Armstrong stiffened, as the truth smashed him squarely between the eyes. They had driven him out, they had shorn him of his power in Consolidated, they had bludgeoned his chief men and his sales organization—why? So that they could loot, of course. They had let him put Consolidated squarely on its feet. Now they would reap the benefit, careless of what later happened, careless whether Consolidated blew up, so long as they could loot—loot!
And what would they loot? Not Consolidated alone. Not one solitary financial concern. This institution stood not by itself, but in it were bound up the faith and backing of sixteen thousand people. The company would be looted, and these investors would be looted. And these people had thought that their money would be handled conservatively, not juggled and played with!
A shiver passed through Armstrong's body. Then his wide eyes came back to normal; his tensed muscles relaxed. A long breath came into his lungs. He had found the thing he needed, the mental spur, the point of departure.
Macgowan had not waged his treacherous fight for the control of Consolidated Securities alone; not alone had he won the fat corporate funds, the subsidiary companies, the money-making powers. This crafty lawyer, who had not invested a single cent, had also captured sixteen thousand people, men and women—and they would be milled, robbed, looted to the very limit!
Armstrong had fought hard to gain the trust of these people. He had expended untold energy and money to win their faith. He had felt them behind him, the thrust of their will and faith driving him onward with assured confidence. And now, now! They would see in the newspapers that he was out of Consolidated. Within a few short weeks or months they would find themselves helpless, prostrate, unable to prevent the looting. Their very faith in Consolidated would be used to rob them.
It was not what they would think of him that so stung Armstrong, that stirred him into life and action, that wakened the numbed spirit in him. It was the thought of what would happen to them. He knew well what would happen, with Macgowan's smoothly accurate hand at the wheel. He saw Macgowan in a new light, now. Their fate would be as his own—betrayed before they knew it. And who would fight for them?
A slow, bitter smile curled Armstrong's lips.
"Who will fight for them? Who can fight for them? One man, who failed to put up a fight for himself. One poor dupe, smashed like a rotten reed, wrecked largely by his own folly! But, by the lord, I'll do it! My own hand is lost. I can't win back what I've thrown away. But I can fight for the people who trusted me."
Then, for an instant, he faltered.
Again a memory of the little things, the tricks and sly snares, rose up to jeer at him. He recalled now how insistently Macgowan had prevented his bringing Robert Dorns into the affair of that Seattle letter—with good reason! Dorns would have discovered the truth, would have spoiled all the culminative effect of Macgowan's carefully planned surprise blow. And how smoothly had Macgowan averted that danger, only to go to Washington and start his campaign?