Without comment, Bowen took the flat packet Miss Ferguson handed him,
dropped into the big plush chair beside her, and glanced at his watch.
“Eleven o’clock. Time to talk before lunch.” He glanced around and
found they were in no danger of eavesdroppers. Then, with leaping
pulses, he told the girl of his conversations with Henderson and
Dickover.
“And I refused Dickover’s offer,” he concluded bluntly, “and accepted
his threat to smash the stock. He’ll do it, too. By this time he’s
sent orders to his brokers to sell it, to smash the market flat.”
The girl’s eyes were steady on his.
“I’m content,” she said curtly. “But please explain. You’ve some
scheme?”
“You’ve said it. _Some_ scheme! Do you mind if I smoke? My nerves are
jumpy, and they’ll be worse before they’re better.”
She made a gesture of impatient assent. He lighted Dickover’s parting
gift and for a space sat in silence, his face deeply lined in thought.
“I’ve got to make this clear to you,” he said at last slowly. “You
know anything about low-grade silver ores?”
“Very little.”
“They’re low-grade because they are mixed with lead or zinc, hold a
small proportion of silver, and yield very small profit. The
separation of the silver and zinc is difficult. A hyperstatic process
has been invented, but if a chemical process could be found, it would
be cheaper and better; besides, it would make a yield of zinc as well
as of silver. And to-day both zinc and silver are soaring. You
understand?”
She nodded quickly. “And—and you think such a process has been found?”
A gleam of admiration sprang into Bowen’s gray eyes. For the first
time, he smiled his likable, boyish smile.
“Great Jehu, there is nothing slow about you!” he breathed. “Yes. My
guess—and mind this, it’s no more than a guess—is that Dickover has
advance information that this chemical process is now a verity. You
see? It is probably workable on ores of a certain silver-zinc
combination. I deduce this from the fact that the Apex Crown, the two
holdings I sold Henderson, and the Big Bony I sold Dickover are of
almost the same identical ore properties. Only such a discovery would
get Dickover after low-grade ores.”
She was leaning forward now, her eyes shining like twin stars.
“I see! Of course!” she exclaimed eagerly. “Henderson learned of this
and at once went out on his own hook to secure all the mines and
claims possible containing this grade of ore! And Dickover is here in
San Francisco to buy everything in sight before news of the discovery
has broken! Is that it?”
“You’ve said it. So far all’s straight. Got any questions ready?”
“Heaps!” The girl laughed, then instantly grew grave. “Dickover knows
that Henderson is a traitor and has been buying Apex Crown; yet
Dickover is ready to buy our stock, make the Apex Crown a great
success and enrich Henderson! Why?”
“I’ve doped it out; I struck the same snag myself—and others, too.
Like this! If Dickover gets our block of stock, he controls that mine.
He can let it lie useless for years, until Henderson has given up hope
and sold out the stock he’s been buying. And until that happens,
Dickover lets the mine lie dead for five years or fifty! Savvy?”
“Sure, so far.” Miss Ferguson frowned. “It’s getting involved, though.
The salient fact is the human equation—Dickover wants to smash
Henderson first, then develop the mine!”
“Exactly. He knows that Henderson is loaded to the guards with the
stock and is taking all that’s offered.”
“Then why does Dickover threaten to throw all _his_ stock on the
market? How would that smash anybody? Henderson could simply buy it
up, control the mine, and develop it by means of the new chemical
process!”
Bowen leaned back in his chair and puffed for a moment.
“Right there is where I had to make another quick guess, Miss
Ferguson. But I think I’m right. I _know_ I’m right! From what I
remember of the Apex Crown affair, a fair quantity of stock was issued
in the early days; close to half a million, I believe. We can verify
the figures this afternoon. With Henderson and Dickover scrapping over
a mere block of ten thousand shares, you see they have absorbed about
all of that stock that was lying around loose. Call it about two
hundred thousand shares or more to each of them.
“Now, when Dickover issued his Apex Crown ultimatum, I thought about
what I’d do if I were in his place and with his power; and upon that
it flashed over me exactly what _he_ would do—the only thing he
logically could do, upon such a threat as his! Remember that Dickover
knows human nature and gambles on it; remember, also, he has agents or
brokers in every large city in the country, and can strike
contemporaneously at a moment’s notice.”
“All clear so far,” said the girl quietly. “And your prophecy—”
“Is this: By to-day the stock is probably up to ten cents or more, and
none offered. Dickover to-day issues orders to throw overboard the
stock, beginning to-morrow morning; to throw overboard in such big
blocks that Henderson will know where it’s coming from. He’ll hammer
down the market, hammer it down until the stock is back to two cents
or less.
“And what happens? Will Henderson buy everything in sight? No. He
won’t have the money or the nerve. He’s a traitor, remember, and a
traitor has a yellow spot somewhere. Henderson will think that the
Apex Crown ore has proven unfit for going through the new chemical
process; or he may think that Dickover has put some string on the
property that makes the stock worthless; he may think any of a dozen
things, and he _will_. He’ll think all of ’em! Instead of finding
himself grown rich by a sneaky, slick trick, he’ll find Dickover
fighting him—and his nerve will go.”
“Possibly,” agreed the girl, watching Bowen with fascinated eyes. “But
it’s a poor thing to bet on, isn’t it? What’s the rest of the
prophecy?”
Bowen smiled grimly. “Quite logical. Henderson will find that he gave
me five thousand of his cash when he’s going to need it all. Before
the market is quite smashed down to its original state, he’s going to
loosen up on a big bunch of his stock. He’ll argue that at the right
moment. When Dickover begins to buy in again, he, too, can step
forward and get back his own—with some of Dickover’s to boot; enough
to give him control.”
“And,” cried the girl quickly, “Dickover knows that he’ll think so!
With all his organization and power, Dickover will step in first!
Before Henderson can do it, Dickover has done it. Is that the idea?”
“Exactly.” Bowen puffed for a moment; that cigar was too good to be
allowed to die. “Exactly. If Henderson does have the nerve to stick,
Dickover will beat him anyhow. Now do you see what the game of
Dickover is?”
“I see. And I think I agree with you—Henderson will lack nerve. He’ll
begin to unload his stock at four cents, will unload more at three,
and throw off all of it at two to break even. Then, when he’s cleaned
out of the stock, Dickover will rob the whole market!”
“Bully for you!” exclaimed Bowen eagerly. “I knew you’d understand!”
“Thank you.” She smiled, a trifle wanly. He saw that the strain of
understanding had been telling upon her. After all, that block of
stock was hers! “But I don’t understand yet why you refused Dickover’s
offer for my stock; and I don’t understand why you sold him a mine at
half its value!”
“I sold him that mine because I was going to need the money right
after lunch—and need it badly.” Bowen rose. “As for why I refused his
offer, let that go until we have lunch. I’ve licked Henderson and
Dickover this morning, which is going some; now I must add you to the
list—and I need a stimulant before opening fire.”
The girl made no demur. They sought the dining-room together; Bowen,
no less than Alice Ferguson, was keyed up to a high tension by the big
game, and the biggest game was still ahead of him—the hardest work.
Midway through luncheon, Bowen was sought by special messenger and was
handed a folded message. He put it in his pocket without reading, and
smiled across the table.
“Information for which I phoned. I don’t think much of brokers as a
class, but I do know of one man in the game whom I’d trust—Gus
Saunders. Ever hear of him?”
The girl shook her head. Bowen switched the subject. He took pains to
impress upon Miss Ferguson that he was not the magnate she had thought
him. He felt impelled to stand upon a frankly honest footing with this
level-eyed girl; he could do nothing else.
“And it was meeting Dickover on the train and here at the hotel,” she
said, laughter twinkling in her eyes, “that started you on this high
finance wave? Good gracious! If I’d known that when you called up
about the stock—”
“Well? What would you have said?”
“Just what I did say!” she finished with a laugh. “Now here comes our
coffee. Can’t you possibly unburden your mind yet? I can’t stand this
suspense a moment longer!”
Bowen grinned and slipped the waiter a gold piece. They were in a
corner of the big dining-room, and to themselves.
“Here, my friend! Keep everybody away from us and don’t bother us
until I call you!” The waiter bobbed and departed, and Bowen drew a
sigh of relief. “Now! We’ll wade in.”
He produced the packet of notes, and Dickover’s check for thirty
thousand, and laid them on the table before him. Then he drew forth
the message that had been brought him.
“Miss Ferguson, my proposition is simply this: That we go into
partnership on the Apex Crown. This message is from Gus Saunders. The
Apex Crown issued five hundred thousand shares, and the original
holders unloaded everything about a year ago, so that the entire issue
is on the market—or is divided between Henderson and Dickover. We’ve
already figured out that by to-morrow most of that stock will be back
on the market temporarily.”
“Until Dickover can swallow it at a gulp,” she added.
“Sure. That mine is highly valuable property—if the chemical process
has really been discovered. That’s what I’m gambling on; I’m certain
that in about another fortnight the mining world will get the news.
So, then, let’s get busy! I propose that you and I step in at the
psychological moment, when Dickover has scared Henderson into
unloading; that we make a bold strike and gobble about three hundred
thousand shares of that stock at the lowest figure. In short, that we
grab the Apex Crown for ourselves! Are you game?”
He was leaning forward, his lean face tensed, his gray eyes holding
her gaze.
For a moment she did not respond. When she did answer, her words
surprised him.
“Mr. Bowen, I—I don’t see why you make this proposition to me. You
have enough money there on the table to handle the affair yourself. I
cannot put any money into it.”
“What! Then you don’t want to go into it? You have no faith in my
theories?”
“Please don’t misunderstand me!” she replied quickly. “I’ve every
faith in you. But I cannot enter upon a partnership where I can give
nothing. Because I’m a girl, you’re generous to me—and I don’t want
people to be generous; I can fight my own battles—”
From Bowen broke a sudden ejaculation.
“Great Jehu! Of all the nonsense I ever heard, this is the worst!”
“Well! Isn’t it true?”
“No!” he exclaimed savagely. “It is not true! Not as you think. See
here, don’t you like the scheme? Don’t you realize that it’s a big
thing if successful?”
“Of course I do. But—if I were not a woman, you’d not offer this
partnership.”
It was Bowen’s turn to take the aggressive; he did it with a vim and
earnestness that brought the color flooding into her cheeks.
“You’re right. I wouldn’t! It’s because you _are_ a woman that I want
you for partner in this business; I need you! Fighting for myself, I’d
be apt to do any fool trick. But with your interests hanging on mine,
fighting for you as well as for myself, saddled with the
responsibility of your trust and your future—why, I’d fight like
_hell_! Excuse me. I didn’t mean that profanely, but literally.
“I tell you frankly, Miss Ferguson, you’d be an inspiration to any
man! I don’t talk like this to every woman. I’ve never _felt_ like
this before in my life. I never met you before, that’s the reason!
When I say I need you for a partner, I mean just that.
“Get angry if you want to; I can’t help it. This isn’t a question of
what money you can put in. You can put in your block of stock, for
that matter; the rest is personality, outbalancing all the money on
earth! You can help me with your advice, your character. I’m not
offering you charity, God knows!
“Now, it’s up to you—my cards are on the table. Say no, and I’ll give
you ten thousand for your stock. Say yes, and we’ll go into the game
as fighting partners. Which is it?”
In his appeal was force and something better than force—earnestness.
Alice Ferguson recognized it. She worked for her living, and had
learned to know something of what might lie beneath the words of a
man. She saw that Bowen’s speech might be crude and a bit too frank;
but she saw that he meant it. She read down to the good honest soul of
the man from Tonopah, and found honesty there. She realized that he
did indeed need her; that it would be a coward’s part to fail him. And
he was a man to trust.
“Yes,” she said, her eyes grave.
Bowen relaxed suddenly, drew a long breath like a sigh. He had been
tremendously keyed up to that moment.
“Then let’s go,” he said, rising. “Let’s go see Gus Saunders.”