“One of my men,” he slowly replied, as he braced himself together.
“Which one? Who?” I persisted. For I wanted to know just how far the news was likely to spread.
He seemed to be thinking out a lie.
“The truth!” I commanded. “I know it couldn't have been one of your men. Who was it? I'll not give you away.”
“It was Tom Langdon,” he finally said.
I checked an exclamation of amazement. I had been assuming that I had been betrayed by some one of those tiny mischances that so often throw the best plans into confusion.
“Tom Langdon,” I said satirically. “It was he that warned you against me?”
“It was a friendly act,” said Corey. “He and I are very intimate. And he doesn't know how close you and I are.”
“Suggested that you call my loans, did he?” I went on.
“You mustn't blame him, Blacklock; really you mustn't,” said Corey earnestly, for he was a pretty good friend to those he liked, as friendship goes in finance. “He happened to hear. You know the Langdons keep a sharp watch on operations in their stock. And he dropped in to warn me as a friend. You'd do the same thing in the same circumstances. He didn't say a word about my calling your loans. I—to be frank—I instantly thought of it myself. I intended to do it when you came, but”—a sickly smile—“you anticipated me.”