“Can’t say I do; they go in, I believe, for the purchase and development of properties in Africa and elsewhere, and also for loans to the same sort of concern. Very profitable business, I believe, but needs great experience and flair.”
“Have you ever heard of the Rotunda Syndicate?”
“Never, so far as I know.”
“Then you are not aware that your loan was required for the purchase of a mine from the Rotunda Syndicate?”
“I think I remember something about mining property—I don’t know that I heard the name—didn’t really affect me.”
“It would surprise you to hear that the Rotunda Syndicate is owned by your fellow-director, Lessingham, and that your money—your loan—has gone direct into his pocket—in cash and shares?”
Sir Hunter’s face turned slowly a deep shade of red; the flush spread over his forehead, over his ears, and even down his neck. Marradine saw a small twisted vein stand out on one side of his forehead and pulse violently—a bubble or two appeared at the corners of his mouth. With considerable tact the Assistant-Commissioner rose from his seat and walked to a bookcase, from which he pulled a book of reference. When he returned, Sir Hunter had largely regained his composure, but his face was dark with anger.
“You’re suggesting something very dirty, Marradine,” he said. “Are you sure of this?”
“Pretty sure, I’m afraid, Sir Hunter, though I haven’t seen it proved yet. There’s fraud in it, I’m afraid—though of that I’ve certainly no proof yet. The suggestion is that the mine’s a dud, that Lessingham knows it, and that Wraile knows it.”
“Wraile! Good God, you don’t say he’s in it? He—I—I’d have trusted him anywhere. I put him into our company—as manager; I got him allotted shares—I—I— He was my Brigade Major in France—a damn good fellow—damn fine soldier. I can’t believe it, Marradine—you must be mistaken.”