Clive caught them up one by one, and pointed out letter and advertisement denying the truth of the rumour, and denouncing it as a financial trick to depreciate the value of the shares.
“But it will not stop the panic,” said Clive sadly. “People will believe the lie, and turn away from the truth. I have given instructions to buy up every share that is offered, but I find that a Mr Wrigley is buying up all he can get.”
“Yes,” said the Major faintly. “I believe he is the man who bought mine.”
“Tchah!” ejaculated Clive. “Yes, it is a conspiracy for certain. There: write a message and send off at once to Dinah. Tell her it is as she believed, only a rumour, and that everything is right.”
“Everything wrong, you mean,” groaned the Major. “How can I write that?”
“Because everything will be all right, sir. You do not think I am going to let my dearest wife’s father suffer for an error of judgment?”
“No, no,” groaned the Major, “I cannot lower—I cannot—God in Heaven! how could I have been such a fool.”
“Because, my dear sir,” said Clive, patting his shoulder affectionately, “you are not quite perfect. There, send the message at once. Poor darling! She must be in agony.”
The Major’s face went down upon his hands.
“Send it—you—you can write—”