Men of Affairs Part 7

"It's radium," he said.

She repeated the word dully.

"Radium as it never had been found before. A--whew! an inexhaustible supply. Look--look here!"

He drew from his pocket a small black cylinder with a gla.s.s peephole at the top, protected by a circular cap of a dark substance.

"It's the finest piece of radium ever found," he said, "and where I got it, at a single dip of the shovel--but never mind that. See, protect it with your hand so, and look through that eyehole."

At the bottom of the cylinder was a luminous speck like a fire seen from a long way off. Waves and jags of angry light burst from it ceaselessly, this way and that. The restless ma.s.s was alive, active, burning.

Infinitesimal though its dimensions were it gave a sense of illimitable force and power, a prodigious energy.

Isabel returned the cylinder with a nervous shudder.

"I don't like it," she said. "It--it's horrid somehow--wicked looking."

She shot a quick glance at him. "You say this is going to be of value to the world!"

He nodded.

"Then why are you in danger? Why aren't you protected as someone who-- Why are you in danger?"

He didn't answer at once and again she repeated the question.

"It's this way, dear," he said. "When anything great enough is discovered there is bound to be compet.i.tion. I found the stuff but I haven't the capital to exploit it. I took my samples to a ring of financiers who are backing me."

"Mr. Torrington? Mr. Ca.s.sis?"

"Cranbourne--Frayne--that crowd. By sheer bad luck another ring got news of what was going on and are moving heaven and earth to get a share in the plunder."

"So it's plunder now," she said.

"From their point of view."

"And from yours?"

"Achievement--a game."

"That you're willing to risk your life for."

"One doesn't think of that," he answered.

"I do," she said.

"Wish I could give you some of my enthusiasm. What is it old Kipling says again:

'The game is more than the Player of the Game 'And the s.h.i.+p is more than the crew.'"

"Old Kipling, as you call him, wrote for men. What did he know about _me_?"

"Enough to guess you wouldn't have much use for us if we s.h.i.+rked standing our chances."

"The chances being?"

"The a.s.sault or favour of the other side."

"Favour?" she repeated.

Barraclough nodded and took from his pocket a folded sheet of notepaper.

"Listen to this," he said and read: "'Dear Mr. Barraclough, if you would grant me ten minutes private conversation, at your own convenience, I should be pleased to reward the courtesy with a sum of twenty-five thousand pounds. Faithfully yours, Hugo Van Diest.' And that's only ground bait."

"Did you meet him?"

"No fear."

Isabel rubbed her forehead perplexedly.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, "I don't understand. But if this radium belongs to your side already----"

"That's just it," he explained. "I haven't got the concession yet. They know that--it's what makes 'em so devilish active. You'll understand they'll do their best to prevent me getting to the place."

Her eyes opened very wide.

"Their best? D'you mean they'd----"

"Lord, no. There'd be no point in that unless they had the map reference first."

"You'll be gone three weeks?"

"That's all."

"They'll follow you?"

"You bet they'll try."

"Suppose they got you! Tony! _Tony_, they might try and make you speak."

He did his best to calm her but she went on furiously.

"It's true. Men are brutes--vile beasts--where money is concerned. Oh, I hate this--hate every bit of it. Power--healing--it's only another name for the money grab--the horrible cutthroat money grab. Tony, you shan't go--I won't let you go--I'll prevent you by every means----"

"Now, my dear," he begged, putting his arms about her, "be a good sensible little girl--be a baby for three weeks. You've all your trousseau to get--heaps of people to see. Why not run over to Paris for a week? Then there's my mother in Devon. She'd be tremendously bucked if----"

"Is this place abroad?" said Isabel.

"I can't tell that even to you."

"When are you starting?"