“I do not ask your agreement,” replied Wilberton coldly. “I am simply stating my own opinion — and upon that I shall base my decision. I have other loans which I can make.
“I tell you, gentlemen, that I would prefer to lend money to a business in which racketeering had taken full hold, than to one which is subject to racketeering that has not commenced!”
“That is preposterous!” cried Ballantyne.
“It is sound business,” replied Wilberton, “and I shall explain my reasons for your benefit” — his voice took on a condescending tone — “because I realize that you need an opinion such as mine.
“Racketeers are parasites. They prey upon legitimate business. But they are wise. They go so far — no further. They, as much as the proprietors, are interested in the welfare of those businesses.
“Who pays? The public. Bread is selling at one cent a loaf more than it should. Milk has gone up one cent a quart more than it should be. The excess is being taken by the racketeers; they are satisfied.”
“ONE moment, Mr. Wilberton!”
The interruption came from a solemn-faced man at the corner of the table. “Those rackets which you mention are losing ground. They are on the wane. Racketeering has passed its peak!”
Stanley Wilberton stared at the interrupter. He was met by a gaze as cold as his own. Two piercing eyes were focused upon him, and the face of the man was fully as remarkable. It was the face of a man comparatively young, yet its masklike expression gave its possessor a weird appearance that was hypnotic in its effect.
Stanley Wilberton shifted in his chair. He could not turn his eyes away from the fascinating power of the other man’s glance. It was only when Howard Griscom spoke that Wilberton managed to free himself from that dynamic gaze.