Cunningham began:
“About a year ago the best friend I had—perhaps 235 the only friend I had—died. He left me his chart and papers. The atoll is known, but uncharted, because it is far outside the routes. I have no actual proofs that there will be shell in the lagoon; I have only my friend’s word—the word of a man as honest as sunshine. Where this shell lies there is never any law. Some pearl thiever may have fallen upon the shell since my friend discovered it.”
“In that case,” said Cleigh, “I lose?”
“Frankly, yes! All financial ventures are attended by certain risks.”
“Money? Why didn’t you come to me for that?”
“What! To you?”
Cunningham’s astonishment was perfect.
“Yes. There was a time when I would have staked a good deal on your word.”
Cunningham rested his elbows on the table and clutched his hair—a despairing gesture.
“No use! I can’t get it to you! I can’t make you people understand! It isn’t the pearls, it’s the game; it’s all the things that go toward the pearls. I want to put over a game no man ever played before.”