“When was this?”
“Not five minutes ago.”
“Run to Caswell's. Tell him to wait for me.”
The messenger darted off and we followed briskly. Caswell, I found, was an attorney, and we were led at once to the inner office.
“Come in with me,” said my employer. “I expect I shall need you, and it will save explanations.”
The lawyer was a tall, thin man, with chalky, expressionless features, but his eyes gave life to his face with their keen, almost brilliant, vision.
“Decker's playing the joker,” said the King of the Street. “I've beaten him in the market, but he's going to make a last play with the directors. There's a meeting called for twelve-thirty. They are going to give him a two years' contract for milling, and they talk of declaring twenty thousand shares of my stock invalid.”
“How many directors have you got?”
“Two—Barber and myself. Decker thinks he has Barber.”
“Then you want an injunction?”