“Damn your experience!” exploded Dickover. “Do you know who’s buying Apex Crown?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
For answer, Dickover seized a check from the table and held it out. It was for five hundred dollars.
“Thanks.” Bowen stuffed it carelessly into his pocket. “Since seeing you this morning I’ve become fairly rich, and this will add a trifle to the pile. Your agent, Henderson, is the man after Apex Crown. Just offered thirty for the stock I hold.”
The fat features of Dickover purpled with anger. But he suppressed his emotion, drew another cigar from his pocket, and lighted it.
“I rather suspected it, Bowen,” he squeaked more calmly. “Of course you didn’t sell him the stock?”
“No. I’ll sell it to you if you want it.”
“Huh! How much you want?”
“Five dollars a share.”
Dickover abandoned the subject, after an apoplectic choke.