My next call was at the Interstate Trust Company. I found Corey waiting for me in a most uneasy state of mind.
“Is there any truth in this story about you?” was the question he plumped at me.
“What story?” said I, and a hard fight I had to keep my confusion and alarm from the surface. For, apparently, my secret was out.
“That you're on the wrong side of the Textile.”
So it was out! “Some truth,” I admitted, since denial would have been useless here. “And I've come to you for the money to tide me over.”
He grew white, a sickly white, and into his eyes came a horrible, drowning look.
“I owe a lot to you, Matt,” he pleaded. “But I've done you a great many favors, haven't I?”
“That you have Bob,” I cordially agreed. “But this isn't a favor. It's business.”
“You mustn't ask it, Blacklock,” he cried. “I've loaned you more money now than the law allows. And I can't let you have any more.”
“Some one has been lying to you, and you've been believing him,” said I. “When I say my request isn't a favor, but business, I mean it.”