“He'll go mad fast enough with a bottle of brandy within reach, and you know it,” Trent answered fiercely. “I am going to take him away from here.”
Da Souza was no longer cringing. He shrugged his shoulders and thrust his fat little hands into his trousers pockets.
“Very well,” he said darkly, “you go your own way. You won't take my advice. I've been a City man all my life, and I know a thing or two. You bring Monty to the general meeting of the Bekwando Company and explain his position, and I tell you, you'll have the whole market toppling about your ears. No concern of mine, of course. I have got rid of a few of my shares, and I'll work a few more off before the crash. But what about you? What about Scarlett Trent, the millionaire?”
“I can afford to lose a bit,” Trent answered quietly, “I'm not afraid.”
Da Souza laughed a little hysterically.
“You think you're a financial genius, I suppose,” he said, “because you've brought a few things off. Why, you don't know the A B C of the thing. I tell you this, my friend. A Company like the Bekwando Company is very much like a woman's reputation, drop a hint or two, start just a bit of talk, and I tell you the flames'll soon do the work.”
Trent turned his back upon him.
“Monty,” he said, “you aren't afraid to come with me?”
Monty looked at him, perplexed and troubled.
“You've nothing to be afraid of,” Trent continued. “As to the money at Mr. Walsh's house, I settled that all up with him before I left Attra. It belonged to you really, for I'd left more than that for you.”