He put both his hands up to his head and beat his skull with his clenched fists. 'How can I make him see it?' he asked, swinging suddenly round on me. 'Listen, my boy — all my life I've worked for this. For nearly thirty years nothing else mattered. I worked in Wheal Garth when I was a boy. I saw that ore. I saw it with my own eyes. And no one else saw it. They all missed it. I became a shareholder. I got more shares. They closed the mine. I bought 'em out. Wheal Garth belongs to me. All that tin! And now my son doesn't understand. He's going to let the sea into the Mermaid. And he's got you here to do it. You're the man who's going to wreck my whole life.'
He suddenly took me by the shoulders. His face was so near to mine that his beard touched my chin. 'You can't do it. Do you understand? You mustn't do it, I'll — I'll — " He took his hands quickly from my shoulders. He was trembling all over. He picked up the ore, and fondled it as though it were a child.
I felt sorry for him. I could understand his rage and frustration. Suppose I had struck lucky out there in the Coolgardie and then been unable to get capital to develop. But he could get capital surely. He could float a company. Anybody would back a mine that yielded tin like that. I suggested this, but he rounded on me. 'No,' he cried. 'No, never. Wheal Garth belongs to me. I'll develop it myself or I'll leave it to rot down there under the sea.'
Perhaps he wasn't sure of himself? 'Are you sure it goes right down?' I asked.
'No,' he said. 'Of course I'm not sure. How can any one be sure in mining? All I know is that I saw this lode when I was a boy down at the sixteen level. And only a week ago I found a similar lode at a hundred and twenty fathoms. That proves nothing. But here, look at this.' He threw the lump of ore on to a chair and seized hold of a big diagram. 'When they opened up the Botallack mine they found as many as ten floors of tin, each floor separated by floors of country little more than three foot thick. They were horizontal, beginning with the Bunny. Now, then, look at this. It's a geological map.' He spread the diagram out on the arm of my chair. 'There's Botallack. There's Wheal Garth almost next door. And Come Lucky. See how the strata goes along the coast. It's horizontal. But look at it out here under the sea. It suddenly folds up — from being horizontal it dips at an angle of nearly fifty degrees. When I first met that lode at the sixteen level I was in a gallery that ran a mile out under the sea. The Mermaid is only half a mile out. I can't be sure — but it seems reasonable to suppose that the lode in the Mermaid is the upper end of the lode at the sixteen level.'
'This diagram's accurate, I suppose?' I said.
He nodded. 'It was the result of information pooled by the mine captains of Botallack, Wheal Garth and Come Lucky in 1910 — that's when all three mines were working and making money.' He sighed and rolled up the diagram. 'I'm glad you understand. I've nobody to discuss it with here. If only you were my son.' He fell to pacing the room, combing his beard with his fingers. 'I must stop him letting the sea into the Mermaid. If he does that it will cost so much more to work that lode.' He suddenly turned to me. 'I suppose he has some sort of hold on you. He has on most men who come here. But you could leave this country, couldn't you? How much would you take to leave the country? I'll let you have fifty pounds more than he's going to give you. How much will you take?' His voice was eager. It was incredible how childish was his trust.
I said, 'He would only get another miner.'
'No,' he said. 'No, it's not so easy as that. He's been wanting one for a year, but he couldn't find anyone — er — suitable. And soon he'll get bored with this business of running liquor. It's excitement, not money he likes. Then he'll go away and leave me in peace to develop the Mermaid. Look — I'll give you fifty pounds more than he's giving you and then, when I start work, you shall come back and I'll make you bal captain. We'll start in a small way at first, and we'll gradually build up. The lode will pay for development as we go. We'll start from nothing and build the greatest mine in Cornish history.' His eyes had a faraway look. He was in a dream world of his own. This, I thought, was the real Cornish adventurer — the men my father had talked about, who'd start from small beginnings and build and build and build. Almost he fired my imagination — I who had seen the great mines of the Rockies and Malaya.
'Well,' he asked. 'What do you say, boay?' The Cornish accent had become more pronounced in his excitement.
I said, 'I'll let you know tomorrow, sir.' I was thinking that this was my way out. With money in my pocket I could surely be out of the country before Manack could get the police on my track. I didn't trust Captain Manack. I didn't trust the set-up. The police were on the track of this racket. It would only be a question of time before they raided the place. 'Could you give me cash?' I asked.
He nodded. 'I have a little money put by. How much?'
'He owes me a hundred and forty-five of my own which Mulligan stole from me. And for the work he offered me twenty quid a week and a fifty pound bonus when I'd completed the job. Call it two-fifty.'
'Very well.' He held out his hand. That's kind of you, my boy. And I shall not forget. Let me know where you go finally When I start developing, then I'll let you know, and if you want the job you can come over. That's a promise.'
I left him then. He was standing by the fire, the lump of ore in his hands, and his fine bearded head bent in thought. It was as though all his existence were in that great lump of tin. I remembered the fierce light in his eyes as he told me how he had worked to gain control of the mine. He was a terrible and pathetic figure.
I went along the cold, damp corridor to the kitchen. The girl was there, sitting by the fire, her chin resting on her hands. Her bare arms were red with the glow of the fire. She looked up startled, as I entered. The old woman was making porridge. The girl stared at me for a second, her lips parted. Then she got to her feet and hurried out into the scullery as though intent on some household task. I called out to her. She stopped, looking at me nervously as though held there by something about me that fascinated her.
'Will you show me to my room, please?' I said.
'No.' Her voice sounded abrupt and harsh. Then, as though to cover her abruptness, she added, 'I–I must see about the milk. It may turn sour in this storm.' She turned to the old woman, who had stopped stirring the porridge. 'Mrs Brynd, show Mr O'Donnel to the — attic-room.' That slight hesitation — I don't know why, but it worried me.
The old woman's face wrinkled up in a leathery smile. 'Do a yourself,' she said. Then she glanced up at me and I saw a flicker of some expression in her eyes. I can't describe it. All I know is that it was hostile.
The girl hesitated. I couldn't see it, but I knew she was trembling — like a horse that is afraid to take a jump. 'All right,' she said, heavily. 'I'll show you.' She picked up the lamp and led the way out into the corridor, leaving the old woman stirring her porridge.
She mounted the stairs slowly, almost reluctantly. The lamplight threw her shadow grotesquely on the walls of the old staircase. The wind beat against the window at the top of the stairs. We went down a narrow landing with peeling walls and then up a narrow, uncarpeted staircase. There was a door at the top with a queer little hatch cut in it. She hesitated, half turned and looked down at me as though to say something. She raised the lamp slightly. It seemed to me that she raised it in order to see me better. Then she turned quickly and opened the door.