“I have come here to-day,” he said, “to speak for a moment”—his voice was husky; he cleared his throat, and went on—“to perform a painful business, to set wrong right. I am prepared, gentlemen, for your opprobrium. You think well of me now, you will not do so long. I have come here to speak to you of that——”
“Sit down,” said Grayleigh’s voice behind him. “You must be mad. Remember yourself.” He laid his hand on Ogilvie’s arm. Ogilvie shook it off.
“I can tell you, gentlemen, what I have come to say in a few words,” he continued. “This report which I drew up, and which I signed, is as false as hell.”
“False?” echoed a voice in the distance, a thin voice from a foreign-looking man. “Impossible!”
“It is false,” continued Ogilvie. “I wrote the report and I ought to know. I spent three weeks at the Lombard Deeps Mine. There were no rich veins of gold; there was a certain alluvial deposit, which for a time, a few months, might yield five ounces to the ton. I wrote the report for a motive which no longer exists. God Himself smote me for my infamous work. Gentlemen, you can do with me exactly as you think fit, but this report, signed by me, shall never go before the world.”
As he said the last words he hastily tore away his own signature, crushed it in his hands and, crossing the room, threw it into a small fire which was burning in the grate.
This action was the signal for great excitement on the part of most of the directors. Others poured out floods of questions. Lord Grayleigh alone remained quietly seated in his chair, but his face was white, and for the time he was scarcely conscious of what he was doing.
“I have no excuse to offer,” continued Ogilvie, “and I refuse to inculpate anyone with myself in this matter. This was my own concern; I thought out the report, I worded it, I signed it. Rycroft was more or less my tool. In the moment of my so-called victory God smote me. You can do with me just as you please, but the Lombard Deeps Company must collapse. I have nothing further to say.”
He left the room, dropping the now worthless document on to the table as he did so. No one interrupted him or prevented his exit. As his footsteps died away on the stairs the discomfited and astonished directors looked one at the other.
“What is the meaning of it all?” said one, going up to Grayleigh; “you are chairman, and you ought to know.”