“Well, then, Sir, I have seen it, and that’s the long and short of it.  I would not take such a thing on trust from an angel.”

“So I suspected,” observed Balfour, coolly.  “But as you have told me one lie you may tell me another.  What am I to believe now?”

“The mine is yours, Sir,” answered Solomon, gruffly.  “Let us go down together and look at it.  If Trevethick and I were mistaken—­and I’ll bet you a thousand pounds that we were not—­it is but coming back again, and—­”

“And being made the laughing-stock of all the folks among whom I mean to spend my days,” interrupted Balfour.  “No, no.  If we go, I’ll not have a soul to know of it.  And mind you, if this turns out to be a mare’s nest, I sha’n’t be pleased, my friend.”

“It will not do that, Sir, you may take my word for it,” answered Solomon, earnestly; “and as for going incog., that matter’s easy.  I can start for Gethin, which is my home, and but a stone’s-throw from the very place, on pretense of business; and you, a day or two after, may come down to the inn at Turlock, just to see your purchase.  We need not be so much as seen together, if you so prefer it.”

“I would much prefer it,” observed Balfour, sententiously.

“Very good.  Then here’s my plan:  my father-in-law used to visit Wheal Danes at night; from his doing so, instead of its drawing dangerous attention to the place, as one would think, the rumor arose that the old mine was haunted; corpse-candles, with no hand to carry them, were seen there going up and down the levels, and so the poor fools shunned it after dark.  Well, let us take torch and ladder, and play at corpse-candle.  What say you?”

“Well, I’ll come,” said Balfour, reluctantly, “though I don’t much like the chance of being made a fool of.  What day will suit you best to start?  All’s one to me.”

“I’ll start to-morrow,” said Solomon, with excitement.  “Do you come down, as if into Midlandshire, on Friday:  that’s an unlucky day with Turlock folk, but not with you, I reckon?”

“You’re right there, man,” answered Balfour, slowly.  “Well?”

“On Saturday, at midnight, I will meet you at the old pit’s mouth.  Come, there’s my hand upon it.”

This time Balfour took his companion’s hand, and griped it firmly.

“Then, that’s a bargain, partner,” cried Solomon, gayly.  “Fill up your glass.  Here’s luck to the old mine!”

“Here’s luck,” echoed Balfour, looking steadily at his host, “and to our next merry midnight meeting!”

“Ay, good!  Here’s luck!” quoth Solomon.

CHAPTER XLI.

IN THE TOILS.