"A chance to show that whatever charges you hold against me are fraudulent."
Windsor swung his chair around, took a cigar from his pocket, and lighted it. For a moment he looked through the window with unseeing eyes, collecting his thoughts; then he swung about again, and faced Armstrong.
"You have a job ahead," he said ominously. "I'm going after you because you obtained a license to market that stock issue of the Deming Company in this state—and obtained it by fraud and perjury and conspiracy. Is that enough?"
Armstrong looked incredulous. "Enough? You don't mean to say that that's the basis of this affair?"
Windsor merely nodded, studying his antagonist through the cigar smoke. Armstrong caught his breath as the tension snapped within him, and broke into a laugh.
"Good Lord, Windsor! That's the simplest thing on earth to answer. When the license was obtained, I had no connection with that company; it was obtained by the previous directorate, before we took over Deming's plant!"
Windsor smiled thinly.
"Sure," he said. "Armstrong, when I called you a crook in New York—if you got my message—I meant the words. I still mean them. I expected exactly that answer from you. It merely confirms my opinion. You're clever, but in this case I have the goods on you."
Armstrong was irritated. "By Macgowan's aid?"
"Not a bit of it." Windsor in turn showed a temptation to anger, but held himself in check. "He had nothing to do with it. The proofs of your crookedness were obtained by me alone. Macgowan's own cousin, Ried Williams, is involved in the conspiracy."