"Waldorf and Parks are within call," I said with calm and assured
mendacity. "Shall I bring them in?"
Peter Bolton dropped his eyes, trembled as he stood silent for a moment,
then seized his papers and walked to the door. As his hand was on the
knob, he turned and shook his fist at us.
"I'll smash you yet!" he cried in a harsh voice, his anger getting the
better of his fears. "I'll smash you and that scoundrel Kendrick. I'll
grind the whole pack of you down into the dirt." And he went out with
unexpected nimbleness, and slammed the door behind him.
I looked at my associates with a word of self-congratulation on my
tongue. But the shamed and apologetic air with which they studied the
documents before them stopped my mouth. It was evident that they needed
no one to inform them that they had been gulled by Peter Bolton, and I
had the discretion to perceive that the temper of the office would not
be improved by discussion of the circumstances. So I took my seat
without a word.
The stream of imperiled merchants again trickled through the room, and
for an hour we worked rapidly and with exemplary harmony. The
self-esteem of Partridge, cut down by the treacherous hand of Peter
Bolton, spread and blossomed once more as his skill in estimating the
value of securities and the needs of borrowers was put to the test and
proved without flaw. The phlegmatic Nelson had shown his discomposure
for but a moment, so we were again upon a footing of close confidence.
It was half-past two when Brown, Wharton Kendrick's head clerk, peered
in at the door and beckoned to me with a face full of trouble. I made
some excuse, and followed him to his office. He closed and locked the
door and looked at me in silent dismay.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"We're ruined!" he gasped.
"What's that?" I cried.
"We must close the doors--unless you have three hundred and fifty
thousand," he whispered slowly.
He looked at me with the white face and colorless lips of a man in the
final stages of nausea. The misfortunes of Wharton Kendrick were taken
to heart by at least one man.
"It's some of Mr. Kendrick's notes," he said. "They've just been
presented. There's four hundred and fifty thousand of them
altogether--lacking a few hundreds, and all the money we've got is a
little over one hundred thousand."
"Where do these notes come from? Who presents them?"
"They are made out to different persons; but they are presented by the
El Dorado Bank."
"Didn't Mr. Kendrick make any provision to meet them?"
"Maybe he did--I suppose so, for some of them are three weeks overdue.
But he never said anything to me about them."
"Let me see them."
The bank's messenger was brought in, and I scrutinized the notes he
presented. They were on their face made payable to a dozen or more
men--some to one, some to another--but all had been indorsed to Peter
Bolton.
There was no time to waste in lamentations, and there was but one
resource in sight. I bade the messenger wait a minute, and hastened
back to the syndicate's office.
"Here are three checks for you to sign," said Partridge. "The men are
waiting for them in the anteroom."
They were for but small amounts, and I hastily added my name to the
slips.
"I have something more important yet to lay before you," I said boldly.
"I want three hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
"What's that?" cried Partridge.
Nelson looked too shocked for words, and I repeated my request.
"What do you want it for?" demanded Partridge.
"Gentlemen," I replied, "I am sorry to say that we are face to face with
the greatest danger we have yet met. Peter Bolton has made good his
threat. He has struck quick and hard. He has presented for payment
through the El Dorado Bank nearly four hundred and fifty thousand of
Wharton Kendrick's notes, and there is only one hundred thousand in the
house to pay them with. I must ask you for the balance."
Partridge drew a whistle of surprise, and Nelson turned pale.
"The old fox!" cried Nelson. "We might have known he was up to
mischief."
"And he put them in through the El Dorado Bank," said Partridge
reflectively. "I wonder if he is with the bank's wrecking combination."
"He is at the head of it," I said.
Partridge drummed on the desk with nervous fingers, and his face took on
a grim look. As neither of my associates spoke, I said:
"Well, there can be no doubt of our duty to support Wharton Kendrick in
this emergency."
"Of course not," said Partridge. "What security can you offer?"
"Haven't the least idea," I replied curtly.
"You'd better make us a general assignment," said Nelson. "I suppose
that will cover it."
"I couldn't think of doing such a thing," I replied, restraining my
indignation with an effort. "A note will have to do."
"It's a very irregular proposition," said Nelson. "Even the Sundown Bank
has put up a pretense of collateral."
"Well," I returned, "as a business proposition, wouldn't you rather hold
Wharton Kendrick's note than the Sundown Bank's collateral?"
"Yes, of course--provided Wharton Kendrick lives. But Wharton Kendrick
is likely to die. The question we have to consider is, What will his
note be worth in the Probate Court?"
"You see how it is," said Partridge, with the patient air of one
instructing a novice. "If you haven't anything to pledge, why, an
assignment is the thing."