“How in all the world did you manage to let him go?” he demanded somewhat sharply of Oliver.
“Why, Charlie,” replied his friend, with a laugh, “you know I have not been trained to the duties of a policeman, and it has always been said that Jim Cuttance was a slippery eel. However, he’s gone now, so we had better have the others placed in safe custody as soon as possible.”
Saying this he passed his arm through that of old Mr Hitchin, and soon after the smugglers were duly incarcerated in the lock-up of Penzance.
Chapter Twenty Four.
Exhibits the Managing Director and the Secretary of Wheal Dooem in Confidential Circumstances, and Introduces the Subject of “Locals.”
About this time that energetic promoter of mining operations, Mr George Augustus Clearemout, found it necessary to revisit Cornwall.
He was seated in an easy-chair in a snug little back-office, or board-room, in one of the airiest little streets of the City of London, when this necessity became apparent to him. Mr Clearemout did not appear to have much to do at that particular time, for he contented himself with tapping the arm of his easy-chair with the knuckles of his right hand, while he twirled his gold watch-key with his left, and smiled occasionally.
To judge from appearances it seemed that things in general were prospering with George Augustus. Everything about him was new, and, we might almost say, gorgeous. His coat and vest and pantaloons had a look and a cut about them that told of an extremely fashionable tailor, and a correspondingly fashionable price. His rings, of which he wore several, were massive, one of them being a diamond ring of considerable value. His boots were faultlessly made, quite new, and polished so highly that it dazzled one to look at them, while his linen, of which he displayed a large quantity on the breast, was as white as snow—not London snow, of course! Altogether Mr G.A. Clearemout was a most imposing personage.