"I'll examine this and test it to-night. But don't say anything about it, not even to your father. Just because we've found pitch-blende it doesn't mean there's radium. But—they have found traces in some of the Cornish mines, you know."
Marjorie was waiting for them at the surface of the mine. She gave a shriek as she saw them, for their clothes were torn and discoloured, and they were wet through.
"Well, how much tin did you find?" she asked jokingly. "Are you going to make our fortunes?"
Despard looked at her. "Supposing I were to make a fortune for you, what reward should I get?"
"Oh, fifty per cent. of the profits," she laughed, lowering her eyes.
"I shouldn't ask that," he whispered. "I should want something money couldn't buy."
When they reached the farmhouse supper was waiting. It was growing dark, and work was over for the day. John Dale had not returned home.
"We had better wait," Marjorie suggested, "He's never late. Probably he has gone up to Post Bridge Hall to see Sir Reginald Crichton on business."
The mention of Reginald Crichton's name reminded Rupert of what his father had told him about having to mortgage the property. Supposing there was anything in their discovery that afternoon the mortgage would have to be paid off before anything else was done. He went up to Despard's room and suggested that while they were waiting for supper they should examine the sample of pitch-blende they had taken from the mine.
Despard locked the door and laid the mass of putty-like substance on the table. "To get a proper test we ought to take or send it up to town," he said. "But there's one simple method——"