“What I told you, sir—double the price they were when so many were apportioned to you. This is some cursed jugglery: a trick—a scare—a false alarm to influence the price of the ‘White Virgin’ shares in the market.”
“What!”
“There isn’t a word of truth in the report.”
“Not a word of truth in the report?”
“No, sir. The mine is exceeding my greatest hopes. She teems with ore which grows richer in silver every day. In six months’ time the shares will be worth four times what they are now.”
“But—but—the papers!—look at the papers,” cried the Doctor.
“What for? They only give the reports on ’Change—the facts that the mine is reported to be in a state of collapse, and that consequently every one has rushed to realise, and make what little he could for what is supposed to be nearly worthless paper.”
“But—tell me again—are you sure that the report is false?”
“Who could know better than I, who have been down every day, who have watched every working, examined each skep of ore that came up, and assayed every pig of lead and ingot of silver. Doctor, I should have thought that you could have trusted me.”
The Doctor sank down into his patients’ chair, and stared at his visitor aghast.