"He was one of three or four that were here at that time, looking up the Ajax for eastern parties."
"In all probability," said Mr. Britton, musingly, "Darrell was here on the same business."
"If that was his business, he said nothing about it to me, and I would have thought he would, under the circumstances."
"I wonder whether we could ascertain from the owners of the Ajax what experts were out here or expected out here at that time?"
Mr. Underwood smiled grimly. "Not from the former owners, for nobody knows where they are, though there are some people quite anxious to know; and not from the present owners, for they are too busy looking for their predecessors in interest to think of anything else."
"Why, has the Ajax really changed owners? Did they find any one to buy it?"
"Yes, a Scotch syndicate bought it. They sent over a man—one of their own number, I believe, and authorized to act for them—that I guess knew more about sampling liquors than ores. The Ajax people worked him accordingly, with the result that the mine was sold at the figure named,—one million, half down, you know. The man rushed back to New York, to meet a partner whom he had cabled to come over. About ten days later they arrived on the ground and began operations at the Ajax. The mill ran for just ten days when they discovered the condition of affairs and shut down, and they have been looking for the former owners ever since."
Both men laughed, then relapsed into silence. A little later, as Mr. Britton stirred the fire to a brighter glow, he said, while the tender curves about his mouth deepened,—
"I cannot help feeling that the coming to us of this young man, whose identity is wrapped in so much mystery,