“Very well, sir,” replied Lord Farncombe’s old butler rather stiffly, taking his hat and umbrella, and asking him into the library.
A couple of minutes later the bearded old financier entered with outstretched hand, and smiling.
“I really must apologise, Mr Sandys,” Rutherford said. “It’s awfully early, I know, but between business men the hour, early or late, doesn’t really count—does it? At least, we say so in New York.”
“I agree,” said Mr Sandys with a smile, and then when both were seated, Rutherford said:
“I’ve come to you, Mr Sandys, with a very important proposition—one in which you will at once see big money—the concession for some ancient emerald mines in Morocco.”
“Do you mean the Wad Sus mines?” asked Sandys, much surprised.
“Yes. I have arranged with my friend, His Excellency Mohammed ben Mussa, the Moorish Minister of the Interior, for a concession in perpetuity over the whole region, subject to a payment on results to His Majesty the Sultan.”
“I really don’t understand you,” exclaimed Elma’s father, looking straight in his face. “A concession has already been granted to a young man of my acquaintance, Mr Homfray.”
“Not of the same mines—ancient ones, from which one big dark-coloured emerald has quite recently been taken? That can’t be?”
“But it is.”