"Good. Now, as I was saying, we've disarmed you—Walt, take a prowl of his person and see if he has any more lethal instruments concealed thereupon—and we're inclined to get up off the floor and resume our roles as gentlemen. Besides, I want to know what you had in mind besides assassination."
They lifted the man from his supine position and planted him roughly in an overstuffed chair. Don and Walt sat on one edge of the desk, ready to move in with the first wrong move. Don snapped the communicator and spoke to the girl outside. "Mr. Towle had an accident with an exploding cigar, Lorraine. No one need enter."
"Now," he said to Towle, "precisely what gives?"
"I'm ruined."
"Yup. You are. But why?"
"You ruined me."
"Me?" asked Channing. "Not that I know of."
"I'm bankrupt."
"Bankrupt?" laughed Channing.
Towle bristled at the laugh. "It's no laughing matter, Channing. For most of my life I've been saving to retire. In the turn of a wrist, you have made all my savings useless."