A Secret Service by Fred M. White — Read

It was a favorite expression of Avis', based upon a good deal of painful experience, that you never can tell what the public will do where money is in question. There are good things they will never touch, and bad things into which they rush headlong. Now Baron Ruperra's were generally good things, and his great Oil Issue had been subscribed half a dozen times over. Having assumed that those all-important letters were positively lost beyond recovery, Avis and his partner had proceeded boldly, and when Ruperra's death had been announced the Mediterranean Company ought to have collapsed like a house of cards. But, strange to say, it did nothing of the sort. In the face of heavy selling the ordinary shareholders remained in a state of stolid indifference. They refused to part with holdings, and by the end of the week Vanstone and Avis were forced to look matters in the face. Generally it was their rule to avoid the city on a Saturday, but they were there on that day, and had the dining-room of the club almost to themselves at luncheon time.

"I don't like it at all." Vanstone said gloomily. "It looks as if we had got ourselves into a very tight place. Even if we obtain a fancy price for those diamonds, we shall have some trouble in pulling through. On the whole, I'll go with you to Amsterdam. I'd like to have a hand in the deal."