'What about the old man?' I asked. 'How does he react to havin' his mine opened up for liquor running? He got pretty mad at his son this evening when he told him he was going to let the sea into the Mermaid gallery.'
'Oh, you don't want ter take no notice of the old man,' Friar answered. 'He's ab't as daft as a coot. Only 'e doesn't look daft. Reck'n 'e oughter be shut up in the loony-bin. Spends all 'is time da'n in the mine, jabberin' away to 'isself. An' yet 'e's a fine-looking ol' cove. Bet 'e played 'avoc wiv the ladies when 'e was a young man. 'E's bin married twice, yer know. The Capting's 'is son by 'is first wife.'
'An' the girl's his daughter by the second?'
'No. She ain't nuffmk to do wiv 'im, as yer might say. She's 'is stepdaughter. I told yer that afore. 'Is second wife was 'er muvver. Then there was some sort of 'ousekeeper 'e 'ad 'ere. She went and walked over Botallack 'ead. There's some wot say as 'ow she did it because 'e didn't love 'er any more. An' there's others wot say she was driven to it by her conscience — there's a story that she killed 'is second wife — that's Kitty's muvver — on account of 'er 'aving stolen the ol' man's haffections. I dunno wot truth there is in it. Usually there ain't no smoke wivout there 'aving bin a bit o' fire. But don't go talking to Kitty aba't it. The poor kid's muvver was fa'nd at the bottom o' one of the shafts up the 'ead. Anyway, 'e certainly knocked 'em da'n the ol' Kent Road. But now e's reckoned to be a bit daft. Yer see 'e ain't interested in nothing but the one thing — Wheal Garth. 'E's got a bee in 'is bonnet that this is the mine wot'll put the Cornish mining industry on its feet again. Terrible ra's 'im an' the Capting 'as. They were at it only last night. You wouldn't fink by the way they carry on that they was father and son.'
'What's it about?' I asked.
'The mine. Always the ruddy mine.' Friar had finished his stew and sat picking his teeth with a matchstick. 'Wen I come 'ere first — it was all on account o' my being the Capting's batman when 'e was in England. Cor, the larks 'e used to get up to! I remember when 'e started an illicit still. 'E was making gin in one o' the baths in the officers' mess with yeast and juniper berries an' I don't know wot else. The Colonel was a teetotal — that didn't hexactly 'elp when 'e got to know aba't it. Reck'n that's wot got the Capting sent overseas so quick. Not that 'e cared. Anyway, when I comes 'ere first, the mine was all flooded up to the sea level, ol' man Manack was broke an' the 'ouse was a shambles. Well, the Capting gets in touch wiv me and we start blasting a't the main adit till it's wide enuff ter take our barge, and then 'e starts runnin' cargoes. An' as soon as there's some brass comin' in, there's the ol' man wantin' the Capting to open up the mine. "Not bloody likely," 'e says. I 'card 'im say it meself. Couldn't 'elp it seein' 'as 'ow 'e shouted it at the top of 'is voice da'n in the adit there. Ain't no respecter of persons, the Capting — not even 'is own father.'
'Suppose you stop talking for a moment and get O'Donnel a drink,' Slim Matthews suggested. 'If ye're gettin' firsty why don't yer git it yourself?' 'Oh, all right.' Slim uncoiled his long body from his chair and went out. Friar got up and switched on the radio in the corner. 'See wot was I talkin' aba't?' he said, sitting down beside me again. 'Oh, I remember — the Capting an' the ol' man. Well, a'ter a few runs, the Capting 'as 'is bright idea, see. So 'e gets a pump installed an' starts de-watering the mine da'n aba't fifty foot below sea level.' The radio came on with an announcer reading the news. 'The ol' man's all for goin' deeper. But the Capting 'as 'is own ideas. That's when the ra's begin. Well, one day las' week the ol' man, whose bin ferreting ara'nd da'n in the Mermaid, 'e comes rushin' along the gallery all wide-eyed an' shoutin' blue murder fer the Capting. An' there's 'ell ter pay. The ol' gent's yellin' an screamin' an' the Capting sharp and cool like. I thought the ol' man was goin' right off his — " He suddenly stopped. The announcer's voice had mentioned a name that brought me up with a jolt. The Isle of Mull. ' — out all day searching for the missing ship. The police are also making inquiries about David Jones, captain and owner of the Isle of Mull. So far no report has been received of any ship having sighted the Isle of Mull after the time at which it is believed the revenue cutter may have intercepted her. Penzance police and Customs officials have reason to believe that the Isle of Mull was engaged in running cargoes of wines and spirits into the country. The revenue cutter was sent out on Wednesday to intercept the Isle of Mull. Since then no trace of the crew of four has been found, though the cutter itself was discovered abandoned on a lonely stretch of beach not far from Penzance this morning. Scotland Yard admitted, in an interview, that considerable quantities of liquor were being smuggled into this country and they have reason to believe that it may be coming in through Cornwall and other areas of the south-west.' 'Cor, chase me up a gum tree!' muttered Friar.
'Is the Isle of Mull one of Captain Manack's ships?' I asked, more to see what he'd say than anything else.
He glanced at me sharply. His face, drained of all blood, looked grey and his fat little cheeks seemed to have fallen. He no longer looked genial. There was a mean look in his eyes as though he were scared.
He didn't say anything and when Slim came back with a bottle of cognac, he sat drinking in silence. 'What's upset our chum?' Slim asked me. When I told him about the Isle of Mull he smiled sardonically. But he didn't say anything. He seemed withdrawn into his own thoughts. Shortly afterwards Friar and Slim went out. They took the bottle with them.
Left to myself I realised I was very tired. I got up and went through into the kitchen. An old women was sitting by the fire. I asked her to show me my room. She led the way out into the corridor. At the foot of the stairs she stopped and stood aside. 'The master,' she whispered. The old man was coming down the stairs, a lamp in his hand. It shone on his beard and his eyes glittered in his ruddy face.
80 — 'Ah, O'Donnel,' he said. 'Just the man I wanted to see. Come into my study a minute, will you?'
I hesitated. He went straight on along the corridor, oblivious of my hesitation. I followed him. He was waiting for me at a door at the end of the passage. With a strangely old-world courtesy, he stood aside to let me go in. I found myself in a small and incredibly untidy room, furnished largely in mahogany. There were microscopes and scales and other laboratory equipment all mixed up with a litter of books, papers and drawings.
He sat down in a worn leather-covered horse-hair chair by the fire. 'I've something I want to show you,' he said. He had a mysterious air and the gleam of his eyes was even more noticeable, so that I thought he had been drinking. He went over to a cupboard and brought out a chunk of dull-grey rock. 'My son tells me you're an experienced tinner, my boy,' he said, coming towards me with the lump of rock in his hand. 'Tell me what you think of this.' He placed the rock in my hand.
It was about the size of a man's head and incredibly heavy. I saw at once that it wasn't rock at all. It was ore. Practically solid ore. 'Well?' he asked, and there was excitement and impatience in his voice.
'It's tin,' I said. 'From a mother lode. By the look of it.'
He nodded and smiled a secretive little smile that crinkled the corners of his mouth where his beard was grey. 'Yes,' he said. 'Mother tin. And what would you say if I told you there was a seam of it in Wheal Garth extending from the hundred and twenty level straight down to the sixteen hundred level?'
'I'd say you were a very rich man,' I said.
'Yes.' He nodded his head several times murmuring, 'Yes' each time. 'I'm a rich man. I'm a very rich man.' He took the lump of ore and held it in his hands as though it was his very heart be held beating there against his roughened palms. 'I'm fabulously rich. I've hit a scovan lode, a mother lode — about the richest in the history of Cornish mining.' Then he suddenly jerked his body erect and flung the lump of ore crashing to the floorboards. 'And my son — damn his eyes — my son doesn't see it; he can't understand.'