"I laughed at him," continued Westervelt. "And then he said—it seems to me I must really be crazy—but, no, he said it—'We have reason to believe that the books are in wild, in criminal disorder,' he said. 'I have telegraphed for Brownell. He will be here in the morning to take charge.'"
Fosdick bounded to his feet. "Brownell! Why, he's Armstrong's old side-partner in Chicago. Brownell!" Fosdick's face grew purple, and he jerked at his collar and swung his head and rolled his eyes and mouthed as if he were about to have a stroke. Then he rushed to his bell and leaned upon the button. Waller came into the room, terror in his face. "Armstrong!" cried Fosdick. "Bring him here—instantly!"
But it was full ten minutes before Waller could find and bring him. In that time Fosdick's mind asserted itself, beat his passion into its kennel where it could be kept barred in or released, as events might determine. "Caution—caution!" he said to Westervelt. "Let me do all the talking."
The young president entered deliberately, with impassive countenance. He looked calmly at Westervelt, then at Fosdick.
"I suppose you know what I want to see you about, Horace," Fosdick began. "Sit down. There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding between you and Westervelt—eh?"
Armstrong simply sat, the upper part of his big frame resting by the elbows upon the arms of his chair, a position which gave him an air of impenetrable stolidity and immovable solidity.
When Fosdick saw that Armstrong was determined to hold his guard, he went on, "It won't do for you two to quarrel. At any price we must have peace, must face the world, united and loyal. I want to make peace between you two. Westervelt has told me his side of the story. Now, you tell me yours."
"I suspended him, pending a private investigation—that's all," said Armstrong. And his lips closed as if that were all he purposed to say.
Fosdick's eyes gleamed dangerously. "You know, you have no authority to suspend the comptroller?" he said quietly.
"That's true."