"Not by a damned sight! I've nothing to discuss in private," exploded Armstrong. "You come in, Evarts. Now, Mac, let's have the whole thing."
After momentary hesitation, Macgowan shrugged slightly and came forward to the desk. He calmly drew up a chair and seated himself, disposed his papers before him, and produced a cigar and lighted it. Then, casually looking up, he invited Armstrong to be seated.
In this instant, Armstrong beheld a new Lawrence Macgowan.
Gone was all the genial amiability of the man. Gone was the brilliant warmth from his eyes, now cold and hard and piercing, bitterly masterful. Out of those eyes there looked the real Macgowan—a predatory, merciless man of steel and iron, armed and ready for battle.
The sight of this face struck Armstrong like a blow. He sat down, wondering yet not suspecting.
"I thought, Mac, that you had attended to this Washington investigation?"
"I did. If you want it straight, I caused it."
As he spoke, Macgowan met the gaze of Armstrong with a cold, sneering challenge in his eyes. The deliberate cruelty of that regard, its insolent brutality, gave Armstrong a swift premonition of the truth, staggered him with its force. Macgowan went on smoothly.
"You know there's a meeting of the directors of Consolidated at eleven, Reese." His voice was level, unimpassioned, stinging. "Here are two papers which I wish to lay before the board for immediate action, if you'll kindly sign them."
Armstrong looked at the typed sheets which were slid over the desk to him. He read the words. Incredulity gripped him; he read them again, his brain whirling. Anger surged up in him, he was stupefied by a frightful bewilderment.