“I had to crush the poor fellow’s hopes at once. The thing was most artistically done, a quantity of tin-bearing quartz, evidently in situ.”
“Yes.”
“But I always carry this with me, Mr Penwynn,” said Geoffrey, pulling out a pocket-lens; “and that showed me at once that the quartz was veined with a different mineral from that all around, and also that the granulations of the stone were such as are found in the strata on the other side of the county, and not here.”
Mr Penwynn said nothing, but looked hard at his manager.
“They’ve spent a good deal of time and money to successfully swindle people, and cleverly too, where the same energy and outlay would have made a poor mine pay.”
“Then you consider it a poor mine, Mr Trethick?”
“Very, sir.”
“But the report I had said that it was rich.”
“Then the reporter was either a fool or a knave,” replied Geoffrey.
“Humph!” ejaculated Mr Penwynn, “and you think then that we had better stop.”