Curiously enough it was to Merriman, the plodding rather than the brilliant, that light first came. They were seated in the otherwise empty hotel lounge when he suddenly stopped smoking, sat motionless for nearly a minute, and then turned eagerly to his companion.
“I say, Hilliard,” he exclaimed. “I wonder if there mightn’t be another way out after all—a scheme for making them separate the faked and the genuine props? Do you know Leatham—Charlie Leatham of Ellerby, somewhere between Selby and Boughton? No? Well, he owns a group of mines in that district. He’s as decent a soul as ever breathed, and is just rolling in money. Now,—how would it do if we were to go to Charlie and tell him the whole thing, and ask him to approach these people to see if they would sell him a cargo of props—an entire cargo. I should explain that he has a private wharf for lighters on one of those rivers up beyond Goole, but the approach is too shallow for a sea-going boat. Now, why shouldn’t he tell these people about his wharf, saying he had heard the Girondin was shallow in the draught, and might get up? He would then say he would take an entire cargo on condition that he could have it at his own place and so save rail carriage from Ferriby. That would put the syndicate in a hole. They couldn’t let any of the faked props out of their possession, and if they agreed to Leatham’s proposal they’d have to separate out the faked props from the genuine, and keep the faked aboard. On their way back from Leatham’s they would have to call at Ferriby to put these faked ones ashore, and if we are not utter fools we should surely be able to get hold of them then. What do you think, Hilliard?”
Hilliard smote his thigh.
“Bravo!” he cried with enthusiasm. “I think it’s just splendid. But is there any chance your friend would take a cargo? It’s rather a large order, you know. What would it run into? Four or five thousand pounds?”
“Why shouldn’t he? He has to buy props anyway, and these are good props and they would be as cheap as any he could get elsewhere. Taking them at his own wharf would be good business. Besides, 7,000 props is not a big thing for a group of mines. There are a tremendous lot used.”
“That’s true.”
“But the syndicate may not agree,” Merriman went on. “And yet I think they will. It would look suspicious for them to refuse so good an offer.”
Hilliard nodded. Then a further idea seemed to strike him and he sat up suddenly.
“But, Merriman, old man,” he exclaimed, “you’ve forgotten one thing. If they sent a cargo of that kind they’d send only genuine props. They wouldn’t risk the others.”
But Merriman was not cast down.