13 The Saint Intervenes (Boodle)

'This' was a very tastefully prepared booklet, on the cover of which was printed: 'BRAZILIAN TIMBER BONDS: A Gold Mine for the Small Investor.' Simon took it and glanced at it casually; and then he saw something on the first page of the pamphlet which brought him to attention with a de­lighted start:

Managing Director:

SUMNER JOURN Esq., Associate of the Institute of Timber Planters, Fellow of the International Associa­tion of Wood Pulp Producers; formerly Chairman of South American Mineralogical Investments, Ltd., etc., etc.

'How did you get hold of this, Monty?' he asked.

'A young fellow in the office gave it to me,' said Monty. 'Apparently he was trying to make a bit of money on the side by selling these bonds; but lots of people seem to have heard about 'em. I pinched the book, and told him not be an ass because he'd probably find himself in clink with the organisers when it blew up; but I thought you might like to have a look at it.'

'I would,' said the Saint thoughtfully, and opened an­other bottle of beer.

He read the booklet through at his leisure, later, and felt tempted to send Monty Hayward a complimentary case of Carlsberg on the strength of it; for the glow of contentment and goodwill towards men which spreads over the rabid entomologist who digs a new kind of beetle out of a log is as the frosts of Siberia to the glow which warms the heart of the professional buccaneer who uncovers a new swindle.

For the stock-in-trade of Mr. Sumner Journ was Trees.

It may be true, as the poet bleats, that Only God Can Make A Tree; but it is also true that only a man capable of grow­ing such a moustache as lurked coyly beneath the sheltering schnozzola of Mr. Sumner Journ could have invented such an enticing method of making God's creation pay gigantic dividends.

The exposition started off with a picture of some small particles of matter collected in a teacup; and it was explained that these were the seeds of pinus palustris, or the long-leaved pine. 'Obviously,' said the writer, 'even a child must know that these can only be worth a matter of pennies.' There followed an artistic photograph of some full-grown pines rearing towards the sky. 'Just as obviously,' said the writer, 'everyone must see that these trees must have some value worth mentioning; probably a value that would run into pounds.' The actual value, it was explained, did indeed run into pounds; in fact, the value of the trees illustrated would be ?3 or more. Furthermore, declared the writer, whereas in Florida these trees took 45 years to reach maturity, in the exceptional climate of the Brazilian mountains they at­tained their full growth in about 10 years. The one great drain on timber profits hitherto had been the cost of trans­port; but this the Brazilian Timber Company had triumphant­ly eliminated by purchasing their ground along the banks of the Parana River (inset photograph of large river) which by the force of its current would convey all logs thrown into it to the coast at no cost at all.

Investors were accordingly implored, in their own inter­ests, to gather together at least ?30 and purchase with it a Brazilian Timber Bond—which could be arranged, if neces­sary, by installments. On buying this bond, they would be­come the virtual owners of an acre of ground in this terri­tory, and the seeds of trees would be planted in it without further charge. It was asserted that twenty-five trees could easily grow on this acre, which when cut down at maturity would provide 100 cords of wood. Taking the price of wood at ?3 a cord, it was therefore obvious that in about 10 years' time this acre would be worth ?300—'truly,' said the prospectus, 'a golden return on such a modest investment.' The theme was developed at great length with no little literary skill, even going so far as to suggest that on the figures quoted, the investor who bought one ?30 bond every year for 10 years would in the 11th year commence to draw an annuity of ?300 per annum for ever, since as soon as the trees had been felled in the first acre it could be planted out again.

'Well, have you bought your Brazilian Timber Bond?' asked Monty Hayward a day or two later.

Simon grinned and looked out of the window—he was down at the country house in Surrey which he had recently bought for a week-end retreat.

'I've got two acres here,' he murmured. 'We might look around for somebody to give us sixty quid to plant some more trees in it.'