“That’s the mystery,” said George musingly. His eyes, as he thought, took on a straining look, as you see near-sighted people look when they try, without their glasses, to read printed characters twenty feet distant, in an optician’s shop.
“I’d make haste, George,” interrupted William Mellen. “When you have sold out all your bonds I will tell you a plan. The world will be told of the Grinnell affair, and—”
“You mean?” said Dawson, with a quick start.
“After we have nothing to lose we have everything to gain.”
“But it will—” began Dawson excitedly.
“Don’t guess, Richard,” gently. “You don’t know the details of my plan.”
George knew his brother. He said grimly: “The public doesn’t love the International Distributing Syndicate; nor us.”
“They’ll love Grinnell less. We are his victims, too; don’t you see? That will comfort the public. Bloated bondholder will be a synonym for pauper. They’ll pity us.” He said this with gentle dolefulness.
“William, but our friends? They’ll be ruined,” said George Mellen doubtfully. He knew his brother.
“You can tell yours to sell out—after you have sold out, not before; and give no reasons to them, or—” His eyes, for the fraction of a second, were menacing; he did not finish the threat orally. George frowned; but he also checked the words that he would have uttered.