THE GOLDEN SANDS RIDDLE

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 61, Issue 265, 21 August 1941, Page 7

THE GOLDEN SANDS RIDDLE

by ALEXANDER CAMPBELL.

WHAT THE STORY HAS REVEALED. Peter Crosby, taking a seaside holiday at Marathon, South Africa’s premier resort, meets Lucy Carr, .and falls deeply in love with her. ' Lucy is more interested in him than she would admit. But to Peter the whole affair seems hopeless because the Carr’s are notoriously wealthy and he (Peter) has only the small income of a young man learning his profession-. Peter’s dilemma is apparent to many people. One Mr Monte, a rather rough diamond from Johannesburg; affects to take an interest in him, and tells him he can make a fortune over-night by buying shares known as Golden Deeps. Monte is willing to lend him £IOOO to make the gamble. Monte almost forces the money upon the younger man, and Peter telephones a firm of stockbrokers to buy Golden Deeps (a share which had done badly and is then dormant) at a low price.

CHAPTER 111. MORNING AFTER. Peter Crosby woke from a fantastic dream in which a big man with a diamond on his little finger chased him down-long unending corridors. - He smiled; and then memory leaped up. He recalled 1 Mr Mbnte’s parting gesture, and the heap of banknotes lying where they had been carelessly flung between the two glasses on the table. It all seemed too remote, incredible; and yet it had actually happened. When Mr Monte had gone, he had remained staring at the notes in a dazed fashion. Then he had grabbed them up, stuffed them in his pocket, and rushed out almost knocking over a waiter who got in his path. “Hey!” he yelled. “Hey! Come back!”

But Mr Monte had gone; Peter’s first, impulse had been to go to the Orient Hotel. The only thing that had deterred him was the thought that he might encounter Lucy Carr. In his excited frame of mind, he would not know what to say to-her; and if he told her the story, she might think he had gone crazy. He had compromised by telephoning the hotel, and asking for Mr Monte. He was informed that Mr Monte had gone out, and had not yet returned. He, had asked the hotel to tell Mr Monte to ring him as soon as he got in. Then he had gone into his room to await the call. He locked his door, and took out the notes. He had suddenly become the owner of a thousand pounds. He paced his room restlessly, but, no call came from Mr Monte. An hour passed, and in that time he had a chance to think of many things. Supposing—he could not put ,the thought from him —supposing Mr Monte’s tip were genuine? He had heard of such things. In this country of gold, men became millionaires and paupers overnight. Suppose these shares did go up? He would then be the richer by a thousand pounds, after he had paid back his strange benefactor’s “loan.”

A thousand pounds would give him enough capital at least to make a start with these experiments that he had long planned on paper, a beginning with that new device which might cut down the costs of gold-mining. If ha did not seize this chance, he might struggle on for years, earning a fairly decent salary, but with his talents gradually going to waste. What were the shares? Golden Deeps. He was a mining engineer, not a financier. Ha had heard of Golden Deeps. Hadn’t there been a sudden fall in their value years before? Yes; he had it now.

All gold-mining ventures ara highly speculative.. Heavy losses almost cancel put sudden rewards. Like many another venture, Golden Deeps had started off with rich prospects—an easily worked reef at little depth, and an apparently rich ore. Then, quite suddenly, ,the vein had petered out. They had been comatose for years. If then there had been a fresh find, changing the whole situation of the mine, Monte’s story became less fantastic. If his information were correct, then his gesture could be partly understood. For he would have nothing to lose. Provided Peter were honest, he was sure of .getting his money back. And besides, he looked like the sort of man who had money to burn, and would enjoy making an impulsive, quixotic gesture—especially when it would cost him nothing. Peter came to a sudden decision. He glanced at his watch. Then he went downstairs and rang up the Orient Hotel.

Mr Monte, he was told, had not yet returned. He thought of asking for Sir John Carr. Monte had said he was a friend of the family. But it was difficult to associate that rough diamond with the urbane Sir John. And Lucy’s father might ask questions that it would be difficult to answer.

He spun the dial again instead, and when he got the exchange, asked for a trunk call to Morton and Downey’s offices, Johannesburg. Ten minutes later a perspiring young man put down the phone and wiped his brow. “Phew!” he said. The name of Monte had worked magic. Without raising the slightest difficulty, and without asking a single question, Messrs Morton and Downey had agreed to purchase £IOOO worth of Golden Deeps shares on behalf of Mr Peter Crosby. Peter, sitting up in bed, remembered these things; and he suddenly leaped out from the sheets. Idiot! The paper would tell him the best—or the worst.

The newspaper, even no\V, was peeping a corner under his bedroom door. With trembling fingers he pulled it towards him, and eagerly turned the pages. The news came up and hit him in heavy, leaded type.

Mystery, Detection and Romance.

(Copyright).

He sat down on the bed and, with some difficulty, lit a cigarette. Then he read carefully through the long message.

As he read, he realised that the thing exceeded his wildest dreams. He had been toying with the idea of making a thousand pounds! He laughed shakily.

The Golden Deep engineers had srtcuk one of the richest deposits of ore in the century, the paper stated. The Rand had once again made history. Lucky shareholders who had gone to bed the previous night,' theowners of worthless share certificates, had awakened to find themselves rich. The value of Golden Deeps had soared within a few hours to ten times their value. Mr Monte’s thousands had multiplied ten-fold. Peter was now the richer by ten thousand pounds. He laid the paper aside, and dressed slowly and carefully—chiefly as an exercise of self-control. Then he sought Messrs Morton and Downey on the phone. He got through after little delay. “Mr Peter Crosby speaking,” he said, and was aware that he was breathless. “About these shares —” “Ah, yes, Mr Crosby,” said a pleasant voice. “A thousand pounds, wasn’t it? Congratulations. Now, sir, do you want to hang on to the shares, or sell? If you desire to sell, we can easily find a client —” Peter hesitated, but only for a fraction of time. He was an engineer, not a gambler. What had collapsed like a pricked bubble once might do so again. “Sell,” he said promptly. “Very good, Mr Crosby,” said " the voice. Ignoring breakfast, Peter went out into the sunshine. His first duty was clear. He must seek out Mr Monte. DEEP IN THOUGHT.

"Come on,” said Terence Parry to Lucy Carr, “Plenty time yet before you meet your swain. Let’s go down to the beach.”

Lucy closed the book she was reading, and nodded. “All right, Terry.” She stood up and stretched herself, and Terence watched her admiringly. “It’s a lovely morning. Let’s go.”

Terence Parry shook his dark head. “And a lovely lady. I almost begin to understand why the lad’s heart goes wibble-wobble.”

Lucy smiled. “Honestly, Terry, has your heart never gone wibble-wobble over anyone at all?” The young man shook his head. There was a cough, and Terence half turned. Francis Gould, Sir John Carr’s secretary, stood in the doorway. His eyes were masked behind his thick spectacles. His gaunt, dark face frowned at them. He spoke directly to the girl, ignoring Terry. “Miss Carr —have you seen Sir John?” ’ y “I think he went to see the manager again—about his lost notecase, you know. I haven't seen him since.” Gould nodded, and coughed again. “He. is not with the manager. He must have gofie out. Thank you.”

His dark face vanished from the •doorway.

“Not exactly the ray of sunshine about the home, that chap,” observed Terrence, as they made their way out of the hotel. “We can’t all be as carefree as you,” retorted Lucy. “Mr Gould has to work for his living—and he works very hard, too. He’s an excellent secretary.” “I know,” sighed Terry. “Has all the statistics that were ever printed at his finger-tips. I suppose it’s living with these figures that makes him sad. When he discovers that the percentage. of crushed ore has fallen from 54.9076 to 54.9070, I understand it dlouds his whole day.” Lucy smiled. Terry was an amusing companion. He prattled on. Being fond of the sound of ’ his own voice, he was also l’estful. And, as he had just frankly admitted, women held few charms for him. He treated them as equals, arid would never pursue. This made him an even, more restful companion for the daughter of a millionaire who was very, seldom free from pursuit.

Not that Lucy objected to being admired, but she preferred to be admired for herself rather than for her father's millions.

They made their way out into the brilliant sunshine and along the promthem, the Indian Ocea?i stretched blue and inviting to the horizon. The tawny sands were dotted with multi-coloured sun umbrellas, and bathers splashed in the surf. She was silent, deep in thought. He challenged her, but she evaded the point. Terry laughed. “Would you think of giving me three guesses?” He looked good-humouredly down at her flushed face. ‘.‘You were thinking of a man whose first name is Peter.” “Correct,” said Lucy, “and he’s going to run away.” “Because youVe an heiress?” “Yes.” “Well, I don’t blame the chap. I take it he isn’t a millionaire rich playboy, like me. What else can he do?” “But it’s so silly—so old-fashioned! Just because I’m rich!” “Poor little rich girl!” said Terry, half-mocking. “Sometimes I detest you!” The banter fled from his handsome face, leaving it sober. “Seriously, I didn’t realise —you care for him that much?”

“I—l’ve only known, him a little while. I think so.” “Oh!’ said Terence Parry. Absently, he flicked a stone with his shoe. “Lucy?” “Yes?”

“I suppose you know —or perhaps you didn’t —that your father —I mean the whole thing’s perfectly absurd — but since I blew into your lives sixmonths ago from Rhodesia, your father seems to have taken quite a

fancy to me. I mean, well —” “I understand,” said Lucy, smiling. “I had noticed some symptoms. You mean, he thinks that since we’re both a moneyed couple, an alliance would be just the thing?” Terry looked uncomfortable. “Well —more or less.” “It that’s what’s in his mind, he’s been jolly decent about Peter.” “Yes,’ said Terence thoughtfully. But your father’s not an ogre! If I read your father aright, I’m sure he would never prevent you following—what’s the absurd phrase?—your heart’s desire. If it turned out to be really your heart’s desire. Of course he’d probably want to know more about the chap—” “There’s nothing wrong with Peter,” said Lucy defiantly. “I wasn’t suggesting that.” (To Be Continued).