‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
He laughed. ‘No need to be sorry. It was his own fault for being such a sucker. I’m telling you this so you’ll understand why old Campbell lived up in the Kingdom. You don’t want to take too much notice of the newspaper stories. That’s just tourist stuff and I’ll admit he put on a good act for them. But the truth lies here in Come Lucky. This derelict bunch of shacks is his doing. There was a lot of wealth here in this town when the big slide sealed the mine.’ He lit another cigarette and snapped his lighter shut by closing his fist on it as though he meant to crush it. ‘And it isn’t only the town that’s derelict,’ he added. ‘Take a look at the old men around here. They’re all old-timers, men who put their money into Campbell’s oil companies and now eke out a pittance doing a bit of farming on the flats around Beaver Dam lake. They just about fill their bellies and that’s all.’
There was nothing I could say. He was giving me the other side of the picture and the violence in his voice emphasised that it was the truth he was telling me. It explained so much, but it didn’t make my problem any easier.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘what are you going to do? If you sell the Kingdom, then Henry Fergus will go ahead with the hydro-electric scheme and Come Lucky will become a flourishing little town again.’
‘And if I don’t?’ I asked.
He hesitated. ‘I don’t know. It just depends.’ He got up and walked over to the window. For a time he stood there, staring up the straggling length of Come Lucky’s main street. Then he turned suddenly to me. ‘This place is what they call a ghost town. You’ve got a chance to bring it back to life.’
‘My grandfather’s will imposed certain obligations on me,’ I said. ‘You see, he still believed-’
‘Obligations, hell!’ he snapped. He came and stood over me. ‘Suppose you go and think this thing over.’ He was looking down at me, his eyes slightly narrowed, the nerves at the corners quivering slightly. ‘I phoned Henry Fergus this morning when I was in Keithley. I tried to get him to increase his offer to you.’
‘It’s not the money,’ I said.
‘Well, maybe.’ He smiled sourly. ‘But money’s a useful commodity all the same. He’s coming up to see the progress they’re making at Larsen. I suggested he came on up here and had a talk with you. He said he would.’ His hand dropped to my shoulder. ‘Think it over very carefully, will you. It means a lot to the people here.’
I nodded and got to my feet. ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I’ll think it over.’
‘Yes. Do that.’
When I got back to the hotel it was tea-time. There was an extra place laid at the big deal table and just after we’d sat down Bladen came in. Several times in the course of the meal I noticed James McClellan looking at me out of the corners of his eyes. He didn’t eat much and as soon as the meal was over he hurried out, presumably down to Trevedian to discover the result of our interview. I went over to Bladen. ‘Can I have a word with you?’ I asked him.
He hesitated. ‘Sure.’ His voice sounded reluctant. We drew our chairs a little apart from the others. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘I suppose it’s about the Kingdom?’ His voice sounded nervous.
‘I believe you did some sort of a survey up there last summer?’
He nodded. ‘A seismographic survey.’ His voice was very quiet, a gentle, musical sound. The scar was white across the smooth, gypsy skin. His eyes were fixed on his hand as he pressed back the cuticles of the nails. The nails were pale against the dark skin. ‘If you want the results of that survey an account was published in the Edmonton Journal of 3rd December.’
‘The results were unfavourable?’
‘Yes.’
‘How reliable is a seismographic survey?’
He raised his head and looked at me then. ‘It won’t tell you definitely where there’s oil, if that’s what you mean. But it gives a fairly accurate picture of the strata and from that the geophysicist can decide whether it’s a likely spot to drill.’
‘I see.’ That was what Acheson had said. ‘Oil is trapped in the rock formations, isn’t it?’ I asked.
‘Yeh, like in an anticline where you have a dome formation and the oil is trapped under the top of the dome.’
‘So the sort of survey you did in Campbell’s Kingdom last year is pretty well a hundred per cent in showing where there’s no likelihood of oil?’
He nodded.
‘In your opinion did that survey make it clear that there could be no oil in the Kingdom?’
‘I think you’ll find the report makes that quite clear.’
‘I’m not interested in the report. I want your opinion.’
His eyes dropped to his hands again. ‘I don’t think you quite understand the way this thing works. My equipment records the time taken by a shock wave to be reflected back from the various strata to half a dozen detectors. It’s the same principle as the echo-sounding device used by ships at sea. All I do is the field work. I get the figures and from these the computers map the strata under the surface.’
‘But you must have some idea how the survey is working out,’ I insisted.
‘All I do is get the figures.’ He got to his feet. ‘You’d better go and talk to Winnick in Calgary if you want to query the results. He charted the area.’
I caught him as he turned towards the door. ‘I’m only asking for your opinion,’ I said. ‘I haven’t time to go to Calgary again.’
‘I have no opinion,’ he replied, his eyes looking towards the door as though he wanted to escape from my questions.
‘All I want to know,’ I said, ‘is whether there is any chance of oil existing under the surface of the Kingdom.’
‘The report says No,’ he replied. ‘Why don’t you write Winnick for a copy and read it?’
Something about his insistence on the report made me wonder. ‘Do you agree with the report?’ I asked him.
‘Look, I’m in a hurry. I’ve already told you-’
‘I’m asking you a very simple question,’ I said. ‘Do you or do you not agree with the report?’
He seemed to hesitate. ‘Yes,’ he said, and pushed quickly by me to the door.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the still open doorway, wondering why he had been so reluctant to commit himself. I went back to the stove and sat there for a while, smoking a cigarette and thinking. I went over again my conversation with Roger Fergus. He had given me to understand that Bladen had been as enthusiastic as my grandfather. And yet now, when I had asked Bladen …
I looked round the room. It was quite empty, but through the door to the scullery I could see Pauline busy at the sink. I went across to her. ‘Could you tell me whether there’s a girl called Jean Lucas still living here?’ I asked. Her little girl clung to her apron and stared up at me with big round eyes, sucking a dirty thumb. ‘She’s English and she used to go up-’
‘Yes, she’s still here,’ she replied. ‘She lives with Miss Garret and her sister.’ She looked at me out of slanting brown eyes as she stretched up to put a plate on the rack. She had a fine, firm figure. ‘If you like I’ll take you over there when I’ve put Kitty to bed.’
I thanked her and went back to the stove.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was about seven-thirty when we left The Golden Calf. We went out by way of the bar. A little huddle of men were bunched around the stove. Their talk ceased abruptly as we entered and they stared at me dumbly, curiously. James McClellan and Creasy were there and the man with the fur cap and the two who had been playing cards when I first arrived. There were others I had never seen before and a little removed from them was the loutish figure of Max Trevedian staring stupidly into the red glow of the stove. At a table by himself Bladen sat over a glass of beer, the scar more noticeable than ever, his dark eyes fixed on my face.