“You were to come to America, to gain the confidence of men of industry; to persuade them to apply their methods and their wealth secretly in Russia, with hopes of great profits.
“Your gain would be commissions for your services. As an independent go between, an American convinced that the development of Russia’s resources would be profitable to foreign capitalists, your position was ideal. You have your own appointed purpose. Unfortunately, I have found it necessary to interfere.”
As Froman paused, Holtmann’s red-rimmed eyes stared warily. The prisoner was trying to divine the captor’s purpose. Thinking that he had discovered it, Holtmann blurted a protest.
“Why should you injure me?” he demanded. “My work is not illegal! There is no proof of the things you have said. You are the offender. In seizing me, you have committed a crime. You must let me go!”
Froman smiled coldly.
“Let me go!” Holtmann’s repetition was a maddened scream. “Let me go — I can pay you—”
Froman held up his hand for silence. Wild words died on Marcus Holtmann’s lips.
“You can pay me?” Froman’s tones were contemptuous. “Yes, you can pay me — but not with the paltry leavings you have intended to gain. You are trying to play a safe game. That is where we differ. You play safe — for trivial stakes. I seek danger — when I see tremendous gain.”
Froman’s eyes were sparkling as they stared at Holtmann. Those eyes were scarcely seeing. They were filled with the glow of the scheming brain behind them.
“Tonight I captured you” — Froman laughed — “with ridiculous ease. The taxicab you summoned from the station near Waddell’s — another man took it. The cab that came in its stead was the trap that you entered.