The one-pound shares in the radium mine, fully paid up, mounted from five shillings to par. From this they suddenly boomed to twenty-five shillings, and then gradually and steadily rose until they were quoted at three pound ten. Sir Reginald Crichton and one or two other members of the original syndicate, though honestly believing in the venture, were surprised. So far, no radium had been extracted from the pitch-blende—though the reports were excellent and full of encouragement. But Crichton expected he would have to wait some years before he got a return for his money.
Now, if he chose to sell his shares he knew he might realise a small fortune. But Despard begged him to wait.
"They'll touch five pounds yet," he said.
His nerve, which had never deserted him during the early days of the venture, when people had frankly laughed at the idea of radium being discovered in Devonshire, when there was real danger of utter failure, and rumours of fraud echoed in his ears, now began to fail him.
He knew he could trust old Dale, Sir Reginald Crichton, and a few other men who had been nothing more nor less than his dupes. It was his friends in the City, sharks like himself, whom he could not trust. Men who had helped finance the company and boom it; the men who had forced up the price of shares originally when they were worth as many pennies as they were quoted in shillings.
Gold had been the god at whose shrine Despard had always worshipped. For he believed that money could purchase anything, even the love of woman.
Even the love of the woman he had grown to desire more than any other, more than anything else in the world, save wealth—Marjorie Dale.
The frown on Despard's face deepened as the clock ticked cheerfully on and the hands slowly but inexorably pointed to the fleeting minutes. In spite of all opposition, in spite of all the influence he had been able to bring to bear on her father and on Jim's father; in spite of threats and promises she still refused to listen to him or to consider him for one moment as her lover or her future husband.
The announcement of her engagement to Lieutenant James Crichton had been made, only to be contradicted by Sir Reginald. Her father had sent her to London to stay with some wealthy friends they had made—through Sir Reginald's introduction and the fame the mine had brought them. He had hoped that a season in the great city would help her to forget and make her more amenable to his wishes.
But he did not know his own daughter. It had always been his boast that when a Dale gave his word he never went back on it. Perhaps he forgot that though his daughter was a woman she nevertheless inherited the same proud, obstinate spirit that he and his forefathers possessed.