“And I refused Dickover’s offer,” he concluded bluntly, “and accepted his threat to smash the stock. He’ll do it, too. By this time he’s sent orders to his brokers to sell it, to smash the market flat.”
The girl’s eyes were steady on his.
“I’m content,” she said curtly. “But please explain. You’ve some scheme?”
“You’ve said it. Some scheme! Do you mind if I smoke? My nerves are jumpy, and they’ll be worse before they’re better.”
She made a gesture of impatient assent. He lighted Dickover’s parting gift and for a space sat in silence, his face deeply lined in thought.
“I’ve got to make this clear to you,” he said at last slowly. “You know anything about low-grade silver ores?”
“Very little.”
“They’re low-grade because they are mixed with lead or zinc, hold a small proportion of silver, and yield very small profit. The separation of the silver and zinc is difficult. A hyperstatic process has been invented, but if a chemical process could be found, it would be cheaper and better; besides, it would make a yield of zinc as well as of silver. And to-day both zinc and silver are soaring. You understand?”
She nodded quickly. “And—and you think such a process has been found?”
A gleam of admiration sprang into Bowen’s gray eyes. For the first time, he smiled his likable, boyish smile.