“By a fellow I know named Farrer. He’s been out there and got a concession from the Egyptian Government. And he’s no doubt made a fortune. I wish I were in his shoes!”
Geoffrey held his breath.
“Is your friend Farrer a mining engineer?” he asked.
“Not at all. He’s a speculator—bought the concession off somebody, I suppose. A lucky speculation. I met him the night before last at the Palais de Danse. He had with him a very pretty girl he called Beryl.”
“And I suppose you met an old white-haired man named Whittaker?”
“Oh, yes—‘Daddy,’ they called him,” was the reply.
“And perhaps you met them at Bevin’s night club—eh?” asked Falconer.
“How did you know that?” inquired his friend.
“Well—because I guessed it.”