"I say, Gainsford, what are Ceruleans?"
"Ceruleans?" Mr Gainsford fixed his eyeglass into his eye. "Ceruleans?" Mr Gainsford thrust his hands into his breeches pockets. "What do you know about Ceruleans?"
"I don't know anything, only some fool or other has been advising me to buy them."
Mr Gainsford eyed Mr Coventry for some moments before he spoke again.
"Coventry, would you mind stepping into my sitting-room?" Mr Coventry stepped in. "I should be obliged if you would tell me who has been advising you to buy Ceruleans. I give you my word that you shall not suffer through giving me the name of your informant. I don't know if you are aware that I am a member of the London Stock Exchange."
"I can't give you the name of my informant, because I don't know it myself. I have just had that sent me through the post. From whom it comes I know no more than Adam."
Mr Coventry handed him the paper on which were the two type-written words, "Buy Ceruleans." Mr Gainsford eyed this very keenly. Then he applied an equally keen scrutiny to Mr Coventry himself.
"Odd! Very odd! Very odd indeed!"
He paused, then continued with an air of quite judicial gravity,--
"Ceruleans, Mr Coventry, is Stock Exchange slang for an American mine which has just struck oil. The fact of its having done so is known, as yet, in England, to only one or two persons. Until you showed me that sheet of paper, I was under the impression that it was known only to one other person beside myself. Whoever sent you that piece of paper is in the know. Your correspondent has given you a recipe for a fortune."