“It seems that the young fellow is on the point of obtaining a concession from the Moorish Government to prospect for emeralds somewhere in the Atlas Mountains; I believe it is a place called the Wad Sus. Ever heard of it?”
“Yes,” replied Gray, making a mental note of the region. “I’ve heard of some ancient mines there. But how is he obtaining the concession?”
“Ah! I’ve had a lot of trouble to get that information, and it has cost me a pound or two. But I’ve got it,” laughed the old scoundrel.
“There’s a friend of his who lives at Richmond, a certain Andrew Barclay, who has spent many years in Fez. It seems that young Homfray met him in Santiago last year, and by some means was able to do him a great service. In return, this man Barclay is endeavouring to obtain the concession for prospecting from the Moorish Government.”
“H’m! The Wad Sus region—a very wild mountainous one, inhabited by a wild desert tribe called the Touaregs, men who wear black veils over their faces to protect them from the sandstorms so prevalent in the Sahara. But I’ll look it all up. Where does this man Barclay live?” asked Gray.
“In Underhill Road. Where that is I don’t know—but, of course, it is easily found.”
The master-crook drew several long whiffs at his choice Eastern cigarette.
“Then, after all, it may be to our distinct advantage that Roderick Homfray recovers, Jimmie.”
“What! Then you think that the concession for the emerald prospecting may be worth money?”
“It may be worth quite a lot in the City. A rather attractive proposition—emeralds in the Sahara. I know two or three men who would take it up—providing I could bring them a properly signed and sealed concession. Emeralds are increasing in value nowadays, you know—and an emerald concession is a sound proposition. After all, the lad may yet be of considerable use to us, Jimmie.”