“We hang on to it.”
The eyes of the two men met and held for a long moment.
“Then,” Dickover’s fist crashed down on the table, “you’ll go smash! All or nothing is my motto. In three days you won’t get three cents for that stock—and what’s more, you never will get three cents for it!”
Bowen rose, his lips curving in a smile.
“Maybe. Well, I’m glad to ’ve met you. Hope we meet again.”
“Same here.” The two men shook hands. Dickover extended another cigar. “Smoke up on me after lunch, Bowen. Sorry you’re going smash with that block of Apex Crown!”
“I’ll be sorry if I do,” said Bowen cryptically. “So-long!”
V—BOWEN TAKES A PARTNER.
Without comment, Bowen took the flat packet Miss Ferguson handed him, dropped into the big plush chair beside her, and glanced at his watch.
“Eleven o’clock. Time to talk before lunch.” He glanced around and found they were in no danger of eavesdroppers. Then, with leaping pulses, he told the girl of his conversations with Henderson and Dickover.