"Capital!" I answered. "Say nothing about it, and join forces with
Craig-Ellachie."
Charles closed one eye pensively.
That very same evening came a telegram in cipher from our chief
engineer on the territory of the option: "Young Granton has somehow
given us the slip and gone home. We suspect he knows all. But we
have not divulged the secret to anybody."
"Seymour," my brother-in-law said impressively, "there is no time to
be lost. I must write this evening to Sir David--I mean to My Lord.
Do you happen to know where he is stopping at present?"
"The Morning Post announced two or three days ago that he was at
Glen-Ellachie," I answered.
"Then I'll ask him to come over and thrash the matter out with me,"
my brother-in-law went on. "A very rich reef, they say. I must have
my finger in it!"
We adjourned into the study, where Sir Charles drafted, I must
admit, a most judicious letter to the rival capitalist. He pointed
out that the mineral resources of the country were probably great,
but as yet uncertain. That the expense of crushing and milling might
be almost prohibitive. That access to fuel was costly, and its
conveyance difficult. That water was scarce, and commanded by our
section. That two rival companies, if they happened to hit upon ore,
might cut one another's throats by erecting two sets of furnaces or
pumping plants, and bringing two separate streams to the spot,
where one would answer.
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