"Damn it, why can't you come into the open with me?" exploded Findlater.
"I shall, presently." For an instant the gleam in Macgowan's eyes was wolfish. "Since you have demanded my program, I am presenting it. Armstrong will be indicted, tried, and convicted; this is certain. He is already ruined in his home, with his wife departed. He will be a broken man. The Armstrong Company will go to pieces with him. The fight being waged against us will die of inertia. This is inevitable."
Macgowan puffed his cigar alight, then went on.
"You see, then, why I am not concerned over these legal affairs? The suits against us will hardly be pressed, with Armstrong a convict. Our own suits we calmly dismiss."
"But are you sure of convicting him?" asked Findlater, a glow of hope in his eyes.
Macgowan smiled cynically. "I prepared the evidence myself. Need I say more?"
Findlater leaned back and drew a long breath. At this moment, however, Macgowan changed the subject. He regarded Findlater with latent cruelty, a steady appraisal which showed how absolutely he held the other man in his power.
"There is a little matter which you and I must settle," he said. His tone made the other man jerk around. "Suppose you affix your signature to this."
He held out the typed document which lay before him.
Findlater took it, adjusted his glasses and glanced at the paper. He looked more attentively. Slowly the color faded out of his cheeks, and the paper shook in his hand. He looked up, caught his breath.