“Shut up!” said Stacey harshly. “I’m twice as angry as you are—and I’m going to take a hand in this somehow.”
And, in truth, an observer studying the two men carefully would have ended by believing Stacey the more dangerous. With only a little extra tautness in the muscles of his face to alter his appearance, there was yet something hard and ruthless in his expression. It was quite clear that if, as Stacey had learned, nothing of his fanciful, fastidious, early self had really vanished, neither had anything vanished of that embittered, stony, cold-and-passionate self he had brought back from the war. This morning while he was at work his thoughts about the strike and about Mr. Carroll’s undertaking had been haphazard, interrupted by warm memories of the scene at home the night before. Now Stacey’s whole mind was concentrated in a kind of chilly fierceness on the single problem of how he could force Colin Jeffries to yield.
“It’s got to be personal fighting—no principles; they’re no good,” he thought. “Now what handle have I got? What do I know about Jeffries?”
In response to this way of putting it, a casual winter-night’s memory flashed into his mind. Of course! He threw up his head and laughed unpleasantly.
“I’ve got a sort of half-idea, Edwards,” he observed. “Maybe it will work out. Now you run along and let me think it over. See you to-morrow.”
Stacey sat there, reflecting intensely, for perhaps a quarter of an hour. Then he got up, went out, and walked over to the building in which Colin Jeffries had his office.
The millionaire’s large outer-office was full of men waiting. They sat singly or in groups and talked in low tones. Some of them, men prominent in one business or another, Stacey recognized and nodded to. He gave his card to a young man—some sort of secretary, probably—who promised to take it in to Mr. Jeffries but said he feared there wasn’t the slightest chance of seeing him this afternoon except by appointment.
“Take the card in, anyway,” Stacey remarked, and sat down.
Less than ten minutes later the secretary returned, obviously impressed, to say that Mr. Jeffries would see Mr. Carroll now; then conducted him to the financier’s private office.
“Come in, Stacey,” said Mr. Jeffries cordially, getting up to shake hands. “Sit down, won’t you?”