Was it terror, or anxiety, or wonder, that swept in shadow across his face? The mask that never gave up a thought or purpose before the changing fortunes of the market was not likely to fail its owner here. I could make nothing out of the page before me, except that the vision of Terrill had startled him.
“Why didn't you tell me?” he said at last, in a steady voice.
“I didn't suppose it was worth coming back for, after I got into the street. And, besides, you were busy.”
“Yes, yes, you were right: you are not to come—of course, of course.”
The King of the Street looked at me curiously, and then said smoothly:
“But this isn't business.” And he plunged into the papers once more. “There were over nine thousand shares sold this afternoon, and I got only five thousand of them.”
“I suppose Decker picked the others up,” I said.
The King of the Street did me the honor to look at me in amazement.
“Decker!” he roared. “How did you—” Then he paused and his voice dropped to its ordinary tone. “I reckon you're right. What gave you the idea?”
I frankly detailed my conversation with Wallbridge. As I went on, I fancied that the bushy brows drew down and a little anxiety showed beneath them.