“Bit o’ tin, sir, and I was wondering how it come here.”
Geoffrey took the piece of rough ore and examined it.
“Why, it is perfectly fresh,” he said. “That fracture has been made quite lately.”
“Yes,” said Pengelly, nodding, “it’s quite new, sir. The old man knows more than he’ll own to. He’s been chipping about here to-night with a hammer; I know, and this is some of his work.”
They looked about amongst the débris, but could find nothing more for some time, till, climbing a little way up the heap of granite scraps that had been evidently dislodged when the machinery was moved, Pengelly uttered an exclamation.
“What have you found?” cried Geoffrey, as he saw the miner hold down the light.
“It’s what I said, sir,” exclaimed Pengelly. “Look, sir, he’s been chipping and hammering here. Depend upon it the old man knows the mine’s rich.”
“But he wouldn’t be chipping the old stones here,” said Geoffrey, examining the fragments, which looked as if some one had been hammering up some pieces of ore.
“It’s some he found and brought in,” said Pengelly. “He’s a regular old fox, sir, and you see by and by when he finds we are going right, if he don’t come to us—to you I mean, sir—and offer to sell what he knows.”
“And, perhaps, by that time we shall have found it out. Eh, Pengelly?”