And so there was left on the official hands, at the close of the War, a
quantity of jute which nobody wanted, at a price which nobody would
pay. And then somebody asked a question in the House of Commons, and
the responsible Secretary went hot all over, and framed the reply which
an Under-secretary subsequently made in such terms as would lead the
country to believe that the jute purchased at a figure beyond the
market value was a valuable asset, and would one day be sold at a
profit.
Mr. Augustus Tibbetts knew nothing about jute. But he did read, almost
every morning in the daily newspapers, how one person or another had
made enormous purchases of linen, or of cloth, or of motor chassis,
paying fabulous sums on the nail and walking off almost immediately
with colossal profits; and every time Bones read such an account he
wriggled in his chair and made unhappy noises.
Then one afternoon there came to his office a suave gentleman in
frock-coat, carrying with him a card which was inscribed "Ministry of
Supplies." And the end of that conversation was that Bones, all a
twitter of excitement, drove to a gloomy office in Whitehall, where he
interviewed a most sacred public official, to whom members of the
public were not admitted, perhaps, more than four times a year.
Hamilton had watched the proceedings with interest and suspicion. When
Bones was mysterious he was very mysterious; and he returned that night
in such a condition of mystery that none but a thought-reading
detective could have unravelled him.
"You seem infernally pleased with yourself, Bones," said Hamilton.
"What lamentable error have you fallen into?"
"Dear old Ham," said Bones, with the helpless little laugh which
characterised the very condition of mind which Hamilton had described,
"dear old pryer, wait till to-morrow. Dear old thing, I wouldn't spoil
it. Read your jolly old newspaper, dear old inquirer."
"Have you been to the police court?" asked Hamilton.
"Police court? Police court?" said Bones testily. "Good Heavens, lad!
Why this jolly old vulgarity? No, dear boy, live and learn, dear old
thing!"
Hamilton undoubtedly lived until the next morning, and learnt. He saw
the headlines the second he opened his newspaper.
"One minute, one minute, dear old Ham," said. Bones warningly. And
then, turning to the industrious journalist, he went on where Hamilton
had evidently interrupted him. "You can say that I've spent a great
deal of my life in fearfully dangerous conditions," he said. "You
needn't say where, dear old reporter, just say 'fearfully dangerous
conditions.'"