Armstrong nodded, then produced an evening paper. "Here's a little matter—"
He found the column which he had marked, and handed it to Mansfield, who read over carefully a report of the special meeting of Consolidated's directors that morning. The resignations of both Wren and Armstrong had been promptly acted upon, and a shift of officers had taken place, leaving Findlater as president but putting in Macgowan as secretary and treasurer. Mansfield returned the paper without comment.
"You think we have a chance to win, then?" asked Armstrong.
"Some day—yes." Mansfield frowned. "That phrase covers a good deal of time, Mr. Armstrong. We shall have to meet every legal twist and turn, every subterfuge, every possible form of corruption, even; further, we shall find strong political influence arrayed against us. The petition for removal of Macgowan and Findlater must go before the state's attorney general at once. In the end, we shall win."
"In the end!" repeated Armstrong, dismayed. "But before April third, at least?"
"Not before April of next year, or the next, or perhaps the year after," declared the lawyer gravely. "You may expect to be attacked most bitterly in every possible quarter. Macgowan may even manage to have that voting trust continued after its expiration, I warn you. But, if I find things as you have related them, we shall ultimately break this man Macgowan. Do you wish to go ahead?"
"Yes," said Armstrong. "Do you wish to handle the case, and also to act as counsel for me in general?"
"I should esteem it a privilege," said Quincy Adams Mansfield. "What is your plan of campaign?"
Until this moment, Armstrong had entertained no plan. But now:
"I'll establish the Armstrong Company in new offices, across the street from Consolidated. I'll open a fight upon the present directorate, as soon as Dorns learns what they're doing. A good many of my own men over there will resign when they discover what's taken place—"
"One moment, please," intervened Mansfield. "Didn't you mention Judge Holcomb as one of your directors?"
"Ostensibly, yes. He has never taken a very active part in affairs. He is elderly, and has rather given up active business."
A singular smile twisted the lawyer's lips.
"I know Judge Holcomb very well, Mr. Armstrong; we are friends of long standing. Old as he is, no man has a more reputable position, and no man can fight harder. I suggest that the entire truth be laid before him at once, and his help invited by you."
"I'll do it," assented Armstrong. "Now, I propose making an active campaign to reach each individual investor in Consolidated Securities. Of course, I have as yet no direct proof that Macgowan and his friends mean to loot the company; once that proof is secured, I'll go ahead strong."
Mansfield nodded. "Very well. Get your campaign mapped out and make all your plans. I shall see Robert Dorns when he gets this man Wren back to town, and we shall decide upon things. Until you hear from us, secure Judge Holcomb to our side and await events."
Armstrong returned to his hotel feeling rejuvenated, a new man in very fact. The sense of crushing defeat was clean gone from him. True, the defeat was no less severe, yet the sting was out of it. Now he would fight!
He went to bed and slept, a smile upon his lips. When he wakened, it was to see Dorothy at his bedside, sitting there watching him. He stared dazedly, then sat up in astounded wonder.
"A telegram came from Evarts just after you left for New York," she said quietly. "I read it, and knew there was trouble. So I came."
"Thank God for you!" said Armstrong, and pressed her fingers to his lips. "Yesterday I—I was glad you were not here. But now I can tell you about it."
"Let's go home first, dear."
Within four days, the Armstrong Company was established in new offices directly across the street from the stronghold of Consolidated Securities. The separation was not accomplished without pain, and considerable effort as well.
There was no objection from Consolidated; could be none. Bickering in the parlor was echoed below-stairs, however; a violent controversy raged through the offices between Armstrong's men and those whom Macgowan had attached to himself. Among these latter, Armstrong found some of his own experts ranked. His disillusionment was rapidly becoming complete.
Judge Holcomb, being made acquainted with full details, quietly resigned from the directorate of Consolidated; an occurrence which, though passing without great comment, was destined to have momentous results later.
Jimmy Wren returned. He was contrite and exceedingly ashamed of his flight, without knowing exactly how it had come about, except that Macgowan's suggestions had prevailed. When he learned all that had happened, he set forth to hammer Macgowan with his fists; Armstrong checked this impulse with peremptory words, and Wren soon forgot past things in a furious rush of work that lasted into the next week. Indeed, this work involved in the change of offices was a godsend to Armstrong himself. For, even following Wren's return, he heard nothing from either Dorns or Mansfield. When he impatiently called up Mansfield, he was told to be patient and wait for further notice. And the notice did not come.
This silence endured over the week-end and New Year's Day. To Armstrong, the suspense of those few days at length became horrible. The mere fact that he was doing nothing, taking no action against Macgowan, grew portentous in his mind beyond its true value. He could work out no plan of campaign until hearing further from Mansfield and Dorns; meantime, he had made a dozen plans and could go ahead with none of them.
Doubts assailed him, strange doubts and suspicions of those two men. The deliberate unmasking of Macgowan had shaken his faith, shaken his confidence in himself and in his judgment of other men. He began to imagine that Dorns had lied to him, that Mansfield lacked interest. Perhaps Macgowan had approached them! This last thought terrified him.
Nor was it an inconceivable thought. He knew now what had been going on during his absence in Evansville over Christmas. Nothing was seen of any postal inspectors at the new offices, nothing further was heard of any proceedings; yet Macgowan had set that investigation afoot, had caused it in Washington. The letter from Seattle had been a blind, a mere nothing, written at Macgowan's dictation. Armstrong was rapidly getting a true focus on themodus operandiof his former friend.
With work to occupy him, Armstrong was all right; out of the office, he became a prey to despondency. His initiative was blocked. He brooded over the silence of Dorns and Mansfield, tried to force his mind to other things, and succeeded only indifferently. In those black days it was Dorothy who kept him balanced, who restored the threatened loss of control and poise, devoting herself to meeting the danger. She kept his thoughts off Macgowan as much as possible. Before the arrival of her parents for a short visit preceding their trip to Europe, she insisted that Armstrong make no mention to the Demings of his altered affairs.
"But I'd like to have your father's advice, Dot!" he expostulated.
"You'll get advice from Dorns in due time." She saw his face darken at this, and went hurriedly on. "Besides, father would give up his trip and stay right here to fight it out beside you—and he must have the voyage. He needs the vacation; he needs to learn all over how to play. And I don't want their visit spoiled by a lot of worry, dear; we want them to have a good time."
"All right," agreed Armstrong. "We'll say nothing about it all." Yet he was aware that Dorothy's pleading was largely for his own sake, and to keep him off the subject while at home.
On the following Monday, Armstrong received a telephone request from Mansfield that he send Wren over to the latter's office at once. The lawyer was curt and noncommittal, or so Armstrong fancied. Wren did not return before Armstrong left for home, nor was there any chance to see Wren in the morning, for the Demings were to arrive by an early train and Armstrong motored in with Dorothy to meet them. His worry had redoubled.
The train was late. Armstrong left Dorothy at the train exit and went to a telephone booth. He called the office, discovered that Jimmy Wren was out—and that Robert Dorns had left a call there for him. Two minutes later he thrilled to the voice of Dorns.
"Hello, Armstrong! Can you come over to Mansfield's office at three this afternoon?"
"You bet! Any news?"
"Nope. I'll have some by that time, though. So long."
When Armstrong rejoined Dorothy before the train exit, her eyes widened at sight of his radiant face. She seized his arm eagerly.
"Reese! What is it? Good news?"'
He smiled. "Conference this afternoon with Dorns and Mansfield."
"Now! Aren't you ashamed of the way you've worried? Reese, there's something that has just occurred to me. You remember Muirhead, that Western man we met at the Grays' on Christmas day—the one who was telling about the Stockmen's Protective Association? I think that was the name of his cattle organization—"
Armstrong nodded. "Sure. What about it?"
"Why, it suggested something to me! Last night, you were talking about forming some organization of the stockholders to fight Macgowan. Couldn't you give it that very name—Stockholders' Protective Association? It's a splendid name!"
"Good!" Armstrong's eyes kindled. "Fine idea, Dot! Sure, I'll take up the idea, and if Mansfield approves—but here comes the crowd. Train's in."
"Oh—there's father—Reese, don't you dare breathe a word of trouble!"
The Demings joined them with hearty greetings. J. Fortescue Deming clapped his son-in-law on the shoulder admiringly.
"Reese, you're looking like a fighting-cock! When Dot left us so hurriedly, I had a notion you were in some sort of a business fight. Win out?"
"Well, I'm winning!" Armstrong laughed as the words left his lips. He knew suddenly that he was all right again, that he was indeed winning. After those few words from Robert Dorns, ten minutes ago, the clouds had lifted.
The faith of men still endured.
When he entered Mansfield's office, at three that afternoon, Armstrong discovered that the lawyer had not been idle these past few days. Mansfield greeted him heartily; Dorns had not yet arrived.
"Well, Mr. Armstrong, I have some definite word for you. That postal investigation is no longer to be feared."
"I never feared it." Armstrong smiled. "You have blocked it, then?"'
The other assented. "Yes, dependent upon my production of certain evidence. I have got this from Mr. Wren; the rest is a matter of routine. You've had no further trouble?"
"None. I've been awaiting word from you and have kept quiet."
"Good. Judge Holcomb should be here at any moment now."
"Holcomb?" Armstrong's brows went up. He had not seen the judge since the latter had resigned from Consolidated, and had fancied him out of town.
"He has been lending me some assistance in this affair," said Mansfield. "Ah, here's Dorns now! He seems to bear tidings."
Robert Dorns appeared. He came into the room, stopped, regarded them with an expansive grin, and waved his unlighted cigar.
"By glory, we got 'em!" he uttered. "We got 'em cold!"'
Armstrong leaped to his feet. "How? Why?"
"Consolidated had a directors' meeting this morning. Macgowan and Findlater got into the trough with both feet—back salaries, fees, and so forth—they only touched the treasury for about thirty-five thousand! How does that suit you, Q. Adams?"
During the amazed silence that greeted this information, Judge Holcomb entered and was apprised of the news.
Dorns had reliable word of the directors' meeting from one of his men now employed by Consolidated; his guarantee of satisfactory evidence later on was more than sufficient for his auditors. Mansfield, quite aware of Armstrong's leashed eagerness, interrupted the discussion.
"Gentlemen, one moment! This audacity is astounding. What do you think should be done, Mr. Armstrong?"
"We'll have to direct our fight at Findlater," said Armstrong. "Macgowan has left him in as president in order to use him as a shield and figurehead. The only way we can hit at Macgowan is through Findlater. Do you think we can have him removed on the strength of this looting, or both of them?"
"Certainly—but not before April. We must not conceal from ourselves Macgowan's ability to use the law. The eyes of Justice are hooded, unfortunately, and we cannot expect haste from the legal machinery."
"Then," said Armstrong, "I'll tell you what I propose doing, and get your advice; it looks as though we must make up our minds to a long fight. First, we must take all personalities out of the fight. I want to figure in it as little as possible. There will be an understanding that I am not fighting for any office in Consolidated; this fact will serve tremendously in retaining for us the confidence of the stockholders."
Holcomb and Mansfield nodded tacit assent.
"Now," went on Armstrong, "I don't want to climb on any pedestal of altruistic virtue. I suggest that we form a Stockholders' Protective Association, composed of all the Consolidated investors we can round up. At the head of this, place a committee of three men, of whom I suggest Judge Holcomb as one. The others may be selected later. From now until the annual meeting on April third, let this association carry on a campaign of publicity against the Consolidated looters, particularly against Macgowan, since he's the power behind Findlater. Make clear that this campaign is not directed against Consolidated, but for Consolidated.
"While Mr. Mansfield is at work with Mr. Dorns, let us reach every investor in the company through this association; hold meetings, write letters, reach them by every means! Use the radio. The Armstrong Company publishes a monthly pamphlet for itsclientèle, and this pamphlet may be distributed to reach the entire list of investors—"
"With what object?" interjected Judge Holcomb.
"That of obtaining their proxies for use at the annual meeting."
This unexpected retort brought a new and frowning attention to the eyes of his auditors. He went on quickly.
"Oh, I've given up hope of a quick fight! We'll not down Macgowan in a hurry. Judge, your thousand shares of common are tied up in that voting trust, along with mine; Macgowan is going to fight to keep that voting trust from being dissolved a few days before the meeting, I'm afraid. We must take no chances. I have some stock outside the voting trust. We must campaign for votes and leave no effort unexpended. We have something definite to go on, now. How much of that thirty-five thousand was voted for back salaries, Dorns?"
The detective shook his head. "No details yet. Get 'em in a day or two."
"No matter," put in Mansfield, a gleam in his eye. "Back salary in any amount is illegal."
"Exactly," went on Armstrong. "That's my scheme, gentlemen—publicity! We have nothing to conceal; they have everything. I have written agreements from these men to act without salary for three years, and the time isn't up by a long shot. We must count largely upon Mr. Dorns to supply evidence from the books of Consolidated, as we go along, in regard to what Macgowan does; but we can obtain information without much trouble.
"I can prophesy one thing that'll be done soon. Findlater has a friend with some scheme for refining turpentine, which I rejected as a wild dream. The new directorate will finance this scheme, mark me! We shan't lack ammunition. The main thing is to reach every investor quickly, giving him the truth about the new management and what can be expected of it."
There was a moment of silence. Judge Holcomb fingered his gray beard frowningly. Mansfield was gazing reflectively at the ceiling. Dorns chewed hard on a cigar. The silence was at length broken by Holcomb.
"By gad, Armstrong, that plan is excellent! You may count on me to the limit. Whom else shall we call in to form this Protective Association?"
"Me," said Dorns. The others looked at him.
"You?" said Armstrong. "But you're not an investor—"
"Is that so, huh?" Dorns held out his cigar and grinned. "I bought me five hundred shares of Consolidated on Saturday! I know a good thing when I see it, or when somebody hits me over the head like you did last Wednesday. Yep, you count me in, see?"
"I suggest," said Mansfield in his quiet way, "that Mr. Armstrong and Judge Holcomb take up this association matter between them. I shall at once apply for the removal of Findlater and Macgowan, and shall confer with you to-morrow, Mr. Armstrong, regarding the extortion charge. Judge, an excellent man to serve on your committee would be Frederic Bruton, the president of Baliol University—a man of the very highest character and reputation, well known through the East, and if he could be induced to serve—"
"He can," put in Armstrong. "He was one of my professors at college. I know him well, and shall run up to Baliol the end of the week and see him."
"In that case, sir, you may make such use of my name as you deem proper,"' said Mansfield unexpectedly.
Armstrong looked at these men—the burly detective, the attorney, the retired financier and judge—and found himself all at once wordless. He remembered the wreck he had been only a few days previously; yet now these men were with him, supporting him not only with their effort and money, but with their names and reputations.
"Gentlemen," he said abruptly, "I—I don't know how to tell you how I appreciate your confidence in me—"
He broke off abruptly as he had begun.
"Don't mention it, Armstrong—our confidence is in you because you stand for something," said Judge Holcomb. He added, a smile twisting at his lips: "I don't mind saying, too, that Macgowan's law firm handed me a mean jolt a year or two ago, and I haven't forgotten it by a good deal! Maybe I'm not altogether altruistic in this affair."
"Oh, hell!" Dorns rose. "Macgowan's a crook and we know it. So long, gentlemen! See you again, Armstrong."
The conference had ended. The fight had begun.
Dorothy's parents remained only a few days at Aircastle Point, as their visit was no more than a stop-off en route to Europe. While it was not in the nature of things that they should remain entirely ignorant of Armstrong's business trouble, they were far from comprehending its scope or gravity. Armstrong himself defined it to Deming as "a general shake-up," and no more was said on the subject.
On the last evening of their stay, Mrs. Deming confided a secretly cherished ambition to Dorothy. This was at the dinner table.
"You know, dear, when your father and I used to come to New York, we always went to the Waldorf. I'd like to go there again—couldn't we take luncheon there to-morrow?"
Dorothy turned eagerly to her father. He smiled and shook his head.
"I'm lunching with Reese and a friend of his to-morrow; sorry! We go aboard at four, you know. Can we change it, Reese?"
"Not very well," said Armstrong. "Judge Holcomb wants us at the Phi Gam club—it's a birthday luncheon in his honor. Suppose we get away early and meet you at the Waldorf? You can lunch there, and we'll spend an hour with you looking over old ground and reviving honeymoon recollections. That right, J. Fortescue?"
"Honeymoon is correct." Deming laughed. "Mother has a positive affection for the Waldorf—eh, my dear? Will the program suit you?"
Thus it happened, on the following day, that Dorothy and Mrs. Deming entered the Waldorf together about one o'clock. Scarcely were they inside, when a pleasurably astonished voice greeted them with eager delight.
"Why—Mrs. Deming! Dorothy! This is a joyful encounter sure enough!"
It was Pete Slosson.
"You-all must lunch with me—please!" he went on quickly. "I'm lonely; don't know a soul around here—and then you turn up! Will you befriend a stranger? Please!"
Mrs. Deming, who had always rather liked Slosson, was quick to accept, and Dorothy had no reason to decline. True, Slosson was associated in business with Ried Williams, and since that country club dance she had felt detestation and even hatred for Williams; but, in her eyes, Slosson had ever been no more than an impulsive boy, too abundantly endowed with youth and vitality for his own good.
Slosson secured a window table. Dorothy sat with her back to the room, before her all the passing pomp and glitter of the Avenue, while Mrs. Deming chose to enjoy the dining-room itself. Their host was obviously on his best behavior. Usually there was in Slosson's bearing a good deal of self-consciousness; he liked to pose a little. To-day, the meeting was so unexpected that he revealed himself sincerely enough.
Dorothy was rather glad of the meeting. She had known Pete Slosson all her life. In the way of women, she saw him not as men saw the real Pete Slosson. She saw only the better part of him, lying far underneath the surface—the man of dreams and might-have been.
Once she had even fancied herself in love with him. Dorothy could not forget this; she did not have it to forgive, since Slosson had never known it. Because he had been genuinely in love with her, she held him in some measure of friendship and sympathetic regard.
"I'm glad you're doing so well in Indianapolis, Pete," she said frankly. "Are you often in New York?"
"No, unless something special comes up. I got in last night, and am leaving again to-night—I've no time for frivolity any more. When I come, it's on business that demands quick action."
"You're certainly looking in fine shape!" Dorothy regarded him with a smile. "You seem a lot more human, Pete!"
Slosson colored a little. "Well, I've come more in contact with people, for a fact," he said awkwardly. "It's hard to explain—"
"No, it isn't!" she countered. "You're in constructive business, Pete. Happiness always comes to the builder, don't you think? Only a positive and constructive person can perceive the real good in things and people—"
She checked herself abruptly, conscious that some one had come to a stop almost behind her chair. She saw Slosson glance up and change countenance. Then a genially maudlin voice broke in upon her—a voice whose liquor-tinged accents sent a shiver through her whole body.
"Hullo, Slosson! In town and throwing a party, eh? By gad, old man—"
Dorothy turned her head. Her inquiring gaze met the eyes of Macgowan. His words died out, and for an instance there was dead silence.
Macgowan was sobered by his incredible and ghastly error. For once his glib tongue was daunted; under Dorothy's gaze, a slow, deep flush crept into his cheeks. Sweat started upon his brow. Dorothy regarded him calmly, without apparent recognition.
"Why, it's Mr. Macgowan!" exclaimed Mrs. Deming.
"Yes," echoed Dorothy, still gazing at him. "Yes, it's Mr. Macgowan, the liar and traitor, the Judas who betrayed his friend. He seems to have been celebrating his treachery, to judge from his voice. I suppose we should diagnose his ailment as spiritual leprosy. Be careful you're not infected, Pete! I'd be sorry to think of you as being in the same class with this man."
She calmly turned her back on Macgowan. The effect of her impersonal arraignment was frightful. A mortal pallor in his face, Macgowan managed a slight, stiff bow, turned, and went his way. Under the circumstances, that bow was more than a parting gesture; it was an achievement.
Mrs. Deming was staring at her daughter with horrified eyes.
"My dear! You simply can't realize what you're saying—"
"Nonsense, mother. This man Macgowan has tried his best to ruin and disgrace Reese, betraying all the trust that was placed in him. He can't do it, but he has made trouble. Now, don't worry! I know what I'm saying, and I'm glad I had the chance to say it to his face. After this, he won't be quite so free and easy when he sees his friends dining in public. He made a mistake to-day that he'll remember—drunk or sober!"
"See here, Dot!" exclaimed Slosson hurriedly, almost too hurriedly. "Don't call him a friend of mine! I hardly know the man; haven't seen him since your wedding!"'
Dorothy, instantly contrite, reached out and quickly patted his hand.
"I didn't mean to be catty, Pete; honest! If I had thought you and he were friends, I'd not be sitting here with you, be sure of that! And mother, please stop looking so disconcerted! Macgowan has passed out of our lives, that's all."'
Slosson drew a quick breath, gazed at her admiringly.
"By the lord, Dot, you sure handed it to him! And the look on his face when he saw you! Well, I don't know the circumstances, but I should say that no matter what he did to Reese, you've repaid a good share of it to-day!"
Dorothy smiled. "I tried to. Mother, please don't say anything about this to Reese."
Mrs. Deming sighed and assented, her eyes troubled.
"Very well, dear. I'm dreadfully sorry to learn about this. I can realize, too, how you and Reese must feel. Your poor father felt the same way when he found Food Products wrecked and lost to him."
Dorothy turned pale. Slosson fumbled with his cigarette case. Mrs. Deming, quite unconscious of the effect produced by her perfectly casual words, sipped her tea.
"What do you mean, mother?" asked Dorothy in a strained voice. "You don't mean that—that any one was to blame for father's losing the company? Why, I thought he was so delighted over the way Reese handled it!"
Mrs. Deming quickly assented.
"So he was, child, of course! No, no one was to blame—and your father never let anybody dream that he was hurt. But I could see how he felt it. Now, we must not talk about such things any more. Let's everybody be bright and pleasant! This is our last day in the United States—and I'm sure we'll be miserable enough in Europe without borrowing trouble here. I just know the house will be in dreadful shape when we get home!"
Dorothy glanced at Slosson, who was lighting a cigarette. For a moment his eyes met hers, and in them she read a startled uneasiness. It frightened her. So did his words, despite the smile upon his lips.
"That's right, Mrs. Deming—never mind what's past and gone! Let the dead bury their dead, eh? Only stirs up trouble and does no good, to rake over the past."
Dorothy glance at her watch. "Mercy! We must meet father and Reese—come along, Pete! They'll be delighted to see you. We're to meet them in the parlors—"
"For a moment only." Slosson rose. "I'm overdue now for an appointment, Dot. I'll come along and shake hands, then duck."
It did not occur to Dorothy to ask with whom he had an appointment. And Slosson certainly had no intention of volunteering that it was with Lawrence Macgowan.
As a matter of fact, Dorothy could think only of one thing—those words, so terrible because so innocent, which her mother had uttered. With this, the air and speech of Slosson, as though he too knew some dread secret in regard to Food Products and the manner in which it had changed hands.
She had seized the opportunity afforded her by Macgowan with an avid, fierce exultancy. Now this was all fled. Upon her spirit settled the old haunting terror, with the clear-cut vividness of some horrible dream. Was the thing possible, after all? Could there have been any truth in those malicious words of Macgowan, the day of the wedding?
Here at last she had definite knowledge of how her father had regarded his practical expulsion from Food Products. Now, as she met her father and Armstrong, as Slosson made his greetings and farewells, she was scarcely conscious of what passed; her eyes went from her father to her husband, searching and probing. What was it that Slosson knew? What was there that she did not know, about that change of management?
Or was it all imagination? Now, as that night in Evansville, she found herself fighting doubt with doubt, distrust with distrust. Here in the hotel, on the way to the steamer, in the stateroom itself—again and again she was impelled to speak out, to utter everything, to force a complete understanding. Yet she dared not. What had she to utter? Suspicion. Suspicion—of her husband! It was unthinkable. Each time the temptation came, pride and love—love most of all—exorcised the thought. In her father's face she read the lines of hidden hurt; or was it all her own fancy? Tormented, doubtful of herself, she held her peace.
And now that other fear returned upon her, the fear upspringing from knowledge of the life beneath her heart. Was it possible that she was allowing some unnatural obsession to prey on her mind? She dreaded this possibility, dreaded it unspeakably! And now, as before, she struggled against it all, fought desperately with heart and soul and mind against it.
When she and Reese had waved the last adieu and were being driven back through the city, Armstrong talked of things that had occurred that morning. He was enthused, beaming, radiating energy and confidence.
"Your Stockholders' Protective Association is now a fact, lady!" he declared happily. "Judge Holcomb is to head the committee of three; we've written President Bruton of Baliol and I'm to run up there to-morrow and see him, and if possible secure him for second place. And for the third man, whom do you think we've secured? Rupert Sessions!"
"What!" Dorothy was startled out of her troubled train of thought. "Sessions—the lecturer and novelist? The man who wrote all those business novels? Why, he lectured in Evansville just before we were married!"
"The same!" Armstrong laughed in delight. "Some one found that he was a stockholder and lived just outside town. We had him up at the office this morning, laid everything before him; he's with us. And to-morrow we file suit on behalf of the Association—suit for one million dollars against Macgowan and Findlater, on the grounds of conspiracy, and demand their removal. Things are looking up, I tell you!"
Dorothy stared through the car window, her brain riotous. With such men as Rupert Sessions, Dorns, Holcomb, Bruton, behind this husband of hers, nationally known figures, backing him with their faith and high repute and money—was she to entertain such vague and shadowy doubts, such petty and base doubts, of him?
"It's a wonderful thing, lady!" His voice reached her, now more restrained and thoughtful. "The Association is the only thing now between Macgowan and his loot; it's not me they're behind, however. We're not fighting for ourselves, at heart—though we're not prating about our altruism, naturally. It's for the sixteen thousand investors, the people scattered up and down the country—the fishes in Macgowan's net!"
"Ah!" said Dorothy suddenly. "But it's a fight of sixteen thousand and one, Reese—with the one man at the head of it who's worth it all!"
This thought dominated her, filled her with ecstasy, banished her shadows. And so, with wonder and love and admiration for the man she called husband, to aid her, she won her fight for faith.
Yet this fight had been harder to win than the first battle, back in Evansville.
February drew on apace, arrived, began to spend its length.
Armstrong was healthily busy, up to his ears in work; with each day the fight proved more drawn-out. The campaign against Findlater and Macgowan swept along steadily. The financial press was full of it, even the newspapers were airing the affair; and Macgowan, beyond flat denials of all the charges, was keeping quiet.
His quiet was ominous.
The Armstrong Company was now completely reorganized as a financial service corporation, restricted to New York and seaboard cities. For the moment, Armstrong was forced to forget Macgowan and give his energies to putting the Armstrong Company on its feet, able to get along under Wren's management. As soon as counter blows began to smash home he would have to sweep aside all else; so, for the present, he worked over the Armstrong Company, flinging himself into it with driving energy. In one of its offices was domiciled the Stockholders' Protective Association, under its committee of three.
With every day that passed, Armstrong found himself more impressed with Mansfield's advice as to this committee. Judge Holcomb had entered the fight with the ardor of a boy; a jurist of the highest integrity, a financier intimately associated with men in high places, he was invaluable. So, too, was Bruton—a man whom Macgowan could not possibly attack on any grounds. As for Rupert Sessions, a fiery but scholarly publicist and lecturer—Armstrong could not but feel sufficiently grateful for the chance which had flung such a man to his support.
Sessions had outlined a campaign for the month of March which would reach every investor. His broadside letters were already causing a sensation. It was as a direct result of one of these letters, that Armstrong was one afternoon hastily summoned to a conference with the committee. He found them gravely discussing a telegram which had just arrived from Mansfield in Albany.
"Armstrong," said Judge Holcomb, with a grim smile, "you recall that last letter Session sent out?"
"Yes." Armstrong chuckled at the memory. "About the National Reduction Company which Consolidated has undertaken to finance. You certainly called a spade a spade, Sessions! And right, too; this private graft of Findlater's is bound to be a failure, so far as the stockholders are concerned."
"Findlater will file suit to-morrow for a hundred thousand in damages, also asking punitive damages. Libel."
Armstrong grunted sarcastically.
"Let him file! It's all he can do to save his face, judge. I'll guarantee to pay all the damages he'll ever collect, too."
"Oh, the suit will never go to trial." Sessions took up a telegram. "But see here, Armstrong! This is what we called you in for. We'll have bad news to send out next week."
Armstrong took the message and read it.
The attorney general of the state had refused to institute suit for removal of Findlater and Macgowan. At the hearing, a certain lawyer famed for his political affiliations—not named in the telegram—had obtained the dismissal of the action, on the technical ground that Consolidated Securities had been organized under the laws of South Dakota; and therefore being a foreign corporation, was not amenable to the New York jurisdiction.
"Check," said Armstrong quietly, giving no sign of his disappointment. "Well, we were warned that we were up against politics! You can make capital of this, Sessions. The dismissal is purely technical and does not clear Macgowan. This simply saves them from producing the books—play up their refusal to stand investigation! They're not vindicated by this; they're merely relieved."
While still speaking, he was summoned to the telephone. He sat down at a desk near by.
"Armstrong? Robert Dorns on the wire. Say, Findlater and Macgowan have quarreled; it don't amount to much, but it's a symptom. Do you know a fellow over there named Henderson?"
"Yes. Assistant treasurer of Consolidated. A good man, too. What about him?"
"I think he'd like to quit his job. Suppose we make him an offer if he'll quit and bring his copies of records—"
"See here, Dorns, none of that!" snapped Armstrong angrily, while the committee eyed him in startled wonder. "I'll not pay out one cent of bribery for anything—and I don't think Henderson is the sort who'd take a bribe. Did he suggest that?"
"No. I thought it up all by my own little self, me lad. S'pose we pry him loose?"
"All right. In that case, I can use him here. He can give us more inside dope on Consolidated's doings than any one else. But not a cent for bribery, understand! If Henderson would take any money for coming over here, I'd not have him and I'd not trust him. We just had word from Mansfield. The suit is dismissed on technical grounds."
"Political, you mean. All right. So long."
Armstrong swung around to meet the intent gaze of Judge Holcomb.
"Henderson is leaving Consolidated?"
"Dorns thinks he can be persuaded to leave."
"Then things are coming well. Henderson can give us all the details we need. Well, when do you look for an attack from Macgowan?"
"When we least expect it."
The attack came soon enough, with a savage disregard for truth. Macgowan, indeed, had perforce to disregard truth if he were to make any attack.
As secretary and treasurer, Macgowan was the real head of Consolidated Securities. This was a crafty move, for it outwardly relegated Macgowan to the background and left Findlater to enjoy his prominence as president—and also to bear the brunt of attack from the Protective Association.
This arrangement had other uses, also. Macgowan's law firm or firms, for he was interested in more than one, could profit largely, while Macgowan himself drew a thousand a month for his personal services. Thus the cream of the loot fell to Macgowan. Findlater, although recompensing himself in full, had at least some idea of retaining Consolidated as a going concern. Macgowan, more shrewd and crafty, knew better—knew that some day his joy-ride must come to an end. Findlater did not take in just how far he was serving as a tool in the cunning hand of his associate.
He was only too well aware, however, of Macgowan's dictatorial manner, and resented it.
Thus, when the attack on Armstrong and the Protective Association was opened, the guns were fired by Findlater, as president of Consolidated. A full broadside was delivered; a broadside of calumny which even extended to Doctor Bruton and Rupert Sessions, but which was aimed at Armstrong. By the very audacity of its charges and vilifications it was calculated to stagger its recipients. It came in the form of aConsolidated Magazine, sent out to investors generally as a reply to theArmstrong Reviewthe house organ of the Armstrong Company, which was at present being used by the Association committee.
Macgowan had employed writers of some talent, and under cover of Findlater's name he went the limit. Adopting a tone of dignified censure, the president set forth that the Armstrong Company had been "discharged" as the fiscal agent of Consolidated; he gave copies of the affidavits which had "caused" the postal investigation; he charged that Armstrong and his hirelings were now attacking Consolidated for the purpose of getting at its funds. In effect, the charges made by Armstrong were simply turned back on him, yet with no more evidence than truth.
The result was well calculated, however, to impress the small investor. Covert attacks were made upon the integrity of the Association committee. A special article, venomously penned, purported to set forth Armstrong's biography—a combination of actual untruths and of innuendoes which made Armstrong first laugh, then whiten with fury.
He laid the matter before Mansfield, who glanced through the articles and then smiled.
"Well? I suppose we'll file libel suits immediately?"
"Of course," said Armstrong. "But more—get an injunction against Findlater at once, to prevent his using this magazine to serve his own ends. It bears the name of Consolidated and is company property. Also, prevent his using company funds for the same purpose. If he is going to present his personal affairs to the investors, let him pay for it himself!"
"Good!" exclaimed Mansfield. "A good point! We'll do it; he can't keep us from getting that injunction. This publication appears to be a tissue of falsehood, too."
"It is, from start to finish."
"Congratulations, Mr. Armstrong! We have them badly scared, or they would never go to such lengths. This libelous matter is astounding!"
"It shows that we've scared them, all right," assented Armstrong. "Also, it shows that Macgowan is trying to discredit me and is going after proxies for the annual meeting. Mansfield, isn't there any earthly way of smashing that voting trust?"
The lawyer shook his head. "No. And I am afraid that, as we feared, Macgowan will find some way of postponing its expiration until after the meeting. That would enable him to remain in power for another year, of course."
Armstrong's lips contracted for an instant.
"Then we must get enough investors behind us to override his control. We'll do it. We have two thousand of them now enrolled in the Association, and our real campaign doesn't open until March—another week yet. You've filed suit against 'em in South Dakota?"
"Yes. Your own company is organized under the laws of that state, I believe?"
"It is; they were both organized at the same time. By the way, there's something I want to ask you about—"
Armstrong had not forgotten the information which Jimmy Wren had laid before him, that day when Wren turned up in Evansville. He now told Mansfield how the Deming Food Products Company had been taken over and reorganized. He went on to relate Wren's discovery—that Deming's directors, probably without Deming's knowledge, had sworn to a false financial condition in obtaining licenses to market their stock issue.
"Can Macgowan rake that up against us in any possible way?" he concluded. "At the time the licenses were issued, we had nothing to do with Food Products, you know."
"No; you're entirely safe there, I think," promptly declared Mansfield. "Don't let it worry you for a minute—it has nothing whatever to do with you."
There was something else, however, which in the rush of business Armstrong had quite forgotten. Upon the following Monday, the last Monday in February, he was reminded of his delinquency in abrupt and terrible fashion.
By this time the fight between Findlater and the Protective Association was not only public property but was being keenly followed by banking circles and kindred interests. Among all these there was a cynically lucid understanding of the real issue; it was no secret to them that the struggle lay between looters and honest men. Yet they looked on with a phlegmatic acuity; it was to them only another battle wherein the dreamer would probably lose to the clever fighter who knew how to hit foul and hard.
Armstrong knew this. He felt that he knew exactly how to appraise the spoken word from his bankers, his friends, his acquaintances. In this he was wrong; he was still too conscious of himself and his campaign, and it tended to give him a false view. A man is at his best only when he can forget himself. His best work is done only when his "office clothes" are forgotten.
On this eventful Monday, Armstrong was taken unawares, in a moment of self-consciousness.
He took the day off, for it was his birthday, and spent it quietly at home with Dorothy before going into the city in the evening forLohengrin. Before a blazing log fire in the wide hearth of the living room that afternoon, he was recounting to Dorothy the prospects for the final few weeks of the campaign; he had given up hope of ousting Findlater and Macgowan before the annual meeting. Then, in the gathering dusk, a caller arrived, a stranger. Armstrong had the man shown in.
He found himself promptly served with a sheriff's attachment notice. Suit for two millions in damages—a new suit—had been filed against the Armstrong Company by Findlater, on trumped-up charges of fraud, deceit, slander. Almost at the same moment he was summoned to the telephone, to hear the furious voice of Wren. The offices, bank accounts, mail receipts, files—all were tied up by the attachment.
Further, unless Armstrong's note for ten thousand dollars, held by Consolidated, were paid in cash by noon of the following day, the security for that note would be sold, promptly at noon, at the weekly auction sales in Vesey Street.
Then Armstrong remembered the thing he had forgotten—the renewal of this loan, which had come due. Food Products had not been heard from in regard to it.
"Get in touch with Mansfield at once," he told Jimmy Wren. "The suit is only an excuse to tie us up so we can't get the cash to meet this note. They got the attachment because we're a foreign corporation, and Mansfield will get it released in a day or two. You attend to that. I'm going to have my hands full raising ten thousand in cash."
He made light of it to Dorothy, assuaged her alarm and indignation, pointed out the utter absurdity of the charges, and packed her off to dress for dinner and opera. But he remained staring into the fire, his face set in drawn lines.
Crafty Macgowan! This blow had driven home. The morning papers, hungry for news from this financial battle, would headline the filing of this suit.
With everything tied up by the attachment, it was impossible for Armstrong to raise the money necessary to meet that note. But that was not the worst of it. Macgowan did not want the ten thousand in cash; he had filed this suit, had played his cards, so that Armstrong could not possibly pay the money. What Macgowan wanted was the security, the Food Products notes for twenty-five thousand dollars! That was the stake Macgowan would win at noon to-morrow.
"He'll have his fingers hooked into Food Products," thought Armstrong bitterly. "He may try to throw the company into receivership—no telling what he'll do! And unless I show up at the auction rooms by noon, he wins."
How to get that money? His imagination pictured what would meet him as he went from bank to bank, asking for ten thousand in cash—without security! Macgowan would see to it that news of this suit and attachment filled all the morning papers. Everywhere he went, Armstrong would be faced by that news.
He would be charged publicly with fraud, branded in all eyes as a perjurer and trickster; the whole financial district would be ringing with the news. No matter how baseless the charge, it would clang against him like a death-knell. It would be dismissed soon enough, after serving its purpose; even so, lies have nine lives, and the story of the charge would go further than news of the dismissal.
"I've got to do everything between ten and twelve to-morrow," said Armstrong, turning from the fire. "I expect I'll find mighty few friends anxious to be interviewed to-morrow morning—it takes small noise to flush the bird of credit. Well, I'll go down fighting!"
Armstrong entered his own office a little after nine in the morning, crushing a newspaper in his hand; what he had read there had rendered him livid with helpless anger. He found Jimmy Wren awaiting him.
"Hello!" exclaimed Wren. "I saw Mansfield last night. He said that he'd attend to releasing this attachment by this afternoon anyhow. There's a check from Food Products in the mail, but we can't use it; everything tied up."
Armstrong only nodded, and handed Wren a penciled list of names.
"Call up these fellows, Jimmy, or their secretaries, and make appointments for me between ten and twelve this morning. Spread the appointments as well as you can. If I don't raise that ten thousand—"
"As bad as that, is it?"' asked Jimmy Wren, his eyes anxious. "You're borrowing?"
"How the devil can I get it without?"
"Well, I sort of figured on that last night." Jimmy Wren came to the desk, and began to disgorge bills from his pockets. He looked up at the astounded Armstrong with a grin. "I'm darned sorry I couldn't do better, Reese. Here's twelve hundred to throw into the pot, anyhow."
For an instant Armstrong was speechless. Then:
"By gad, Jimmy! You can't mean—where did you get this cash?"
Wren colored slightly.
"I had some in my sock, and I borrowed the rest—from a friend. Now, get it tied up and I'll go sit over the telephone. I'll have a taxi here. You cool off and we'll make the rounds together."
Jimmy departed hastily, leaving Armstrong staring at the pile of bills. Jimmy Wren the impulsive, the warm-hearted, the devoted!
At one minute of twelve, Armstrong reached the auction rooms in Vesey Street. When he entered, the Food Products notes were being offered for sale. Armstrong handed over ten thousand in cash for them.
How he had collected that money, he scarcely knew; he knew, however, that he had in his thoughts wronged his friends. That two-million-dollar suit had rung like a bugle-blast across the pages of the morning papers, yet his friends had rallied. He had seen man after man, stating his case briefly, setting his simple word against all the thunderous allegations of the enemy—and he had won.
The moment his victory was assured, he came near going to pieces. For two hours he had been under a tremendous strain, pouring forth every atom of his energy and will-power; now he was shaken, broken by the effort, exhausted. He knew that Findlater was somewhere here, and Macgowan, but he ignored them. He got away as quickly as possible, in the taxicab that Jimmy had hired.
Of what took place during the remainder of that day, he was scarcely conscious. The blow had been warded, however. And, in the afternoon, he had Mansfield's grim assurance that the suit would never come into court, that the attachment was released.
As though that victory turned the tide of affairs, the succeeding days witnessed a steady ebb in the fortunes of Findlater and Macgowan, a corresponding flood in the prospects of the Protective Association. Mansfield was hammering away energetically. He obtained an injunction which cut short Findlater's campaign with the money and property of Consolidated; this forced the enemy to spend actual money of his own, and was a shrewd blow.
The annual meeting of the stockholders of Consolidated was called, and the place named was Wilmington. Upon this fact Sessions seized with avidity. He flooded the mails with letters, pointing out that Findlater was afraid to hold the meeting under the jurisdiction of South Dakota courts, pointing out that Wilmington was not readily accessible to many of the investors, driving home new charges of trickery and fraud.
Now the fight was becoming serious for Macgowan, and the latter knew it. Thousands of the investors were registered with the Association, proxies were pouring in, and the denials and camouflage used by the Consolidated directors availed little. Findlater was himself carrying on a desperate battle for proxies, under the guidance of Macgowan, and neglected nothing in the effort to avert disaster. Armstrong wondered how the two of them would get out from under the swelling tide of libel and perjury which they were creating.
Then the campaign rose to a smashing climax—all that Armstrong could have desired.
Into Armstrong's office, late one afternoon, walked Henderson, the assistant treasurer of Consolidated Securities. He looked at Armstrong with a wry smile.
"I want to get into this Protective Association and turn over my voting proxy to you," he said quietly. "And if there's any information I can furnish, just ask."
"What's the answer?" demanded Armstrong curtly. He knew Henderson was square, yet—
"I've resigned." Henderson read his thought. "Things are getting too rotten over there to suit me. If you can use me in your company, I'd like a job—but I'm not offering you information to get it. My ten shares of stock look pretty big to me, and if the Association doesn't win this fight they're going to look pretty small. Job or no, I'm with you."
"That's straight talk," said Armstrong. "Come over and see Judge Holcomb."
Within an hour the Association was in possession of affidavits from Henderson which went into type and print the following day. At last the inside operation of Consolidated, under Findlater's management, was exposed to public scrutiny. To sum up Henderson's information:
1. The National Reduction Company, Findlater's pet scheme, had been put through just as proposed to Armstrong, with large free gifts of stock to Consolidated directors, and had to date cost the stockholders of Consolidated something over a hundred thousand.
2. Further, Macgowan was purchasing all the preferred stock of Consolidated that he could secure around seventy, using company funds paid out on company checks. This stock was being resold to new investors at nearly double that price. About a thousand shares per week were changing hands in this fashion, and on each share Macgowan and Findlater received ten dollars commission as private loot.
3. The back salaries given Macgowan and the other looters were confirmed. Henderson also swore to a statement regarding the financial solvency of Consolidated—a statement showing that the value of Consolidated stock was dropping with alarming rapidity.
With these affidavits, the Protective Association swept into action. Burton, Sessions and Holcomb took the stump, addressing meetings wherever two or three investors could be gathered together. They blew away the dust from Macgowan's tracks, centered the entire battle upon the management of Findlater and his associates, appealed to the investors to alter this management at the forthcoming annual meeting.
Dorns armed them well with photographic copies from Consolidated's books and with letters written or received by Findlater. Henderson's affidavits fortified them with startling facts. And all the while theArmstrong Reviewhammered away, reaching each individual investor, backing up everything with the printed word.
Nor did the committee end here. To the stockholders they presented a constructive program, with guarantees that the proxies would be used to put it into effect. The chief points of this program were the removal of the present management, a strict investigation of the company's affairs, and an enforced accounting for misused funds. Through all these weeks of campaigning swept the battle-cry of "Show the books!"—a cry to which Findlater turned a deaf ear. Neither he nor Macgowan were insensible to the danger that threatened them, however.
They darted forth sudden and vicious attacks in a desperate effort so to discredit Armstrong and his associates that the investors would withhold proxies from them. The hand that launched these attacks was that of Findlater, but the brain behind them all was that of Macgowan, bitter and virulent. In half a dozen states Macgowan was seeking to obtain indictments against Armstrong on any sort of charge—but Armstrong, too, was fighting. Dorns and his men were vigilant, Mansfield was quick to parry and strike back. So transparent were the artifices of Macgowan that Armstrong was almost lulled into a feeling of security.
The tide steadily set in favor of the Protective Association. The body of stockholders were whipped into a frantic condition; suit and counter-suit, charge and counter-charge, all contributed to lash them into wild alarm. Upon some the crafty wiles of Macgowan prevailed; his campaign for proxies was reaching a desperate climax. The majority, however, came to realize the actual facts, and the magic of Armstrong's name and personality was not lost. For, despite the most incredible efforts, Macgowan was unable to discredit this man who had been his friend. One would have said that every move of Macgowan's was blocked by some invisible hand, or was brought to fruitless issue by some unseen agent.
By the final week in March, the campaign ended. Weary, still athrill with the fight they had waged, the committee of three returned to the city, ready for the meeting at Wilmington. Armstrong had remained in charge of the home offices, attending to the vast detail work that was necessary. Now, when he came to check up with his associates, they found cause for exultation indeed.
"Nearly all the outstanding shares," said Judge Holcomb, as they went over the lists, "are owned in lots of one or two. So far, we seem to be in control of a good ten thousand votes—"
"And more coming in with every mail," put in Sessions. "Besides what we've bought up in the open market. How does she stand, Armstrong?"
"A total of thirty-five thousand outstanding," said Armstrong, who knew the figures by heart. "At this minute we own or control twenty thousand."
There was a moment of silence. Then Mansfield, who was present, intervened to cut short the jubilant expressions of victory.
"Including those in the voting trust?"
"Yes. Three thousand there."
"Suppose we defer celebrations," said Judge Holcomb shrewdly. "Everything's going to change before the meeting; it's bound to. If I were you, I'd look for a last minute blow from those rascals. Therefore, go slow—and don't let up!"
This was good advice. Armstrong realized that, notwithstanding the apparent victory, both his personal credit and that of the Armstrong Company had suffered an extraordinary amount of damage, not to mention the harm that this fight was causing Consolidated as a business concern. The damage would be assessed at law, but it was done.
That Macgowan had met with some success in his campaign for proxies, was evident. His methods had been to utilize falsehood, brazen filing of suits which would never be tried, desperate attempts to publicize Armstrong as a trickster and cheat. Yet with all this, the control of Consolidated was bound to pass to Armstrong at the annual meeting. His three thousand shares tied up in the voting trust would, when released, confirm the victory.
But Judge Holcomb, keen old veteran that he was, had prophesied truly.
Six days before the annual meeting, the blow fell. Macgowan came into the open as plaintiff, filing suit upon absolutely baseless charges which, however, served as grounds for making an attachment. Upon the voting trustees—Macgowan, Findlater and Jimmy Wren, whom Armstrong had continued in the voting trust—were served the attachment papers. By those papers, the Sheriff of New York commanded that Armstrong's stock should not be released from the voting trust until the attachment should be satisfied.
Mansfield came to the office, read the papers, listened in silence to Armstrong's furious outburst of denunciation. Then he spoke, calmly.
"Surely, I warned you of such action, and you expected it—"
"Such action as this?" Armstrong struck the papers violently. "Do you realize that these charges have not a particle of truth, of substantiation—that the suit is illegal, the whole action a mockery of the law?"
Mansfield, imperturbably, assented.
"Quite so. I realize, also, that we are helpless. After the election this suit will be dismissed. Make up your mind, sir, that Macgowan is going to vote your stock at this meeting! At any cost! He cares not what punitive action we take afterward. He can fight that in the courts, postpone retribution, evade from pillar to post. In the end, he must settle; before that time comes, he will have milked Consolidated to the limit, and will be well able to settle. Our one hope is and must be to beat this trickster by the votes of your stockholders."
Armstrong turned to Judge Holcomb, who was present with Bruton.
"Can we do that, gentlemen?"
Bruton had been swiftly checking over a paper in his hand. Now he glanced up.
"We have at this moment one hundred votes in excess of a majority."
"What? You mean—"
"Even granting him the voting trust, Macgowan has lost. Proxies for three hundred shares came in to-day. We are actually at this moment on the safe side, and with what comes in during the next few days, we shall be indisputably in control."
Mansfield rose.
"Gentlemen, I congratulate you on having won your own fight. I think you have no further need of my advice and encouragement—for the present."
He bowed and departed, and left them still incredulous, amazed by their own achievement, even now scarce able to realize the swift change from defeat into victory.
Dorothy had greatly desired to accompany Armstrong to Wilmington; for, though she said nothing of it to him, a premonition of evil was strong upon her. But nature denied the wish. Dorothy was given to sudden spells of illness, and her physical condition was becoming manifest. Further, she quite realized the danger to her of a tense emotional and nervous strain for days on end, such as this meeting would involve. Reluctantly, she stayed at home.
On the day of the meeting, Armstrong left very early. She went with him to the station, walking up and down as they waited for the train. On this day of all days, she wanted to send forth her husband with the full and perfect assurance of her love, with no drag of domestic anxiety to weaken his efforts. Yet, somewhere in the shadows of her being, those casual words of her mother's lingered and recurred to her mind; why it was, she refused to admit to herself.
"I'm uneasy about Jimmy Wren," said Armstrong, as they paced up and down. "I'm afraid he's tied up with some woman, and I don't like his close-mouthed ways about it. It's not natural for Jimmy to be reticent."
"Jimmy!" exclaimed Dorothy quickly. "What woman?"
"That's just the point—I'm not even sure that the guess is right. But he's not been himself lately. I heard him getting a curb opinion out of Mansfield the other day, on the divorce laws in this state, and I know he bought some confoundedly expensive French perfume last week. He's been running into debt, too."
Dorothy halted. "Reese! Surely you don't think—"
"There's nothing wrong, if that's what you mean; Jimmy is square and clean. But he's just the man to get hooked by some gold-digger. Well, I'll see about it later if the chance comes—there's the train!" Armstrong turned and kissed her quickly. "Take good care of yourself, now! If you need me, call the Wilmington office; Wren will be in charge there and can get me in a hurry. I'll call you up every day, at noon and evening, and let you know how things go."
"There's only one way for them to go. Good-by, dear, and luck!"
She stood waving after him until the train had gone, then returned to the car. Her mind was busy with Jimmy Wren, and in the days that followed she wondered more than once about him, until more tragically important affairs drove him from her thoughts.
Two days passed, and Reese Armstrong made uneventful reports to her from Wilmington. The meeting was going slowly. Nothing would be done until after the roll call of the stockholders was taken, which would be on the third or fourth day. So far everything was excellent, and the Protective Association apparently in decisive control.
Upon the morning of the third day, while Dorothy was dressing, Slosson arrived at Aircastle Point.
Dorothy had passed a bad night, and her nerves were quivering. In her dreams, the voice of her mother had again whispered that old doubt. She no longer had any great fear that any mental obsession would take hold of her, and this was a bad sign. Had Reese actually driven her father out of Food Products? She was wondering now, this morning, whether she should bring up the whole matter with Reese, as soon as his Wilmington battle was over; she felt that he must be absolutely cleared in the eyes of every one, Williams and the rest. This, at least, was her conscious thought.
She had no doubt that everything would be explained. She told herself that her love and faith in Reese were supreme, and she believed it. None the less, the mental reflex of her physical condition was a curious one—and one that she did not realize.
It was at this moment that Slosson arrived. Dorothy heard his name with astonishment.
"At this hour! What does he want?"
"He asked for Mr. Armstrong, and seemed a good deal put out to learn he was gone," said the maid. "Then he asked for you. He says it's extremely important."
"Tell him I'll be down in a few minutes."
Dorothy turned to her mirror, wondering at this unheralded call from Pete Slosson.
Instantly there darted into her remembrance the thought of how Slosson had spoken that day at the Waldorf—his manner, rather than his words themselves. He had been so anxious to smooth over her mother's innocent remark, that he must have known more than he said.
"I wish now I'd made him say more," reflected Dorothy, giving her hair a final pat. "He seemed genuinely uneasy that day. There was always a lot of good in Pete, for all his reckless ways, and now he seems to have settled down—"
She smiled at the reflection which told of her beauty, and there was wonder in her smile, too. For Dorothy was one of those rare women who do not lose, but gain, by the added life within them, and never had the fine, clear lines of her face been so filled with a spiritual grace as now.
Pete Slosson was striding restlessly up and down the living room when she found him. At sight of her, he turned. There was no mistaking the light that sprang into his face as he warmly gripped her hands, and this look wakened a slight color in Dorothy's cheeks.
"Dot!" he exclaimed impulsively. "Tell me where I can reach Reese! I called up his office when I reached New York this morning, but couldn't get any information except that he was not there and wouldn't be there to-day. I came on here, sure of catching him—and now he's gone! I must get in touch with him immediately."
Her eyes widened on his.
"Why, Pete, you'll have to go to Wilmington! He's there, at the annual meeting of Consolidated. There's a big fight going on—"
"Yes, yes, I know—but good heavens, Dot! I have to catch an afternoon train for Indianapolis, sure!"
Slosson stared at her, anxiety and dismayed hesitation evident in his features. He was better looking than of old; cleaner about the eyes, firmer of mouth. Dorothy thought that he must have been not only prospering, but behaving himself.
He refused to sit down, but resumed his nervous pacing back and forth.
"This is terrible, Dot!" he burst out. "I've risked everything to come here—and now Reese is gone! If I could only get ten minutes with him—"
"Tell me, instead." Dorothy realized that something of serious import must be in the air; his agitated manner conveyed the fact. "Is it business? Reese and I have no secrets, Pete. If you like, why not telephone? I think we can reach him."
"No, no, it's impossible! I daren't telephone—or tell you either—"
He stopped short and stared at her, biting his lip. In his air was an alarmed hesitation, as though her suggestion had startled and frightened him.
"I'll say frankly, Dot, that it's for your sake I've come here to warn Reese. I'm risking everything in doing it—"