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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"The Doings of Raffles Haw"

Great
brick-shaped ingots, closely packed, covered the whole floor, while on
every side they were reared up in compact barriers to the very
ceiling. The single electric lamp which lighted the windowless chamber
struck a dull, murky, yellow light from the vast piles of precious
metal, and gleamed ruddily upon the golden floor.
"This is my treasure house," remarked the owner. "You see that I have
rather an accumulation just now. My imports have been exceeding my
exports. You can understand that I have other and more important duties
even than the making of gold, just now. This is where I store my output
until I am ready to send it off. Every night almost I am in the habit
of sending a case of it to London. I employ seventeen brokers in its
sale. Each thinks that he is the only one, and each is dying to know
where I can get such large quantities of virgin gold. They say that it
is the purest which comes into the market. The popular theory is, I
believe, that I am a middleman acting on behalf of some new South
African mine, which wishes to keep its whereabouts a secret. What value
would you put upon the gold in this chamber? It ought to be worth
something, for it represents nearly a week's work."
"Something fabulous, I have no doubt," said Robert, glancing round at
the yellow barriers.


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