The sight of his hostess drove all thoughts of sport out of his mind.
She was looking terribly troubled.
It flashed across Roland that both his host and hostess had been
unusually silent at dinner the night before; and later, passing Mr.
Windlebird's room on his way to bed, he had heard their voices, low and
agitated. Could they have had some bad news?
"Mr. Bleke, I want to speak to you."
Roland moved like a sympathetic cow, and waited to hear more.
"You were not up when my husband left for the city this morning, or he
would have told you himself. Mr. Bleke, I hardly know how to break it
to you."
"Break it to me!"
"My husband advised you to put a very large sum of money in a mine
called Wildcat Reefs."
"Yes. Thirty thousand pounds."
"As much as that! Oh, Mr. Bleke!"
She began to cry softly. She pressed his hand. Roland gaped at her.
"Mr. Bleke, there has been a terrible slump in Wildcat Reefs. To-day,
they may be absolutely worthless."
Roland felt as if a cold hand had been laid on his spine.
"Wor-worthless!" he stammered.
Mrs. Windlebird looked at him with moist eyes.
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