"Oh, I know its history," said Wray. "It's a history of organized crime in three states. You've had a succession of easy marks—of sure things. I'm another one. You've got a sure thing. Why don't you go ahead and play it. Why do you want to talk about it? I wouldn't in your place. I'd clean you out and hang your bones up the way you did Conrad Seemuller's, for the crows to roost on." Wray leaned forward and brought his fist down on the table. "I know what your 'fair spirit' means, Cort Bent. It means that your 'sure thing' is a 'selling plater'; that you've played your best cards and the tricks are still in my hand."
Cortland Bent's shoulders moved almost imperceptibly.
"You're mistaken," he said shortly.
"Well, you'll have to prove it. I lived for some years in Missouri."
"Then you won't consider any basis for settlement?"
"There's nothing to settle. You started this fight. Now finish it. Either your father wins—or I do. He wouldn't consider my figures in New York. He'd be less likely to consider them now. They've gone up since then."
Cortland rose and walked to the window.
"I warn you that you're making a mistake. This is neither a bluff nor a threat. I mean what I say. You're going to lose. You've been hampered by lack of railroad facilities. How do you like it? Your own mines have kept your plant busy, but you can't buy any ore and you can't compete with us. You'll never be able to."
"I'll take my chances."
"Then this is final?"