From this instant, Reese Armstrong felt himself lost beyond recovery. He had been lured into a trap from which there was no escape, no possible rescue. A frightful despair overwhelmed him—it was Macgowan who had done this thing. Macgowan! There was the paralyzing factor.
Not the lies, not the hatred and intrigue, not the threats and falsity around him, could prevail—but the treachery of his friend. A profound melancholy gripped him, and he could not fight it away. Oblivious of those cruelly exultant eyes across the desk, oblivious of the wondering stare of Evarts, he lowered his head and stared at the papers before him, with eyes that saw not.
He was absolutely in the power of Macgowan; there was no hope, for he had depended upon nobody else. Macgowan, joined to Findlater, held him powerless. Trusted and given authority, Macgowan could ruin him—had already done so! Swung against him, the voting trust would smash him, and that letter from the directors would make his ruin public.
It was the deliberate treachery which struck Armstrong as no other blow could have done. It reached into his very soul like a hot brand, burning everything in its course. His brain was in chaos. He could think of nothing coherent, could plan nothing, could find no evasion. He sat broken, his senses reeling, his ability numbed and stupefied. And Macgowan, watching with the cruel eyes of a hawk, smiled upon the ruin of the man whose friend he had been, and knew the moment had come to strike.
"Sign!" said the inflexible voice. "Sign—or take your medicine! Time's up."
Armstrong lifted his head. Sign! He could do nothing else. He was lost. Everything was in the grip of Macgowan. Out of his own soul all the fight had been crushed. With fumbling hands, he groped at the papers. Anguish blinded him, a bitter surge of despair held him fettered. He had no heart left to struggle, or even to evade; he could do nothing, for his spirit was broken. He felt a pen thrust into his fingers, and blindly scrawled his name across the papers. Then he relaxed and sat with chin fallen on breast.
Macgowan, smiling thinly, gathered up the papers and left the room.
Armstrong did not see the man go. He sat as in a daze, seeing nothing. Somewhere in the back of his brain was throbbing that warning which Dorothy had tried to impress upon him; the memory only served to make worse the hurt.
Then, suddenly, he was aware of a hand that clutched his arm, a voice ringing in his ear. He looked up, dully, to see Evarts standing over him in a blaze of excitement.
"Armstrong! I see the whole thing now—it can't end like this, it can't!" Evarts cried out the words in frantic tones. "Wake up, man! Do something—don't sit there like a fool! Oh, why the devil did you sign those papers! Wake up, chief, I'm with you! I'll stick till hell freezes over! Wake up and tell me what to do."