Armstrong sat back in his chair, and his eyes bit out like steel.
"Where do you fellows think you are—in Sing Sing already? What's all this foolery about indictments? You men ought to know better. I sent Wren back here ready to pull off his coat and fight. What's happened?"
Evarts hesitated, flushed, and then broke into impulsive speech.
"You weren't here—that's the main thing! There was ugly talk floating all around; one report was that you had skipped. Nothing definite has happened; the general idea seems to be that you're a crook, that you've floated Food Products on a false bottom, and that there's hell to pay on account of the way the stock's been handled by our men. If you think it's easy for a fellow to stick around and face indictments when the chief is gone, then think again!"
Armstrong sat motionless. The ghastly humor of all this brought a mirthless and angry smile to his lips. Poor Wren fled in blind, unreasoning panic for the second time; Evarts in a state of funk; Bangs gone, the heads of the organization shattered and reeling—and all because of false rumors! It seemed incredible. It was incredible. There was more in this than had appeared yet.
"What made you stick around, then?" demanded Armstrong.
"Blamed if I know," said Evarts bluntly. "Because I couldn't quite get you as a crook, I guess. Wired you twice yesterday—no answer. I've been working like hell, going over letters and records. Can't find a thing wrong. I don't know what the postal men have found wrong either. But Mac says things look pretty bad for us all."
"Mac?" Armstrong looked up. "Findlater, you mean. It was Findlater who got Jimmy Wren filled up with dope. It was Findlater who started this mess!"
Evarts lifted his brows.
"Maybe so. But it's Mac who has done the talking, and he's done a lot of it in the last day or two! That's what scared the guts out of us all. And it's Mac who sent Wren on to Tampa and is getting his passports to Europe."