Sangatte's "study" was just the sort of room I should have expected. That is to say that, with the exception of a large writing-desk, there were no indications that it had ever been the scene of that severe mental energy suggested by its title. Its chief furniture seemed to be a plentiful supply of easy-chairs, a large tantalus spirit-stand, and a very professional-looking card-table in the farther corner.
My noble host started the proceedings by carefully locking the door. Then observing that "a drink wouldn't be a bad thing," he poured out a couple of stiff brandies-and-sodas, and handed one of them to me.
"I wanted that," he said, setting down the empty glass. "I'm just about played out, Northcote, I can tell you. A week of this awful entertaining business would finish me. Have a smoke?"
He held out a cigar-box, and I helped myself to a very promising Laranage.
"Yes," I said, "I can imagine a pleasanter way of spending the evening."
He laughed sourly. "Well, they're going to pay for it—that's one consolation."
Crossing the room to the desk, he opened a drawer, and took out several sheets of typewritten paper.
"Here it is," he said, handing them over to me. "Rosedale and I roughed it out after our last talk with you. I expect you'd like to take it home with you, but you might run through it first, and see if anything strikes you now. I shall be seeing Rosedale again to-morrow."
With a pleasing sense of anticipation, I accepted the papers, and settled myself down comfortably in one of the easy-chairs. One glance showed me that I held in my hand the rough draft of a prospectus, for across the top of the first page, in big capital letters, ran the following announcement:—
THE AMALGAMATED GOLDFIELDS
OF SOUTH AMERICA LTD.
CAPITAL £2,000,000.