The White Virgin

“But – but – the papers! – look at the papers,” cried the Doctor.

“What for? They only give the reports on ’Change – the facts that the mine is reported to be in a state of collapse, and that consequently every one has rushed to realise, and make what little he could for what is supposed to be nearly worthless paper.”

“But – tell me again – are you sure that the report is false?”

“Who could know better than I, who have been down every day, who have watched every working, examined each skep of ore that came up, and assayed every pig of lead and ingot of silver. Doctor, I should have thought that you could have trusted me.”

The Doctor sank down into his patients’ chair, and stared at his visitor aghast.

“Clive Reed – Clive, my boy – is – is this true?”

“You know it is true, sir!” cried the young man savagely, as he now took up the Doctor’s rôle of patrolling the room. “Do you, who have known me from a boy, ask me whether I would have deliberately swindled you into putting your savings into a worthless venture?”

“No, no, not wilfully, my boy, but by a mistake.”

“Mistake! There was no mistake. Doctor, an enemy hath done this thing, and people are only too ready to believe the evil instead of the good. Well, I’m glad I know. But how is it that no report has reached me at the mine? Why, of course: I have seen no paper for days. I am so busy that I often do not open them when they come over from the town.”

“Then – then this really is a false report, Clive?”

“Literally false, sir, and you have thrown your thousands away.”

The Doctor groaned.

“No, no: not yet. There is hope. Look here. I must buy those shares back at once.”

“Bah!” exclaimed Clive. “Look here, Doctor: if I were dangerously ill I would sooner trust you than any man in London; but in money matters I think just as my poor father thought.”

“That I was a mere baby? Yes, he always told me so,” said the Doctor, with a sigh. “But I made a lot of money, too.”

“Yes, sir, but couldn’t keep it,” cried the young man angrily.

“Don’t – don’t jump on me now I’m down, Clive, my boy,” cried the Doctor piteously. “I have been an old fool. I ought to have trusted you that you would warn me. But you were away; all London was ringing with the business, and in my rage and disappointment I thought I was doing right.”

“I suppose so,” said Clive bitterly.

“But it is not too late. We’ll go up to your brother at once.”

“My brother will only be too glad to triumph over you.”

“But this Mr Wrigley?”

“Knew perfectly well what he was about, or he would not have bought.”

“But I must buy again, if not from him – from some one else.”

“You cannot. As soon as the truth is known the shares will go back to their old place at a bound, and then in the reaction rise rapidly, for the public will grasp that the mine must be as it is, exceedingly valuable.”

“But before the truth is known.”

“I shall go and get it made known on ’Change the moment it is open, sir.”

“But – but if you waited a little while, Clive, to give me time, I – ”

“My old friend – my father’s trusted companion would not ask me to wait an instant before crushing a blackguardly conspiracy, sir. I cannot wait, and if I can trace this business to the source, I’ll do it, if it costs me thousands.”

“You – you don’t think that Jessop – ”

“No!” cried Clive fiercely. “I don’t – I won’t think such a thing of my own brother. He ousted me in one great aim of my life; he is a spendthrift, and dishonourable enough; but, hang it, no, I won’t give him the credit for this.”

There was a tap at the door.

“Yes. Come in.”

The Doctor’s quiet, grave servant in spotless black, looking as if he had been up for hours, entered with a tray, bearing hot tea and dry toast, placing it upon the table without a word, and leaving at once.

“Take some tea, Clive, my boy,” said the Doctor, going quietly now to his visitor, placing his hands upon his shoulders, and pressing him down into a chair. “Forgive me, my dear boy. No; of course, you could not do such a dishonourable act. I beg your pardon.”

“Granted, Doctor.”

“Confound the money, my boy! It’s my savings, but I should never have spent a penny on myself. Let it go, I won’t stir a peg about it, and I’ll never try to save again. I can always earn guineas enough to pay my way, and that must do for the while I live. There; I’m better now,” he continued, as he took a seat and helped himself to some tea. – “Hah! capital cup this. I’m very particular about my tea. And so you’re doing well down in Derbyshire?”

“Wonderfully, sir.”

“That’s right. I’m very glad of it. Clive, my boy, I’ve been studying up the digestive functions a good deal, and I’ve had to read a paper upon it. I’m getting honourable mention.”

Clive looked at him wonderingly, and the Doctor saw it.

“It’s all right, my boy. I have no business to dabble in money affairs. That’s all over now. I have too much to do in assuaging human ills to think any more about my losses; but I’m afraid that some people among your father’s old friends will be very hard hit.”

“Good heavens!” cried Clive, starting up.

“What is the matter?”

“I have a friend down at the mine, who has bought pretty largely – for him – and if this cursed rumour reaches his ears, – here, I must go back by the next train. No, I cannot. I must stop in town, and have this report thoroughly contradicted by letters in the papers, and advertisements, as well as by personal visits to our old friends. Have you a telegram form?”

“Yes, plenty, my dear boy. There: in the drawer.”

Clive hastily wrote a telegram for the Major, telling him that if any report reached him, or he saw anything in the papers respecting the stability of the “White Virgin” mine and its shares, he was to pay no heed whatever.

“Can your man take this for me?”

“Of course,” cried the Doctor, ringing, and the quiet, grave-looking servant appeared.

“Take a cab and go to the Charing Cross Post Office. That is open all night. You will pay for a special messenger to ride or drive over with it at once. The town is ten miles from Major Gurdon’s cottage. Quick, please: it is important.”

He handed the man some money, and in two minutes the front door was closed.

“Hah! That is a relief,” said Clive, with a sigh. “A quiet old officer who lives retired there, Doctor. He too has put his all into the mine. We have become very intimate.”