CHAPTER IV
Late in the afternoon of this same fateful Wednesday, Armstrong sat across the desk from that hard-jawed, hard-eyed old man, head of the Dorns Detective Agency, and told his story.
From the walls around looked down the pictured features of princes and artists, men of wealth or dignity, distinguished folk in all walks of life. These pictures were inscribed to the hard-eyed old man behind the desk—Robert Dorns. Some of them he had protected, some of them he had saved, some of them he had merely served. For this man, whose name had been famous for a generation past, life had no illusions whatever; the husks of pretense were stripped away before that bitter eye of his, and he perceived only realities.
Behind that powerful, almost brutal, face was a head of intellectual power. In that brain reposed secrets unguessed, facts which, if revealed, would menace and shake the structure of politics and finance. This man would never have the satisfaction of writing his memoirs; for his memoirs, if written, would betray the world.
Armstrong was in this office for an hour. In that hour, he accomplished the greatest feat of his career—a feat which few other men could have duplicated. In the face of every cynical doubt and mistrust which must have attacked his listener, he "sold" Robert Dorns, absolutely and beyond cavil. He used no appeals, made no arguments, until he had told his story. Dorns, chewing on a cigar, said not a word until Armstrong had finished. Then:
"Going through with it for the sake of the investors, huh? Who's paying the cost of the fight—if you win?"
"I am," said Armstrong. "I'll make it plain that I'm not fighting to get any office in Consolidated; I want none. My stock will give me control, and that's all I want—unless I have to turn over that stock. But that stock is tied up for another three months in the voting trust, Macgowan must be blocked somehow."
"Humph!" grunted Dorns, the hard eyes boring into him. "D'you know that you're up against a real fight? You are, me lad; no mistake about it. This bird Macgowan, now—I know him. He's hand in fist with Tammany, and likewise with Albany; any lad who can play both ends o' that game is a slick one! What've ye got to fight him with?"
"The trust that sixteen thousand people have in me," said Armstrong simply.
The bitter eyes stared at him, a slow wonder stirring in their depths. Then came a startling and incredible speech.
"Either you're a damned fool—or you're somethin' big. And you're no fool, me lad. I'm with you, win, lose or draw. If we lose, I'll take no fee; you're the first man in years who has come for my help in an unselfish cause. I'm with you, and I'm damned proud to be with you, me lad!"
Armstrong had not expected such a speech. The unsuspected quality he had evoked from this man left him wordless, unable to respond.
"Now," said Dorns with his incisive crispness, "are you going into this thing alone?"
"Not if I can help it." Armstrong smiled faintly. "I've learned my lesson. I'll need all the assistance I can get."
"You'll want the best lawyer in the city. Got anybody?"
Armstrong shook his head. "I'm a lawyer, but not in Macgowan's class."
"You'll take my advice?"
"I didn't come here to talk baseball."
Dorns grinned at that, and turned to his desk telephone. He called a number.
"Robert Dorns talking; give me Mr. Mansfield," he said curtly. Then, after a pause: "Hello! This you, Q. Adams? Dorns on the wire. Say, did you ever know me to go wrong on a man?"
He paused, chuckled, then went on:
"I'm sending a man up to see you. Name's Armstrong. It ain't law he needs; he's a lawyer himself. What he needs is you, and all you got! Him and you and I are going to bust Lawrence Macgowan. Think we can do it?"
He glanced over the instrument at Armstrong, a whimsical glance, and grinned.
"Willin' to try the impossible, huh? All right. When and where?"
An instant later he grunted, pushed aside the telephone, swung his chair around, and faced Armstrong.
"You go see Quincy Adams Mansfield at seven o'clock, Union League Club, and talk to him like you've just talked to me, see? Now let's get to work, me lad. This man of yours, Wren. Where is he?"
"Tampa. Macgowan has him on the way to Europe."
"Want him back?"
"Yes."
"He'll be here on the next train. What's my first job?"
"Go after this fool investigation," said Armstrong promptly. "Macgowan started it as part of the scheme to scare me. Kill it."
"I'll take care of that," said Dorns grimly. "This bird has sent around to a bunch of stockholders and persuaded 'em to sign affidavits; it's easy done, me lad. Sell a man a ten-dollar gold piece for a dollar, and somebody can make him think he's been swindled. Now, I'll handle this with Q. Adams, and we'll see it through. Your letter files, instructions to agents, and a few questions to the disgruntled guys—it's a pipe! I'll knock that investigation sky high. What next?"
"I don't know yet," said Armstrong. "The annual meeting of Consolidated will take place the first Monday in April—the third. The voting trust will have expired then."
"You'll not turn over your stock to Macgowan, as you agreed?"
"No!" Armstrong's jaw set. "The agreement was signed through fraud. I'll refuse to keep it. If I kept it, Consolidated would be absolutely gone!"
"Humph! In three months he can loot hell out of the company anyhow. Now, I want some operatives scattered through that place of yours by to-morrow night. Who does the hiring, anybody you can trust? I want to keep tabs on Macgowan."
Armstrong mentioned Evarts, who would be able to place the operatives.
"All right. Now, what you got to be afraid of in the past?"
"Nothing."
"Aw, come clean! Macgowan is goin' to rake hell with a fine-toothed comb the minute he gets wise that you're after him. Where'd you come from? Ever arrested?"
Armstrong laughed. "No."
He gave a brief sketch of his life to date. When he had finished, Dorns nodded.
"You're lucky, me lad. Well, I guess we're all set to go! Work out some plan of action with Mansfield. When I get Wren here, we'll start to use our heads; meantime, get Q. Adams to work."
Armstrong had entered Robert Dorns' office with the feeling of a crushed and overwhelmed man fighting against fate. He left with something of his old self restored. Once more he was cool, level-headed, clear-brained. He was no longer daunted by his situation. The worst of the blow was past; now there remained to fight.
At seven that evening, he entered the Union League Club. Mansfield joined him in the reception room, shook hands, and led him to the elevator.
"Come to one of the library rooms, where we can talk in peace."
In the small, narrow room where books crowded to the ceiling, Mansfield took one of the easy chairs across from Armstrong. Between them was the glass-topped table with its bronze fittings, its racks of writing equipment. Mansfield laid down cigars, settled himself comfortably.
"I'm ready," he said laconically.
Following the advice of Dorns, Armstrong repeated his tale as told to the detective, giving his story completely and briefly. He realized that Mansfield was studying him the while, though he could not tell what impressions the man gained.
Quincy Adams Mansfield, one of the most celebrated yet least-known attorneys of the city, with a practice that was very exclusive, was a non-committal person. His manners were like Findlater's: authoritative, impervious, slightly offish. The great width of the eyes and brow, however, showed quite another sort of man here, and the steady gaze was deliberate and judicial. He said not a word until Armstrong had concluded. Then he spoke quietly.
"That letter which Macgowan threatened to send out. You haven't it, I suppose?"
When Armstrong felt in his pockets, Mansfield's brows lifted. He took the letter, glanced over it, then looked up. For the first time, his features warmed in the semblance of a smile.
"I congratulate you on the possession of this letter," he said drily.
"Why? It was only by chance that I retained it."
"Really?" Mansfield laughed a little. "The cleverest man is bound to slip up; it is astonishing that Macgowan let you keep this letter. With it to aid us, we shall apply for the removal of Macgowan, Findlater and these other men from the control of Consolidated Securities, and ultimately we shall jail them for conspiracy and criminal extortion."
Armstrong started. Fool that he was to call himself a lawyer! Undoubtedly this letter was actionable, yet he had preserved it by the merest chance. And Macgowan had been so filled with triumph that he had overlooked—
"It is regrettable," came the precise voice of Mansfield, "that you allowed yourself to be coerced, but I can quite understand your situation. There is no doubt that the charge of fraud and misrepresentation can be met by your own documents, and the testimony of your subordinates?"'
"None. There's absolutely no ground for complaint from any investor. Put a few on the stand and you'll see how quickly they'll backwater."
"Then you have virtually nothing to fear from that quarter." Mansfield tapped his pince-nez on his fingers, reflectively. "You will not make delivery of your Consolidated stock to Macgowan, naturally; an agreement made under duress is not binding, legally or morally. Macgowan, in the face of our charges, will not dare to force a delivery."
"But will a jury believe," queried Armstrong, "that I'd be fool enough to submit to extortion, when I was perfectly innocent?"
The lawyer smiled, as though from a weary knowledge of mankind.
"My dear sir, that action was forced by Macgowan's control of the voting trust; and, further, by your state of mind upon discovery of his treachery. Every man in the world has at some time been betrayed by the friend he trusted; such, at least, is the supposition upon which I shall go. One or two men on a jury will certainly have had such an experience."
Armstrong nodded, then produced an evening paper. "Here's a little matter—"
He found the column which he had marked, and handed it to Mansfield, who read over carefully a report of the special meeting of Consolidated's directors that morning. The resignations of both Wren and Armstrong had been promptly acted upon, and a shift of officers had taken place, leaving Findlater as president but putting in Macgowan as secretary and treasurer. Mansfield returned the paper without comment.
"You think we have a chance to win, then?" asked Armstrong.
"Some day—yes." Mansfield frowned. "That phrase covers a good deal of time, Mr. Armstrong. We shall have to meet every legal twist and turn, every subterfuge, every possible form of corruption, even; further, we shall find strong political influence arrayed against us. The petition for removal of Macgowan and Findlater must go before the state's attorney general at once. In the end, we shall win."
"In the end!" repeated Armstrong, dismayed. "But before April third, at least?"
"Not before April of next year, or the next, or perhaps the year after," declared the lawyer gravely. "You may expect to be attacked most bitterly in every possible quarter. Macgowan may even manage to have that voting trust continued after its expiration, I warn you. But, if I find things as you have related them, we shall ultimately break this man Macgowan. Do you wish to go ahead?"
"Yes," said Armstrong. "Do you wish to handle the case, and also to act as counsel for me in general?"
"I should esteem it a privilege," said Quincy Adams Mansfield. "What is your plan of campaign?"
Until this moment, Armstrong had entertained no plan. But now:
"I'll establish the Armstrong Company in new offices, across the street from Consolidated. I'll open a fight upon the present directorate, as soon as Dorns learns what they're doing. A good many of my own men over there will resign when they discover what's taken place—"
"One moment, please," intervened Mansfield. "Didn't you mention Judge Holcomb as one of your directors?"
"Ostensibly, yes. He has never taken a very active part in affairs. He is elderly, and has rather given up active business."
A singular smile twisted the lawyer's lips.
"I know Judge Holcomb very well, Mr. Armstrong; we are friends of long standing. Old as he is, no man has a more reputable position, and no man can fight harder. I suggest that the entire truth be laid before him at once, and his help invited by you."
"I'll do it," assented Armstrong. "Now, I propose making an active campaign to reach each individual investor in Consolidated Securities. Of course, I have as yet no direct proof that Macgowan and his friends mean to loot the company; once that proof is secured, I'll go ahead strong."
Mansfield nodded. "Very well. Get your campaign mapped out and make all your plans. I shall see Robert Dorns when he gets this man Wren back to town, and we shall decide upon things. Until you hear from us, secure Judge Holcomb to our side and await events."
Armstrong returned to his hotel feeling rejuvenated, a new man in very fact. The sense of crushing defeat was clean gone from him. True, the defeat was no less severe, yet the sting was out of it. Now he would fight!
He went to bed and slept, a smile upon his lips. When he wakened, it was to see Dorothy at his bedside, sitting there watching him. He stared dazedly, then sat up in astounded wonder.
"A telegram came from Evarts just after you left for New York," she said quietly. "I read it, and knew there was trouble. So I came."
"Thank God for you!" said Armstrong, and pressed her fingers to his lips. "Yesterday I—I was glad you were not here. But now I can tell you about it."
"Let's go home first, dear."