The White Virgin

“In heaven’s name, what fire, sir?” cried Clive, who, after his sleepless night and anxiety, was growing more and more confused.

“For,” continued the Doctor, without heeding the question, “I said to myself: He’s cursedly knowing on ’Change, and for the sake of Janet and his expectations of what he may get from me, he’ll do his best, and he may know where to get a good price.”

“My dear sir, have you taken leave of your senses?”

“Almost, you scoundrel. Money spoils all men. Sucks all the honesty out of them. You’re as bad as the rest. But I didn’t think you would put me in such a hole. Now then: shall I leave them in Jessop’s hands or place them in yours, to cheat somebody else with the cursed rubbish. I’m a bit reckless now, for it’s ruin nearly, and drudgery to the end of my days.”

“Look here,” said Clive excitedly; “do I understand that you have given your shares in the ‘White Virgin’ to Jessop to sell?”

“Of course you do, sir. Was I to wait till they were worth nothing?”

“Look here, Doctor: speak plainly. Are you all right?”

“Confound you, no: I’m all wrong.”

“But explain yourself. Those shares are worth double what you gave for them.”

“I tell you they’re hardly worth their weight as waste-paper,” roared the Doctor. “Don’t stare at me with that miserable assumption of innocency about your cursed bankrupt old mine.”

Clive burst out laughing.

“Why, what do you mean, Doctor? What precious mare’s nest have you been discovering in the dark?”

“Mare’s nest?” cried the Doctor, snatching up a heap of newspapers from a side table, and throwing them in the young man’s lap, “look at that, sir, and that, and that. Four days now has this been going on. I was down in the country at a consultation, and I came back to find myself a ruined man.”

“What!” roared Clive, as his eyes fell upon a notice with a full heading – ”‘Collapse of the “White Virgin” scheme – bubble cleverly inflated – burst at last – serious loss.’ Good heavens!”

“Good other place!” growled the Doctor. “Oh, Clive Reed! You are a broken Reed indeed to lean on, and enter into a poor man’s hand. But there, don’t stop over those papers; they are alike, and the price has gone down to nothing. Tell me; can you sell my shares better than Jessop can? I must have a little back for my outlay.”

“What did Jessop tell you?”

“What does every man tell you when he has you at his mercy? That the paper was worthless, but he might get some speculative fool to buy them; and if I waited there at his office he would try, but I must expect the merest trifle for them.”

“Well?” said Clive, frowning.

“Don’t take it so confoundedly cool, sir. I was obliged to do the best I could, and I put myself in his hands.”

“Well?”

“And he went out and brought the speculative person – a Mr Wrigley, a solicitor.”

“Well?”

“Well! Ill, man, ill!”

“But what did my worthy brother’s friend say?”

“Shrugged his shoulders – said it was throwing money away – mere gambling. He did not want them, but to oblige his old friend, Mr Jessop Reed, he would take them at a pound apiece, and the chance of making an eighth out of them.”

“And you laughed at him?”

“Laughed? I nearly cried at him, and was only too glad to get the little bit of salvage from a man who bought as a speculation, and would not care so much if he lost.”

“But you said you had let Jessop have them to try and sell.”

“Did I? Yes, I think I did.”

“And asked me if you got them back, whether I could deal better with them.”

“Yes, I suppose I did, but I don’t want to swindle any one into buying worthless stock.”

“Look here, Doctor, you are not yourself.”

“Not myself? How can a man be himself under such circumstances. Suppose, though, that I could get them back from the man. He only took them as a favour.”

“Did he pay you?” said Clive eagerly.

“Yes.”

“A cheque?”

“No,” said the Doctor. “I was not going to run any more risks. No cheque: for the residue I insisted upon Bank of England notes and gold.”

“And you were paid like that?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have gone too far to retreat.”

“Oh no, not if we offer the man what he said he would be content with – an eighth. That’s half-a-crown to the hundred pounds, isn’t it?”

“Half-a-crown to the hundred pounds!” said Clive furiously. “Why, as soon as the truth’s known – ”

“They won’t be worth that, eh?” said the Doctor dolefully.

“Oh, Doctor Praed!” cried Clive furiously. “You telegraph to me to come and help you when you have thrown your money into the gutter, and it has been picked up and is gone. It is a swindle – an imposition.”

“Yes, I’ve found out that,” said the Doctor bitterly. “But what are the shares worth then, really?”

“What I told you, sir – double the price they were when so many were apportioned to you. This is some cursed jugglery: a trick – a scare – a false alarm to influence the price of the ‘White Virgin’ shares in the market.”

“What!”

“There isn’t a word of truth in the report.”

“Not a word of truth in the report?”

“No, sir. The mine is exceeding my greatest hopes. She teems with ore which grows richer in silver every day. In six months’ time the shares will be worth four times what they are now.”