“Sit down, Belton,” said Clive eagerly now. “What news?”
“Shall I—er—”
“Yes, of course. I have no secrets from Major Gurdon.”
The old lawyer passed his silk handkerchief over his forehead, glanced keenly at the Major, and then went on.
“Well, there is no doubt about one thing: a Mr Wrigley, a scheming, money-lending solicitor—rather shady in reputation, but a man who can command plenty of capital—has been buying up every share he could get hold of.”
“Then it is a conspiracy,” cried Clive.
“Not a doubt about it.”
“Then, what to do next. Surely we can have a prosecution.”
“Humph! What for? Sort of thing often going on in the money market, I believe. What have you got to prosecute about?”
“I?”