"It looks as though there was going to be a party," she said, "or a
supper at the very least. I hope you won't overeat--or worse."
"Big Sam has never suggested such an idea as eating or drinking, though
I don't put it beyond him. But he surely hasn't picked out this season
of alarms to give a reception. So if you'll excuse me, I'll run down to
his place. It may be something important."
"Of course you must go--and you must come back, too. I'm sure I can't
sleep till I know what it's about. I shall be up most of the night, and
so will Mercy; so you needn't have qualms about ringing the bell, even
if you are later than late. There will be somebody to let you in."
"As I'd rather be here than anywhere else, I shan't miss the chance to
come back," I said boldly.
She ignored my words, and evaded my devouring glances, and with a sage
nod suggested that the sooner I was on my way, the sooner I should have
a chance to come back.
As I went down the steps I was stricken with a jealous pang to see Mr.
Baldwin coming up with the air of a conquering army. He gave me a cool
"Good evening," and then asked, in his most superior manner, if I were
on my way to stir my friends to further exertions.
"I have but one object in life," I returned in a confidential tone, "and
that is to put your particular friend and client inside four stone walls
where he can't do any more harm. And you can tell Mr. Bolton so with my
compliments, too."
From his muttered response, I gathered that my reminder of his
connection with Peter Bolton did not give him unalloyed pleasure, and
pleased with the consciousness that I had given more than I had received
in the way of irritation, I went my way to Chinatown.
There were abundant signs of unrest in both the white and the yellow
city. Bands of hoodlums still ranged the streets, and fought runaway
actions with the police. Householders seemed in fear, and windows that
were customarily cheerful with lights now looked with darkened shades
upon the streets.
Chinatown was as forbidding as on the night of my last visit, and such
lights as were to be seen shone through closed shutters and barred
doors. But despite the atmosphere of sullen hostility that lay like a
fog upon the district, I made my way without interference to Waverly
Place and rapped on Big Sam's door. My name secured prompt admittance.
The door was unbarred for a moment for my entrance, and promptly barred
once more, and I was led through a crowd of sullen, hostile-faced
hatchet-men to Big Sam's reception-hall.
The King of Chinatown sat by his desk in his flowing robes of state, but
rose and offered me his hand as I entered.
"I thank you for your prompt attention, Mr. Hampden," he said, motioning
me courteously to a high-backed chair at his side. I thought I could
detect a trace of worry in his eyes, but his face was as impassive as
ever.
"I am flattered to receive your invitation."
"It is not an idle one."
"I should be slow to believe so--especially after the prompt fulfilment
of your last prophecy."
"You have the eye of the reader of thoughts," said Big Sam with a faint
smile. "You speak of the very point I wish to ask about. I note by the
papers that you were attacked--or Mr. Kendrick, to be accurate."
"Oh, I was fortunate enough to share in it," I said nonchalantly.
"Hardly a matter for congratulation, Mr. Hampden. Kindly let me know
what happened. Was it by my people, or--"
He paused, and I replied:
"We were attacked in front by the anti-Chinese mob, three hundred or
more strong, and in the rear by a score or so of ruffians that I have
reason to suppose were hired by your people."
"I should be obliged for your reasons."
"They are at your service." And I gave the accumulated facts from
Little John's attempt to drag away the Chinese girl, to Danny Regan's
identification by Moon Ying.
As I set forth my tale, a certain fire of rage kindled in Big Sam's face
without disturbing the impassivity of his features. He seemed to grow
larger, and I could understand how great monarchs cause men to tremble
by something more than the physical forces at their command. Some
subtle force irradiated from the man, and only a strong will could
refuse to yield to the fear that he inspired.
As I ended my tale, he muttered, "The dogs--to violate their word--to
cross my orders--to risk everything at this crisis!"
Then he clapped his hands, and two men appeared, and after a few words
vanished.
"I hope you will not object if I detain you for a time," said Big Sam,
relaxing something of his anger.
"Not at all, if I can be of service."
"You mean that you would not stay as a social diversion," he said with a
faint smile. "Well, you can be of service, Mr. Hampden, and permit me
in the interval to offer you the hospitalities that should pass between
friends." He gave his hands another clap, and in a moment a servant
entered bearing a tray with a teapot and cups, and placed it before Big
Sam. My host poured the tea as I exclaimed at the beauty of the
porcelain in the highly decorated pot and the thin cups.
"I presume you prefer sugar and milk," said Big Sam, hesitating.
If I had possessed an insatiable appetite for these luxuries, the note
of scorn in his voice would have forbidden me to confess it. But I had
been dealing with Chinese clients long enough, and had drunk tea enough
in Chinese fashion, to make it a matter of indifference to me, and I
gave him a cheerful negative.
"What an exquisite flavor!" I exclaimed, as I sipped from the dainty
cups. "Where do you get such tea?"
"I have it brought over by a special agent. It is not such as you can
buy in the stores. That you may realize that you do not see all of
China in the externals we present in San Francisco, I will remind you
that you consider that you get a very good tea when you pay two dollars
a pound for it. It is a good tea. But this that you are drinking costs
eighty dollars a pound in China. You see we have a few
luxuries--possibly some that you would not recognize. This is the tea of
the gods, and I am pleased to see that you do not profane its flavor."
The servant had brought in another tray, and Big Sam pressed me to eat
of some preserved fish, which he praised more highly than I thought it
deserved, and a fowl deliciously cooked with strange seasonings, ending
with Chinese sweetmeats and a dash of fine Chinese brandy. I ate
without hesitation, for all my suspicion of Chinese dishes, for I could
believe that the man who drank tea at eighty dollars a pound would have
nothing below the best.
And as we ate, Big Sam questioned me with a devouring curiosity of my
views on the relations of China and the United States, on the future of
the Orient, on the possible waking of China, on the destiny of the
races, on the results of the anti-Chinese agitation; and though he gave
little expression to his own views, he let drop many statesmanlike
observations that showed how deeply he had thought upon these problems.
Then at a sound from without, he had the trays cleared away, and the
look of stern anger came back to his face.
"Now, Mr. Hampden, is the time for your assistance," he said. "I did
not, as you may assume, invite you here to talk politics. That pleasure
might have waited till a less troubled time. Matters of more importance
await us. With your kind permission, we shall hold a high court of
justice."
I had ceased to be astonished at anything that might happen in Big Sam's
apartments. I bowed assent, and at a sharp rap on the desk, a score or
more of sullen-faced Chinese entered, and formed in line along the
walls. Apparently they bore no arms, but I judged from their expression
that they belonged to the notorious hatchet-men, and carried all the
paraphernalia of war under their loose blouses. Then entered two men of
stern aspect, who walked with an air of command, and after greeting Big
Sam they were introduced to me as the presidents of the Sare Bo and the
See Yung tongs and were given seats beside us. Then at a curt order
from Big Sam, another door opened, and two men entered dragging a
protesting prisoner between them.
It was Little John, and by the fear that gleamed in his eyes and set his
chin a-tremble, his forecast of the judgment of the high court of
justice was most grave. He dropped to his knees, as he was dragged in
front of the desk and made to face us, and beat his forehead on the
floor with exclamations of protest and appeals for mercy. At a word
from Big Sam the guards brought him to his feet, and Big Sam spoke
briefly in Chinese. Then he turned to me.
"Is this the man, Mr. Hampden?"
"I have no doubt it is," I responded.
"Please repeat your story to these men," and he indicated the two
Chinese presidents who looked with stern, impassive faces upon the
trembling wretch before us.
"You will understand that this is not evidence," I said. "It is nothing
that could be received in court, as I speak for the most part by
hearsay."
"Proceed," said Big Sam. "Our justice is not pinioned in the bonds of
your rules of evidence." And I repeated the account of the first visit
of Little John, of his attempt to capture Moon Ying, of the assault on
the Kendrick house by Danny Regan's ruffians, and Regan's identification
by Moon Ying as Little John's expressman. From time to time Big Sam
acted as interpreter, though in the main the Chinese appeared to
understand me well enough.
The prisoner shook as with an ague at my disclosures, and his coarse
goatee fluttered in sympathy with his flying heart. A few questions
were put to him, and after admitting that he had visited the Kendrick
place, he turned to denial, and became glib in his own defense. Big Sam
translated to me in an undertone, and I could feel the anger in his
voice rising higher and higher at each prevarication. At last Big Sam
sprang to his feet, and pointing at me, thundered a question at Little
John.
Little John hesitated, stumbled in his speech, hastily denied his words,
then stopped and looked about him with evident realization that he was
lost; and with a scream of terror he would have fallen had not the
guards caught him and brought him roughly to his feet.
"Mr. Hampden, what shall be done with this man?" asked Big Sam.
"I have a warrant out for his arrest for disturbing the peace. I'm
afraid I haven't evidence enough to satisfy our courts on a higher
charge."
"Well, this court is satisfied--you believe him guilty, Mr. Hampden?"
"He is certainly guilty of attempted abduction."
He apparently put the same question to the two stern-faced men beside
us, and they gave assent in brief phrases.
"The court is unanimous," said Big Sam. "Guilty of attempted abduction,
violation of the bargain between the tongs, sacrificing the interests of
his race to the interest of his tong by challenging the white vengeance.
What should the penalty be, Mr. Hampden?"
"I think in our court he would get two years for the attempted
abduction, assuming that he was convicted."
"A mild punishment, Mr. Hampden. I do not wonder that crime flourishes
in your country with justice so feeble. But we have no prisons at our
command. Death or exile or fine--these are the punishments we can
enforce."
I shuddered at his words and tone, but it seemed impossible that we were
discussing more than a theoretical case.
"Do you mean to say that our judgment will be carried out?" I cried.
"Certainly. An example is necessary; an offense has been committed; the
guilty is before us for sentence."
"I should be satisfied with exile," I said, as Big Sam's eye demanded my
choice.
He spoke to the two stern-faced men beside us, and at their answer
turned to me.
"All but you, Mr. Hampden, favor death. It is less costly, and more
effective."
"But he has not committed a capital offense," I protested.
"It is a capital offense by the laws of his own land. And if he had
succeeded in burning Mr. Kendrick's house and killing Mr. Kendrick's
family, I understand that it would have been a capital offense, even by
the emasculate laws of your country. Is he the less guilty that his
accomplices failed in the parts he had arranged for them?"
"Our laws give a lower punishment to the attempt than to the completed
offense," I objected.
"Thereby making the suffering of the innocent and not the wickedness of
the criminal the measure of guilt," said Big Sam. "It is enough. Let
the sentence stand." And with a few words to the men who held the
hapless Little John between them, the prisoner was dragged protesting
through one of the mysterious doors of Big Sam's apartment, and
disappeared at a turn of the labyrinth. Then with ceremonious bows, the
stern-faced presidents of the tongs took their leave, and lastly Big
Sam's retainers filed out.
"Do you mean that this man is to be killed?" I cried, when the doors had
closed behind the departing. "Why, he is not even the principal in the
crime. You have told me yourself that he is the representative of the
Hop Sing Tong."
"When we can not catch the shark, we catch the pilot-fish," said Big
Sam.
"But this is murder."
"Mr. Hampden," said Big Sam calmly, "this has been a very unpleasant
affair, but, believe me, necessary. Let us not discuss it further. I
have put it from my mind. I advise you to do the same. Do you believe
that the organization of the Committee of Safety will have any effect on
the troubles in the city?"
"I have every confidence in the man at the head of it. I believe it
will be of material assistance in suppressing disorder."
"The revolutionary elements are strong," said Big Sam. "I have
information that there is to be an armed outbreak to-morrow night. Will
the Committee of Safety have its organization completed in time to check
it? After that, it may be too late."
I wondered whether this warning had come from Peter Bolton, but I saw
the futility of asking such a question of the man before me. I could
merely express the hope that the huge task of enrolling, arming and
instructing the men who were flocking to the Committee's leadership
would be far enough advanced to make it of service before a serious
outbreak occurred.
"If the Committee is overpowered, I presume we shall be left to our own
defense," said Big Sam. "Well, we shall try to be ready. Permit me to
thank you again for the pleasure of your company; and good night."
The retainers who held Big Sam's store in force looked at me impassively
from their slant-eyes as I went out, and they appeared undisturbed at
the scene that so many of them had witnessed. But as the door was
closed and barred behind me, their voices broke forth in a chatter of
singsong tones that revealed the excitement they had repressed to the
eye. Big Sam's justice had at least impressed his followers.
Once more in the streets, the scene in Big Sam's hall seemed impossible,
far away, of another world. I studied my duties to the laws of my own
land, as I made my way through the darkened thoroughfares. Should I
interfere, and try to save the life of Little John--even supposing that
it was possible to find him in the Chinese labyrinths? Why? Did he not
deserve his fate? And as the picture of Laura Kendrick crushed in the
burning ruins of her house rose before my mind's eye, I could not deny
that the world would be better off without the man who had planned such
a deed. And with the conclusion to leave Chinese justice to the
Chinese, I made my way back to the Kendrick house.
As I came up the steps, I was struck by the coincidence of meeting Mr.
Baldwin coming down, and wished him a polite "Good night." He halted in
evident anger, as though my words had been a personal insult. Then with
a muttered "Go to the devil!" he strode up the street.
These signs of perturbation upon the cold and unemotional Baldwin were a
portent to wonder at, and I suspected that his visit had not been as
happy as he considered to be his desert.
Inside the house, I discovered some reflection of the perturbation
displayed by the retreating Baldwin. Miss Kendrick's face was flushed,
and I thought I discovered traces of tears on her cheeks, and a tendency
to hysteric laughter, very foreign to her nature. Miss Fillmore was
embracing her with sympathetic attention as I entered.
"Men are such queer creatures," said Miss Kendrick sagely, "and they do
make themselves ridiculous when--"
Then catching sight of me she uttered a cry of dismay, and said:
"Why, what is the matter? Is the house in danger again from those
shocking hoodlums?" But she recalled herself as soon as she spoke, and
said: "Oh, I remember now. I am Miss Scatterbrain to-night. What did
Big Sam want?"
"He wished to assure me that there was no further danger from Little
John," I returned, with prudent reserve.
She looked at me suspiciously, as though she detected something behind
my words.
"Do you believe him?"
"I have no doubt of his good faith."
"Well, that's one relief. But just the same Moon Ying doesn't go
outside this house till all the troubles are over."
"Is there any fighting to-night?" asked Mercy anxiously.
"Only a few hoodlums. I think we shall get through the night without
serious trouble, and to-morrow the Vigilantes will be organized. Then
the city can sleep in peace."
"Well, I hope so," said Laura, and Mercy breathed an assent. "I feel as
though I hadn't slept for a week. And now you go and get some sleep
yourself, for you're going to have a hard day to-morrow."
Between the recollections of business, of Big Sam's justice, and of
Laura Kendrick, sleep was long in coming. Yet of all problems that kept
my mind in ferment, the most disturbing was "What happened to Baldwin?"
And after arguing myself to the pleasing conclusion that he had, in his
most superior manner, put his fate to the test, and had fallen from the
full height of his self-esteem to the bottomless pit of rejection, I
fell into dreamless slumber.
*CHAPTER XXV*
*FACING A CRISIS*
As I neared the office on the following morning in some depression of
spirits at the reports from Wharton Kendrick's bedside, I heard my name
called, and turned to find Parks signaling me. His face was alight with
self-importance, his hair stood out with electric aggressiveness, and he
seemed to tremble with superfluous energy, like a superheated boiler.
"You should have stayed to the rest of our meeting on last Monday
night," he said abruptly. "We succeeded in strengthening our cause
among the working-people, even though the misguided violence of a few
young men interfered with our plans for freeing the people from their
oppressors."
"I had other business than listening to speeches."
"Sir," he cried, "you do wrong to speak with contempt of those appeals
that rouse men to a knowledge of their rights and their powers. I want
you to be with us again to-night. We are to hold another meeting on the
New City Hall lots, as you will see by this circular." And he waved a
number of sheets that called upon all men to "Rally, Rally!" at the
"Great Anti-Coolie Mass Meeting" at eight o'clock.
"Another meeting!" I exclaimed. "You are very indiscreet to hold it at
this time."
"Not at all," returned Parks enthusiastically. "Now is the time. We
must take advantage of the roused feelings of the people. The outbreak
the other night came to nothing because it was but an ebullition of
misdirected energy. But it was prompted by a generous desire for action
that would free the people, and had we been prepared to take advantage
of the opportunity, the strength that for want of intelligent leadership
was wasted in profitless attacks on Chinese wash-houses would have put
us in possession of the city government."
"Do you think you are prepared now?"
"We are ready to seize the opportunities that fortune may offer."
"Why, you're not so absurd as to suppose that you can seize the
government now," I said. "Even supposing you might have done something
the other night--which I don't think you could--the time has gone by.
The city is roused. The Committee of Safety is organized. The militia
is under arms. You will certainly land in jail if you make a move, and
if you're locked up, there will be one very unhappy girl in this city.
For her sake, Parks, keep out of this affair."
"Sir," said Parks, his aggressive manner a little softened, "I am
committed. I can not in honor draw back, even to please the best of
women. But you underestimate our strength. The Committee of Safety
itself springs from the people, and will assist, not hinder, our
movement. The militia is recruited from the same class, and will not
fire on the people at the command of plutocracy. We shall meet and we
shall triumph. Be with us to-night, at eight sharp." And he hurried
on.
A second warning of the intended meeting came from Clark, who was lying
in wait for me at the office door.
"Parks just told me about it," I said. "What are they going to do?"
"Why, the men of the Council are talking about taking possession of the
city government, but the talk of the men around town runs to burning the
Pacific Mail docks and the steamers, and running the Chinese out of
Chinatown."
"Burning the Mail steamers!" I cried.
"Yes. We've got word that the _City of Tokio_ is in with a cargo of a
thousand coolies, and the men say that the only way to stop them from
landing is to burn them in the steamer, and make an end of the docks.
Anyhow, if they don't do that, they'll do something else that's likely
to be as bad. Waldorf and Reddick held up Bolton in his office last
night and got more money out of him--ten thousand or twenty thousand
dollars, I don't know which--so they are in funds to organize trouble."
This information seemed to call for action, but I could think of nothing
better to do than to order Clark to engage a dozen more stout fellows to
be on guard at the Kendrick place in case the mob should pay it another
visit. And this done, I walked with some perturbance of mind into the
office.
Nelson soon arrived, carefully groomed, fresh-shaven, his side-whiskers
trimmed, and his eyeglasses heightening his air of authority, and
greeted me with more consideration than he had shown yesterday. A few
minutes later Partridge followed in more free and easy fashion.
"I met Coleman on the street just now," said Partridge. "He's too busy
with his Vigilantes to do much with us to-day."
"I hope he'll get his twenty thousand men and drive every hoodlum out of
town," said Nelson. "Is it true that Kendrick is going to die?"
My heart climbed into my throat at this disturbing question. The
business as well as the personal reasons that would make his death a
calamity had led me to put this thought rigorously out of my mind, and
it was an emotional shock to be compelled to face it.
"I can't think so," I replied, as soon as I could command my voice.
"But I'm sorry to say he is no better. When I left the house this
morning, he was still unconscious."
"I heard he had no chance," said Nelson, "but I hoped it wasn't so."
For a moment I lost the firmness of mind that had supported me in the
trials of the situation. Between the affection I had conceived for
Wharton Kendrick and the thought of the confusion in which his affairs
would be left, the apprehension of his death threw me into mental
distraction. I was recalled by the voice of Partridge:
"Well, we must get down to business. Here's a list of men who will call
for loans. There'll be plenty of others. By the way, Hampden, I got
pledges of seven hundred and twenty-five thousand more to go into the
pool. You can deposit it, if you like, with the rest of the syndicate
fund." And he tossed me a bundle of checks.
This simple act of confidence pleased me more than words. These men
treated me as one of them. I was trusted as Wharton Kendrick would have
been trusted under the same circumstances, and at this certificate of
confidence I was warmed by a pardonable glow of pride.
The morning was a repetition of its predecessor, as the elements of the
city's commercial woes trickled in concentrated form through the office.
It was a depressing business, as the line of embarrassed merchants,
brokers and speculators passed rapidly before us. Some were snatched
from the brink of ruin. Some were sent about their business as frauds,
seeking to use the syndicate's funds in speculation. Some--too
unimportant to affect the commercial fabric in their failure--were left
to stand or fall as their own strength should determine.
"I never supposed there was so much rotten timber afloat," said
Partridge.
William T. Coleman joined us at the lunch hour, and the sight of his
face, masterful and calm, renewed our spirits.
"You are keeping things pretty near even in the markets," he said. "We
shall weather the gale if there isn't another outbreak."
"Well, that's on the cards," I said. "The circulars are out for another
meeting on the sand-lots."
"Come with me, and tell what you know about this, while we have a bite
of lunch," he said.
I was more than pleased at this request, but looked doubtfully at the
accumulation of papers before us with the feeling that I was the
indispensable man at the desk. Coleman interpreted my unspoken thought,
and said:
"Oh, sign a dozen checks in blank, and Partridge and Nelson can attend
to everything necessary while you are gone."
I was reluctant to surrender my place as dispenser of fortune, even for
a brief space of time. The position of a financial magnate in a period
of storm and stress was not one that I could conscientiously describe as
free from anxieties and perturbations. But it was clothed with power,
and power possesses a fascination of its own. Monarchs do not abdicate,
except under compulsion; and even among minor office-holders, whose
mastership is far more limited than that of a millionaire in business,
we have the word of a president that "few die and none resign." But at
the compelling glance of William T. Coleman I signed my name to twelve
checks, and said that I was happy to attend him.
During our hasty luncheon I told of the warning of coming outbreak that
had been given me by Big Sam, of the words of Parks, and of the
information I had received from Clark. Then, at his inquiries, I told
all that I knew of the Council of Nine--its organization from among the
anarchists, socialists and communists, its visionary idea of seizing the
city government, and the manner in which it was using the anti-Chinese
agitation to secure the physical force to bring about its revolutionary
ends.
"You think the anti-Chinese leaders are being used without their
knowledge?" asked Coleman thoughtfully.
"To a large extent, yes. They know, of course, that these men have
wider designs, but they do not take them seriously."
"Nevertheless," said Coleman, "they may prove dangerous in a crisis like
this. They have the reckless courage of leadership that may turn a mob
into a destroying body. We must do everything we can to hasten the
enrollment and organization of the Committee of Safety's forces. By the
way, have you signed the roll yet?"
"No. I haven't had time to think of it."
"This will never do. You are a leading citizen now and must set a good
example. Come with me. We have our headquarters in the Chamber of
Commerce rooms for the day, but at night we shall assemble in
Horticultural Hall. We are going to have a big force, and must have a
big armory."
The assembly hall of the Chamber of Commerce was fitted up with desks,
and a score of clerks were busy with books and papers. Two or three
hundred men had gathered in the hall, and the clerks were surrounded by
confused but orderly groups. Coleman led me to one of the desks, and I
signed my name while he himself pinned on my coat the badge of the
Vigilantes.
As I wrote, I was astonished to see a dozen lines above my pen the
signature of Peter Bolton, and it struck fire to my anger that the
arch-conspirator--the man who had inspired the disorder that threatened
the city--should have enrolled his name among those who pledged their
lives and fortunes to its defense. I gave a quick look about the room
with the thought that I should discover the spare face and sardonic
smile of the curmudgeon enjoying the flutter into which he had thrown
the solid men of the city. But he was nowhere to be seen, and I debated
whether I should call Mr. Coleman's attention to the matter; but as I
remembered that Wharton Kendrick had checked a mention of Bolton's name
in Coleman's own house, and saw no present purpose to be served by the
discovery, I followed the sound rule of keeping my mouth shut. And as
William T. Coleman retired to the office of the Committee of
Twenty-four, I returned to my duties.
On entering the door of my office I was given a shock of surprise. A
man of spare figure, tall, with bowed and narrow shoulders, sat facing
Partridge and Nelson, and presented only his back to my view; but the
back was unmistakably the back of Peter Bolton. Nelson leaned forward,
watching him with close attention, while Partridge was running rapidly
through a bundle of papers.
"I've got to have the money," were the first words that came to me in
Peter Bolton's complaining voice. "Here are the securities--pretty good
securities, too--better than you took from Packenham, or Hooper, or a
dozen others--ten times as good as you took from the Sundown Bank."
Partridge swiftly sorted the papers into two packets. The larger one he
threw across the desk to Bolton.
"The banks will take those," he said with crisp brevity. "We can
advance three hundred thousand on the others, if necessary. What do you
want to do with the money?"
Peter Bolton gave his head a slow shake.
"I've got to save myself from going under," he said in a whining tone.
"I've got notes to pay, and three hundred thousand dollars won't cover
them. I ought to have a million."
"Let's see the statement of your liabilities," said Partridge.
Peter Bolton fumbled in his inside coat pocket, brought out a large
pocket-book, untied the string with which he had secured it, and then
looked through its bulging compartments.
"I don't like to show it," he complained. "It's Private Business, and I
don't like to trust any one with my Private Business."
"Suit yourself," said Partridge. "Try some other place if you like."
Peter Bolton's trembling hand brought out a sheet of paper from one of
the recesses of the pocket-book, and passed it over to Partridge.
"There it is," he said. "You can see I've got to have money right away.
If I don't pay them notes, I'll be posted on the Exchange; and you can't
afford to have that happen. If I go down, there'll be such a smash in
the markets as you've never seen. I shan't go down alone."
Partridge rapidly drew his pencil through several of the items of Peter
Bolton's statement.
"Those will renew," he said. "You can get four hundred thousand from
the banks on the securities you have in your hand. Three hundred
thousand will be enough for us to let you have. It will see you
through."
"I don't see how I am to get along without more than that," said Peter
Bolton, with a slow shake of the head. "But I'll do the best I can with
it." He gave the outward evidences of dissatisfaction, but there was an
undertone of triumph in his voice, inaudible to any ear but mine.
I had listened thus far without an attempt to interrupt. I was curious
to see what plea Peter Bolton would make in support of his audacious
attempt to turn the syndicate's money against the syndicate's objects;
and it had not occurred to me as possible that Partridge and Nelson
would fail to penetrate his scheme. I forgot for the moment that my
colleagues were not informed of the purposes of the arch-plotter, and it
was therefore with something of a shock that I heard Partridge consent
to put three hundred thousand dollars into Bolton's hands, and saw
Nelson dip his pen in ink to fill out the check.
"I beg pardon," I said, stepping forward, "but I think it will be better
to hold that money."
At the sound of my voice Peter Bolton gave a violent start, and for a
moment his face turned ashy gray, as he seized the arms of the chair to
support himself. Then with an effort he recovered his self-possession,
and gave me a nod that was meant to be ingratiating.
"Well," said Partridge, "if you'd like to look over Mr. Bolton's papers,
here they are."