen are moneyless. If so, it is a factor in favor of your scheme. Should any of them be men of means, my principals would naturally ask why they did not themselves underwrite the shares.”
Mr. Dodge was convinced. “From that point of view,” he cried emphatically, “they are above suspicion. Jot them down, sir.”
The barrister armed himself with the necessary documents, and they parted with mutual good wishes. It was only after reflection that Mr. Dodge saw how remarkably little he had got out of the interview. “He was a jolly smart chap,” communed the company promoter. “I wonder what he was really after. And who the dickens is Mr. Sydney H. Corbett? Anyhow, the Springbok business is quite above board. How can I raise the wind for my little lot?”
If Mr. Bruce had probed more deeply Mr. Dodge’s holding, he would have been saved much future perturbation. But, clever as he was, he did not know all the methods of financial juggling practised by experts on the Stock Exchange.
A hansom brought him quickly to Portman Square. In fulfilment of his promise, he was about to place Sir Charles Dyke in possession of his recent discoveries.
When the door of Wensley House opened, the butler, Thompson, who happened to be in the hall, anticipated the footman’s answer to Bruce’s inquiry.
“Sir Chawles left yesterday for Bournemouth, sir. ’E was that hovercome by the weather an’ his trouble that ’e has gone for a few days’ rest at the seaside. If you called, sir, I was to tell you ’e would be glad to see you there should you find it convenient to run down. And, sir, you’ll never guess who came ’ere this morning, as bold as brass.”
“Jane Harding.”
“Now, ’ow upon earth can you ’it upon things that way, sir? It was ’er, ’er very self. And you ought to ’ave seen her airs. ‘Thompson,’ sez she, ‘is Sir Chawles at ’ome?’ ‘No, ’e isn’t,’ sez I; ‘but you’re wanted at the polis station.’ She was in a keb, and she ’ad asked a butcher’s boy to pull the bell, so ’im and the cabby larfed. ‘Thompson,’ she said, very red in the face, ‘I’ll ’ave you dismissed for your impidence.’ An’ off she went. Did you ever ’ear anythink like it, sir?”
“No, Thompson, Miss Harding is certainly a cool hand.”
Bruce walked to his chambers, and his stroll through the parks was engrossed by one subject of thought. It was not Mrs. Hillmer, nor Corbett, nor Dodge who troubled him. What puzzled him more than all else was the “impidence” of Jane Harding.
CHAPTER VIII
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