Mr. Littleham, in a remarkably thick voice, intervened.
“I can run ’em up six-roomers at three hundred quid; eight and ten at five; and a country villa, with half an acre of garden, for a thousand,” he announced, relapsing at the conclusion of his sentence into his former state of sombre watching.
“There’s a very fair profit to be made, you see,” Mr. Dane Montague pointed out, “on the sale of the land and houses, without going more closely into the figures, but we want to be dead straight with you, Mr. Pratt. There should be an additional profit on the electric light and water which we supply from the Cropstone Wood Company.”
“I see,” Jacob remarked thoughtfully. “When they’ve bought their land, and the houses are beginning to materialise, you can charge them what you like for the water and lighting.”
Mr. Dane Montague beamed, with the air of one whose faith in the shrewdness of a fellow creature has been justified.
“You’ve hit the bull’s-eye,” he declared. “We’ve got the cost of service all worked out, and, added to the price we’ll have to pay for the Company, it don’t come to more than forty thousand pounds. Then we shall have the whole thing in our own hands and can charge what we damned well please.”
Jacob leaned back in his chair and surveyed his two visitors. There was a gleam in his eyes which might have meant admiration – or possibly something else. Neither of the two men noticed it.
“It’s quite a scheme,” he remarked.
“It’s a gold mine,” Mr. Dane Montague pronounced enthusiastically.
“There’ll be pickings every way,” the builder murmured thickly, with a covetous gleam in his eyes.
Jacob glanced at his watch.
“I’ll see the property this afternoon,” he promised. “If your statement is borne out by the facts, I am willing to come in with you. How much money do you require from me?”
Mr. Dane Montague coughed. Mr. Littleham looked more stolid than ever.
“The fact of the matter is,” the former explained, “Mr. Littleham here is tied up with so much land that he has very little of the ready to spare at present. Personally, I have been so fortunate lately in the City, had so many good things brought to me by my pals, that I am pretty well up to the neck until things begin to move.”
Jacob studied the speaker thoughtfully. He was an observant person, and he noticed that Mr. Dane Montague’s glossy hat showed signs of frequent ironing, that there were traces of ink at the seams of his black coat, and the suggestion of a patch on the patent boot which lingered modestly under his chair.
“You mean, I suppose, that you wish me to provide the whole of the capital?” Jacob remarked.
Mr. Dane Montague coughed.
“You happen to be the only one of the trio who has it in fluid form,” he pointed out. “It would suit us better to recognise you a little more generously in the partition of the profits as the land is sold, and for you to finance the whole thing.”
“I have no objection to that,” Jacob decided, “provided I am satisfied in other respects. How far is this delectable spot by road?”
“Twenty-two miles,” Mr. Littleham replied. “Barely that if you know the way.”
“I will inspect the property this afternoon,” Jacob announced.
“Capital!” Mr. Dane Montague exclaimed. “You are a man after my own heart, Mr. Pratt. You strike while the iron’s hot. Now what about a little lunch, say at the Milan, before starting?”
“On condition that I am allowed to be host,” Jacob stipulated, “I shall be delighted.”
Mr. Dane Montague chuckled. The suggestion relieved him of a certain disquietude regarding the contents of his pocketbook.
“No objection to that, I am sure, Mr. Pratt,” he declared. “Eh, Littleham? At one o’clock at the Milan Grill, then.”
“You can rely upon me,” Jacob promised.
He entertained his two new friends to a very excellent lunch, but he insisted upon bidding them au revoir on the threshold of the restaurant. Jacob had views of his own about inspecting the Cropstone Wood Estate.
“I wish to form a wholly unbiased opinion as regards the value of the property,” he declared, “and I should much prefer to walk over it alone. Besides, if we are all of us seen there together – ”
“I quite understand,” Mr. Dane Montague interrupted. “Not another word, Mr. Pratt. Littleham, direct Mr. Pratt’s driver,” he added. “I have never been down by road myself.”
Littleham entered into explanations with the chauffeur, and Mr. Montague conversed in low but earnest tones with Jacob upon the pavement.
“Don’t think, Mr. Pratt,” he said, “that we are asking you to take part in a speculation, because we are not. That land at forty pounds an acre is a gift. You could buy it and forget all about it for ten years, and I wouldn’t mind guaranteeing that you doubled your capital. It’s just one of those amazing chances which come now and then in a man’s lifetime. The only thing that rather put us in a corner was the fact that the money has to be found within forty-eight hours. That won’t worry you, Mr. Pratt.”
“It will make no difference to me,” Jacob admitted.
“Then good luck to you and a pleasant journey,” was Mr. Montague’s valediction.
Jacob called for Dauncey, and after an hour’s ride they had tea in a small country town and walked along the edge of the common which Mr. Dane Montague had described. From the top of the ridge they obtained a fair view of the entire property. Jacob sat upon a boulder, lit a cigarette and contemplated it thoughtfully. He confessed himself puzzled.
“They look wrong ’uns, those two,” he observed, “but this land’s all right, Dauncey. It’s a capital building site.”
Dauncey plucked at his lower lip.
“I don’t know anything about property,” he admitted. “Never owned a yard of land in my life. Yet it seems to me there must be a hitch somewhere.”
A young man came strolling along the path, apparently on his way to the town. Jacob accosted him politely.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening,” the other replied, a little gloomily.
“Fine view here,” Jacob observed.
“Not bad,” the newcomer answered, without enthusiasm.
Jacob produced his case, and the young man accepted a cigarette.
“Are you a resident in these parts, may I ask?” Jacob enquired.
“For my sins. I’ve just set up an office in Cropstone.”
“Are you, by any chance, a lawyer?”
The young man laughed.
“Do I carry my profession about with me to that extent? Yes, I’m a lawyer. Mark Wiseman, my name is.”
“Not too many clients yet, eh?” Jacob asked kindly.
The aspirant to legal fame made a grimace.
“Too near London.”
Jacob looked down the ridge.
“Fine building property this seems,” he observed.
The other assented. “It’s for sale, I believe.”
“I happen to know that it’s for sale,” Jacob continued, “and