"And, under the circumstances, an honest capitalist might hesitate, you would say. Possibly; but capital, as I know it, is not so discriminating when the legal requirements are satisfied. There will be no question of ownership involved in the development of the 'Midas.'"
"Legal ownership, you mean?"
"Legal or otherwise. When the time for investment comes, I shall be abundantly able to assure the capitalist."
"To guarantee the investment: doubtless. But capital is not always as unscrupulous as you seem to think."
"No?"—the tilt of the negative was almost aggressive. "There are borrowers and borrowers, Mr. Denby. It's the man without collateral who is constrained to make a confidant of his banker."
The blue-gray eyes of the master of men looked their levelest, and the clean-shaven face was shrewdly inscrutable. "Pardon me, Mr. Jeffard, but there are men who couldn't borrow with the Orizaba behind them."
Jeffard parried the eye-thrust, and brushed the generalities aside in a sentence.
"All of which is beside the mark, and I have neither the strength nor the inclination to flail it out with you. As you say, I shall need capital—yours or another's. State the case—yours, or mine,—in so many words, if you please."
"Briefly, then: the equity in this affair lies between you and the man who tried to kill you. I mean by this that the bonanza is either yours or his. If it were a partnership discovery there would have been no chance for one of you to overreach the other. You'll hardly deny that there was a sharp fight for possession: you both advertised that fact pretty liberally."
Jeffard was listening with indifference, real or feigned, and he neither denied nor affirmed. "Go on."