BAITING THE TRAP.
One day in the early spring Mr. Williams sent an invitation to Dr.
Meigs to dine with him, and after the meal they sat together in the
study conversing; for the two men had become fast friends, and seemed
to understand one another excellently.
“A curious thing has happened lately,” said the host, flicking the ash
from his cigar with a thoughtful air, “and one of my objects in asking
you over this evening is to tell you of it, and ask your advice.”
The doctor nodded and settled himself in his chair to listen.
“It is now some ten years ago that my attention was attracted by a
sample of steel of such remarkable quality that I at once became
interested, and after a time I managed to trace it to Bingham, where
it had been made by John Carden, in his old factory. But the maker
had gone from the town, and was reported dead, and on being referred
to Mr. Jordan, at the bank, I learned that the process for making
this wonderful product was now owned by him. I made Ezra Jordan a
proposition for the exclusive use of the process, on a royalty basis,
and having come to terms I proceeded to build these mills, and the
houses for my workmen, and afterwards moved here with my family. All of
this you already know. I confess that I have made a great deal of money
since then, for certain manufacturers and machinists cannot do without
my steel, which no other maker has been able to duplicate. I might
mention, incidentally, that Jordan has also made a fortune out of his
royalties.
“A while ago I confided to you my discovery that Jordan had deceived
me in regard to the formula; but I didn’t worry much about that,
because I knew that as long as I made money for him he would cause
me no trouble. Now, however a more startling evidence of the man’s
treachery has come to my knowledge. The Italian government requires
a large amount of high-class steel for use in their naval armament,
and I submitted samples of my product with the certainty that I would
secure the order, which will amount to millions of dollars. Imagine,
therefore, my chagrin at being informed that another sample of steel,
even finer than mine, and with the same peculiar characteristics that
can be produced in no other way than by the Carden process, has been
submitted to them by an English firm, and at a lower price than I
demanded. What do you think of that, Dr. Meigs?”
“I cannot account for it,” was the reply, “unless some one in England
has stumbled upon the same process.”
“That is, of course, possible; but not at all probable. I am more
inclined to think that Mr. Jordan has made another deal, this time
with the English firm, and is drawing royalties from them as well as
from me.”
“I see. You accuse the man of competing against himself.”
“In this case, yes. But whichever gets the contract will pay him
his royalties, so he is safe. Otherwise he would not figure on our
competing for I sell no steel abroad, and our duties prevent the
English makers from sending it here.”
“Do you know the name of the English firm?” asked the doctor.
“Yes; the Italian commissioner was frank enough in stating it. My rival
is the Atlas Steel Company, of Birmingham.”
“Why don’t you interview Jordan, and have it out with him?”
“My idea exactly. That is just what I want to do. But that will be an
important interview, my dear doctor, and I want you to be present.”
“Me?” said the doctor, surprised.
“Yes. I’ve got a notion in my head that Jordan has defrauded the
Cardens, as well as me, and you must stand as the friend of the
Cardens, in case we get the man to admit anything. It can’t be
possible, sir, that Jordan ever loaned John Carden money, for in those
days he was poor. In that case why should we suppose that Carden, who
was shrewd enough to become a successful inventor, would turn over all
rights to his process to another man, leaving his family in utter
poverty?”
“It doesn’t seem reasonable,” agreed the doctor.
“Let us take Jordan unawares, and accuse him of his villainy. Perhaps
we may induce him to confess all, and then your presence as a witness
would be valuable both to me and to the Carden family.”
“Very well; when do you want me?”
“Call at the office at three, tomorrow afternoon. I’ll have Jordan in,
and we’ll see how much can be scared out of him.”
So the matter was arranged although Dr. Meigs had his doubts about
their success. Chester D. Williams was evidently a man who liked to
face a difficulty without fear, and bore his way to the bottom of it.
And it really seemed that he had ample foundation for his suspicions of
Mr. Jordan. But when the doctor thought it all over, and looked back
upon Mr. Jordan’s regular and modest life, and remembered how admirable
his conduct had ever been in the eyes of all who knew him, he hesitated
to believe the man guilty of such bold and audacious villainy as was
suggested by Mr. Williams’ recent discoveries.
Doubtless the man was by nature cold; and he might be heartless. It
was within the bounds of possibility that he had robbed John Carden’s
family of all those immense royalties earned by the process. But to
sell the same process to an English corporation was altogether too
hazardous a scheme for any man to undertake: unless, indeed, his past
success had made him reckless.
In any event, the doctor doubted that sufficient proof could be
advanced to convict Mr. Jordan. The inventor was dead, and no one else
could prove that Jordan had no right to the process. And without proof
the case was hopeless.
Yet promptly at three o’clock Dr. Meigs called at the steel works, and
was admitted to Mr. Williams’ private office.
The proprietor was engaged at his desk when his friend entered, and
after a nod in the doctor’s direction and a request that he be seated,
he swung around and touched an electric button.
“Please ask Mr. Jordan to step here,” he said to the boy who answered
the bell.
Such promptness fairly startled the doctor, but in a moment he
collected himself for the coming interview, acknowledging to himself
that Mr. Williams was right. If a disagreeable duty was to be
performed, the sooner it was over with, the better.
Mr. Jordan entered with his usual stiff and solemn air, and gave the
doctor a brief nod of recognition. Then he paused before Mr. William’s
desk in a way that indicated rather than expressed an inquiry as to
why he had been summoned.
The mill owner laid down his pen and looked his secretary square in the
face.
“Mr. Jordan,” said he, “we have lost that order of the Italian
government.”
“Why?” asked the other, a shade of disappointment in his harsh voice.
“Because the Atlas Steel Company of Birmingham, England, has offered
the same steel as mine at a lower price.”
“Impossible!” cried the man, startled for once out of his usual apathy.
“No, it is true,” replied Mr. Williams, calmly. “The Atlas works is
using the Carden process, and turning out a product even better than we
are at Bingham.”
Mr. Jordan’s face was pale and haggard. He looked around with a
hunted air, and then, seeing that both men were regarding him keenly,
he controlled himself with an effort and wiped his brow with his
handkerchief.
“How could they know of my--of the Carden process?” he asked, hoarsely.
“The answer is very simple,” said Mr. Williams, with admirable
composure; “you sold the secret, in order to obtain a royalty
from them, as well as from me.”