“They’ll be in all the morning papers, of course.”
“And how long will it be before confidence is restored?”
“Not for long enough, but that will not affect your returns from the mine. But the poor old Doctor; I am sorry that he should have let himself be bitten.”
“A great pity,” said Clive drily; “but never mind that. You will continue to make inquiries.”
“Eh? about the conspiracy? Of course. I have a good man at work—a man who is pretty intimate with the stockbroking set, and I daresay I shall hear more yet.”
“There: now let’s change the subject. You will dine with us to-night, Belton?”
“Well, you see, my dear boy, I—er—”
“You must,” said Clive decisively. “I go back into the country again directly. I have some letters to write now. Seven punctually.”
“Seven punctually,” said the old lawyer, rising. He was punctual to the minute, and he and the Major got on famously as they chatted over old times, but somehow or other the old gentleman would keep reverting to the losses over the shares sustained by Doctor Praed, with the result that the Major did not enjoy his dinner.