"To do so he requires, does he not, a majority vote of the Denver and
Saguache Railroad Company as well as that of the Short Line--those two
companies and the Development Company, as I understand it, being in a
way dependent one upon the other?"
"That is correct."
The General settled back in his chair, swinging his gold eyeglasses
daintily.
"How is he going to get that authority?" he asked.
His smile infuriated Wray, who replied quickly.
"By virtue of my control of all companies," he said crisply.
"Your control?" said Bent; "you have no control. I know your resources
to a dollar, Mr. Wray. To-day at twelve o'clock your Denver and Saguache
Railroad Company stock will be in my possession."
Wray exchanged a glance with Berkely and laughed dryly.
"Oh, you're really coming in with us at last, are you, General?" he
said. "That's fine!" And then with a chuckle, "Your name on the
directorate of the Denver and Saguache ought to have some weight with
the new officers of the Denver and California."
The frown on Bent's brows deepened. The point of this joke did not dawn
on him.
"That stock has always been for sale," Wray went on. "Everything I have
is for sale when the man comes along who can afford to buy it. It's
funny, though, General Bent, that you haven't said anything to me about
it."
A slight twitching of Bent's lips and the nervous movement of his
fingers among the papers on the table. Was this really a joke or only
the last manifestation of Wray's colossal impudence? He chose to think
it the latter.
"It hasn't been necessary to say anything to you about it, sir," he said
sternly. "To-day at noon two million and a half of that stock is thrown
on the market at a bargain--at a very great bargain. But I'm the only
man in the United States who would dare to touch it. I'm the only man
in the world, except yourself, to whom it's worth a dollar. I know your
resources down to the last dime. _You_ haven't the money to take it up.
I _have_. At noon that stock will be mine, so will you be mine--your
two railroads and your smelter, at the price I choose to pay for them."
Jeff sat quietly, one of his hands toying with the top of an inkstand,
which he was regarding with friendly interest.
"Are you _sure_, General?" he asked calmly.
General Bent clasped his twitching fingers to keep them still. "Why,
sir--what do you mean?"
"That you're mistaken, that's all. That stock is for sale, but you'll
still have to come to me to buy it."
"How----"
"Because I paid off those notes this morning. That stock is in my
safe-deposit vault, where it's going to stay--unless"--and he smiled
sarcastically--"unless you still want it."
General Bent's face paled and grew red, then purple. He struggled to
his feet with difficulty. His plans didn't often miscarry, and the fact
that one of the links of the chain he had tested so carefully had failed
to hold completely mystified him. How--where had Jeff Wray succeeded in
raising eight hundred thousand dollars when the limit of his borrowing
capacity had long ago been reached? For months the wonderful secret
organization of the Amalgamated had been at work prying into the affairs
of Wray's companies and had figured his possible resources to the
thinnest part of a hair. He had not sold the "Lone Tree" or even the
smallest interest in it, and yet there he was apparently entrenched as
firmly as ever. General Bent gasped in amazement. Only the
interposition of Providence could have made such a thing possible.
Cortland Bent had gone into the adjoining room suddenly, and Wray knew
he was verifying this information over the telephone. But General Bent
did not wait for him to return. To his mind this news needed no
verification. It was time for him to play his last card--and his best.
"You d--d young scoundrel," he said in a hoarse whisper, his voice
trembling with fury, while Wray and Berkely rose angrily and faced him.
"I won't mince matters with you any longer. You thought when you stole
that mine three years ago that you had covered all your tracks and made
yourself safe from civil suits. Mr. Berkely planned well. We fought
you in the courts and lost. I suppose you thought we had given up. We
did let up, but it was only to get a firmer hold. We've got it now, and
we're going to use it. You stole that mine--trespassed on our property
at night and tried to murder one of our employes. You assaulted him and
would have killed him if you hadn't been interrupted----"
"That's a lie!" said Jeff calmly.
"You'll have a chance to prove that. You lured Max Reimer into a
gambling den and put him out of business so that he couldn't prevent my
son from signing that lease."
"That's another lie! He was drunk and violent and drew a gun on me. My
partner struck him down. His head hit the edge of a table."
"Nonsense, sir. We have a witness who verifies Reimer in every
particular, who swears he saw from the doorway----"
"Who is your witness?"
"Fritz Weyl--I see you remember him. He----"