“Who is to do the assaying?”
“Cruse & Cupell, near Sixth Avenue and Twenty-third Street.”
“Who is the expert?”
“Orlando G. Bates.”
“I know Bates, and he’s as straight as a string. The assayers are all right, too. Will Yasmar be present during the assaying?”
“No; no one but Mr. Bates, my uncle and the Boston men. Will you take the case for me, Mr. Carter?”
“It’s hardly a ‘case,’ Mr. Lansing. You want me to prove to your uncle that the Royal Ophir mine has been ‘salted,’ as the saying is.”
“That’s it. I’m sure the mine has been ‘salted,’ and I’m also sure that neither the expert nor my uncle nor the Boston men are clever enough to discover it. You are the only one who can do that, Mr. Carter.”
The detective smiled at the young man’s confidence.
Before he could answer Lansing’s question, another rap fell on the door, and the servant handed in a card bearing the following name: