“What are you saying?”
“William, the man already has on deposit at the bank thirty-five millions, and he’s been only two months at it. He has at least seven millions on deposit at other banks in this city. We must do something,” and Mr. Richard Dawson told his friend and associate the entire story of Mr. George K. Grin-nell. The richest man in the world listened with his very soul. There was danger of his being no longer the richest man in the world.
“And now,” finished Dawson, “we must think, William. What are we to do?”
“It can’t be true!” frowned Mellen. Then into his eyes came a frightened look. It passed and he said: “Absurd! It can’t be true.”
“It is true. The gold comes from his house, his laboratory.”
“It’s some trick, a plot.” The richest man in the world had imagination, and was partial to schemes. “We must prevent him from going too far,” as though that were the first thing to do before satisfying a merely personal curiosity.
“How?” The president was growing calm. If he was ruined, so was the rest of the world. He did not care for the rest of the world, but the thought braced him.
“Some legal action—”
“Out of the question. There is no ground. Besides, the less publicity the better, William, we are in his power. But nobody knows it, not even he. Therein lies our safety. In the meanwhile we must—” He paused.
“What?”