“As a matter of fact,” Ames continued, leaning back in his chair and pressing the tips of his fingers together before him, “a hitch seems to have developed in Simití proceedings. I am interested, Mr. Ketchim,” turning suddenly and sharply upon that gentleman, “because my brokers have picked up for me several thousand shares of the stock.”
Ketchim’s hair began to rise.
“But,” proceeded Ames calmly, “now that I have put money into it, I learn that the Simití Company has no property whatever in Colombia.”
A haze slowly gathered before Ketchim’s eyes. His ears hummed. His heart throbbed violently. “How do you make that out, Mr. Ames?” he heard Harris say in a voice that seemed to come from an infinite distance. “I myself saw the title papers which old Rosendo had, and saw them transferred to Mr. Ketchim for the Simití Company. Moreover, I personally visited the mine in question.”
“La Libertad? Quite so,” returned Ames. “But, here’s the rub. The property was relocated by this Rosendo, and he secured title to it under the name of the Chicago mine. It was that name which deceived the clerks in the Department of Mines in Cartagena, and caused them to issue title, not knowing that it really was the famous old La Libertad.”
“Well, I don’t see that there is any ground for confusion.”
“Simply this,” returned Ames evenly: “La Libertad mine, since the death of its former owner, Don Ignacio de Rincón, has belonged to the Church.”
“What!” Harris was on his feet. “By what right does it belong to the Church?”
“By the ancient law of ‘en manos muertas’, my friend,” replied Ames, unperturbed.