The banker's eye fell on the newspaper again. "I know who this new Wall
Street fellow is. I've got my scouts out working for me. It's
Leigh—that's who it is. And I'm sore; I have a right to be."
Phelps was getting more and more heated, by the moment. "I tell you," he almost shouted, "this fake movie business is the modern gold-brick game, all right. Never again!"
I was amazed at the Machiavellian cleverness of Manton. Here he was, on one hand openly working with, yet secretly ruining, the Manton Pictures, while on the other hand he was covertly building up the competing Fortune Features.
Kennedy paced out into the little hall of our suite and back. He faced our visitor once more.
"Why did you come to see me this morning? At our last encounter, you may recall you said you wished you could throw me down the steps."
Phelps smiled ruefully. "That was a mistake. It was the way I felt, but—I'm sorry."
"Now—?"
Again the black clouds overshadowed the features of the financier. "Now I want you to bring out and prove the things I've told you." The malice showed in his voice plainly, for the first time. "I want it proved in court that Manton is a cheap crook. When you uncover the murderer of Stella Lamar you will find that the moral responsibility for her death traces right back to Lloyd Manton. I want him driven out of the business."
Kennedy's attitude changed. As he escorted Phelps to the door his tones were self-controlled. "Anything of the sort is beyond my province. My task is simply to find the person who killed the girl."
When the financier was gone I turned to Kennedy eagerly. "What do you think?" I asked.