have the others placed in safe custody as soon as possible."

Saying this he passed his arm through that of old Mr Hitchin, and soon
after the smugglers were duly incarcerated in the lock-up of Penzance.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

EXHIBITS THE MANAGING DIRECTOR AND THE SECRETARY OF WHEAL DOOEM IN
CONFIDENTIAL CIRCUMSTANCES, AND INTRODUCES THE SUBJECT OF "LOCALS."

About this time that energetic promoter of mining operations, Mr George
Augustus Clearemout, found it necessary to revisit Cornwall.

He was seated in an easy-chair in a snug little back-office, or
board-room, in one of the airiest little streets of the City of London,
when this necessity became apparent to him. Mr Clearemout did not
appear to have much to do at that particular time, for he contented
himself with tapping the arm of his easy-chair with the knuckles of his
right hand, while he twirled his gold watch-key with his left, and
smiled occasionally.

To judge from appearances it seemed that things in general were
prospering with George Augustus. Everything about him was new, and, we
might almost say, gorgeous. His coat and vest and pantaloons had a look
and a cut about them that told of an extremely fashionable tailor, and a
correspondingly fashionable price. His rings, of which he wore several,
were massive, one of them being a diamond ring of considerable value.
His boots were faultlessly made, quite new, and polished so highly that
it dazzled one to look at them, while his linen, of which he displayed a
large quantity on the breast, was as white as snow--not London snow, of
course! Altogether Mr G.A. Clearemout was a most imposing personage.

"Come in," he said, in a voice that sounded like the deep soft whisper
of a trombone.

The individual who had occasioned the command by tapping at the door,
opened it just enough to admit his head, which he thrust into the room.
It was a shaggy red head belonging to a lad of apparently eighteen; its
chief characteristics being a prolonged nose and a retracted chin, with
a gash for a mouth, and two blue holes for eyes.

"Please, sir, Mr Muddle," said the youth.

"Admit Mr Muddle."

The head disappeared, and immediately after a gentleman sauntered into
the room, and flung himself lazily into the empty armchair which stood
at the fireplace _vis-a-vis_ to the one in which Mr Clearemout sat,
explaining that he would not have been so ceremonious had he not fancied
that his friend was engaged with so