The Atruscan Silver mine
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Hambledon and Polsover were walking arm in arm down the Strand.
Their propinquity was not so much a matter of affection as of a mutual desire that their conversation should be unheard by passers-by.
“I tell you, Hambledon,” Polsover was saying, “I don’t like the idea of having Mannister in this at all. In fact I don’t like being in anything with Mannister.”
“Why not?” Hambledon asked. Polsover looked round as though even then he were afraid of being overheard.
“I don’t trust him, Freddy,” he said, under his breath.
“That’s all very well,” Hambledon objected, “but he’s putting up his own money, and if he upsets the apple-cart, he stands to lose as much as any of us.”
Polsover nodded.
“That’s reasonable enough,” he said, “but, Freddy, I’ve always wa
