"I—I don't understand!" he began. The challenging gaze of Macgowan seemed to sap the man's vitality. His voice failed.
"Can't you read?" asked Macgowan coldly. "Your resignation as president of Consolidated, undated; also, an agreement empowering me to vote your control in the voting trust. It seems very simple."
Findlater rallied. His countenance purpled with a rush of anger.
"Damn you, Mac, you can't force me out—I'm not to be bullied into walking out of here like Armstrong did! If you think you'll stab me in the back, you can guess again. I know too much about you and how you've run things—"
"You'll tell it, will you?" cut in Macgowan, chuckling.
Findlater glared at him, trembling with rage and fright. Like a rat backed into a corner, one touch would either lend him a devastating fury to fight at all costs, or would send him scurrying away in blind panic.
Macgowan, watching him, applied the touch very deftly.
"I don't want to use that resignation now; it may never be used. As to talking, everything in the campaign has been done over your name, as president, so talk all you like, and I'll leave you to settle matters with the other crowd. And I will leave you, unless you sign. Why shouldn't I? What about that proposition you made Armstrong over in Wilmington? All ready to sell me out, weren't you! And you thought I'd never know it."
At this, Findlater turned white again. Macgowan laughed thinly.
"I'll take no more chances on you, Henry C. Findlater! From now on, you'll be in my pocket, under my hand—or else I'll walk out of here and give a statement to the press that will wake things up! Who issued those ten thousand shares to Williams? You did."