"Not much," snapped the mining man, "but I wish to read you something."
He drew from his pocket a paper.
"This is the confession of Joey Eccles," he said quietly. "I've another by Frederick Palmer."
Mortlake leaped up and sprang toward the Westerner, but Mr. Bell held up his hand.
"Don't try to destroy them," he said. "They are only copies. The originals are by this time in the hands of the authorities at Sandy Beach."
Mortlake sank back with staring eyes and white cheeks.
"What do you want me to do?" he gasped.
"Listen to these confessions and then sign your name to them, signifying your belief that they are true documents."
"And if not?"
"Well, if not," said Mr. Bell, measuring his words, "do you recollect that wild-cat gold mine scheme you were interested in more years ago than you'll care to remember?"