“Possibly a sort of up-to-date Sweeney Todd’s?”

“I’d heard of such things in London,” admitted Draycott.  “Anyway, I got out.  It was a mistake; I see it now.  Who is to believe me as it is—­it sounds a sort of unlikely tale.  And how do they come to pick on me? to know what I had?  I don’t drink, or open my mouth, or hell round.  It beats me.”

“They didn’t pick on you—­you picked on them,” replied Carrados.  “Never mind how; you’ll be believed all right.  But as for getting anything back—­” The unfinished sentence confirmed Mr. Draycott in his gloomiest anticipations.

“I have the numbers of the notes,” he suggested, with an attempt at hopefulness.  “They can be stopped, I take it?”

“Stopped?  Yes,” admitted Carrados.  “And what does that amount to?  The banks and the police stations will be notified and every little public-house between here and Land’s End will change one for the scribbling of ‘John Jones’ across the back.  No, Mr. Draycott, it’s awkward, I dare say, but you must make up your mind to wait until you can get fresh supplies from home.  Where are you staying?”

Draycott hesitated.

“I have been at the Abbotsford, in Bloomsbury, up to now,” he said, with some embarrassment.  “The fact is, Mr. Carrados, I think I ought to have told you how I was placed before consulting you, because I—­I see no prospect of being able to pay my way.  Knowing that I had plenty in the safe, I had run it rather close.  I went chiefly yesterday to get some notes.  I have a week’s hotel bill in my pocket, and”—­he glanced down at his trousers—­“I’ve ordered one or two other things unfortunately.”

“That will be a matter of time, doubtless,” suggested the other encouragingly.

Instead of replying Draycott suddenly dropped his arms on to the table and buried his face between them.  A minute passed in silence.

“It’s no good, Mr. Carrados,” he said, when he was able to speak.  “I can’t meet it.  Say what you like, I simply can’t tell those chaps that I’ve lost everything we had and ask them to send me more.  They couldn’t do it if I did.  Understand sir.  The mine is a valuable one; we have the greatest faith in it, but it has gone beyond our depth.  The three of us have put everything we own into it.  While I am here they are doing labourers’ work for a wage, just to keep going ... waiting, oh, my God! waiting for good news from me!”

Carrados walked round the table to his desk and wrote.  Then, without a word, he held out a paper to his visitor.

“What’s this?” demanded Draycott, in bewilderment.  “It’s—­it’s a cheque for a hundred pounds.”

“It will carry you on,” explained Carrados imperturbably.  “A man like you isn’t going to throw up the sponge for this set-back.  Cable to your partners that you require copies of all the papers at once.  They’ll manage it, never fear.  The gold ... must go.  Write fully by the next mail.  Tell them everything and add that in spite of all you feel that you are nearer success than ever.”