“Is it? you’ll see,” muttered the captain.
“A lie, I say!” growled Sturgess, half-deliriously, as he looked round from one to the other, pressing his hand to his heated shoulder all the while. “A lie, I say, to frighten the people into selling their shares, and they did, the fools. Bah! The ‘White Virgin’s’ the richest mine in England, and I’ll break the neck of any one who says it arn’t!”
“No, you won’t break anybody’s neck,” said the man gravely, “unless it’s your own, Mr Sturgess, and unless you take care you’re going to be very badly. It’s all true, Mr Sturgess. I thought that lode couldn’t go on yielding like it did.”
“In Heaven’s name, man, what do you mean?” cried Robson.
“Only this, sir: we’ve come upon a blind lead.”
“What?”
“The lode has stopped dead in the rock, and we can’t find any more trace of it. Nothing but the stone, and I don’t believe there’ll be another scrap of ore ever found.”
“A blind lead,” cried Robson, astounded.
“Yes, sir, that’s it; and if Mr Clive Reed holds any shares still it’s a cruel bit of news for him. As for the other chaps—well, they can take their chance.—Ah, I thought so!”
For Sturgess had reeled and nearly fell, to be lowered down by the man, breathing stertorously, evidently insensible to all that passed around.