“That” consisted of a great mass of orderly bundles of gold bonds and gilt edge securities.
“How much is it?” Bascom gasped, his courage springing up like wild-fire.
But Francis, overcome by the sight of such plethora of ammunition, ceased singing to gasp. And both he and Bascom gasped again when Henry drew from his inside pocket a bundle of a dozen certified checks. They could only stare at the prodigious sum, for each was written for a million dollars.
“And plenty more where that came from,” Henry announced airily. “All you have to do is say the word, Francis, and we’ll knock this bear gang to smithereens. Now suppose you get busy. The rumors are around everywhere that you’re gone and done for. Pitch in and show them, that’s all. Bust every last one of them that jumped you. Shake ‘m down to their gold watches and the fillings out of their teeth.”
“You found old Sir Henry’s treasure after all,” Francis congratulated.
“No,” Henry shook his head. “That represents part of the old Maya treasure——about a third of it. We’ve got another third down with Enrico Solano, and the last third’s safe right here in the Jewelers and Traders’ National Bank.—Say, I’ve got news for you when you’re ready to listen.”
And Francis was quickly ready. Bascom knew even better than he what was to be done, and was already giving his orders to his staff over the telephone—buying orders of such prodigious size that all of Regan’s fortune would not enable him to deliver what he had sold short.
“Torres is dead,” Henry told him.
“Hurrah!” was Francis’ way of receiving it.
“Died like a rat in a trap. I saw his head sticking out. It wasn’t pretty. And the Jefe’s dead. And ... and somebody else is dead——”