The other stared, then rose slowly to his feet. “Sangerly? Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir. Division superintendent of the——”
A curse broke from Quintell. He stood with his powerful hands resting on the desk, his penetrating coal-black eyes playing slowly over the room for a few moments.
“I want them to find gold on the Lucky Boy, Harrison, understand?” he said in low, harsh tones, gazing intently at the man. “I want you to go out there this evening, see? You know the vicinity of the proposed right of way. Salt it! The thing must be done thoroughly, cleverly. Salt it, in patches, on either side of the bench marks. Mark those patches. When I take Sangerly out there in the morning, you come along with us. It’ll be up to you to take samples of the ground. Those samples must wash gold, understand?
“I’m leaving this matter to you, Harrison. If we put over this deal you get a thousand-dollar bonus and a substantial salary increase. But there must be no slip. When you do business with a railroad company you’re going against the real thing. Remember that! They’ve got the dough and they’re wise as hell.” He turned abruptly and, going over to a large safe on the opposite side of the room, took from its interior a wide-mouthed bottle containing several ounces of placer gold. “Here’s your salt. Use it all if you have to, but make a good job of it,” he added, giving Harrison the bottle. “You have your instructions. See that you follow them. Now, show him in.”
The man bowed respectfully and left the room.
Lex Sangerly, in obedience to a telegram received from his father, had left San Francisco hurriedly and arrived in Geerusalem that morning. Motoring out to the Huntington ranch, he found Coates and Tyler preparing to leave for the south, temporarily called away from the Billy Gee chase to take up some work of more immediate importance. Lex had a long talk with Lennox, as the latter lay stretched out in bed, his leg in a plaster cast, and from what the mining engineer told him, concluded that far from exaggerating the ruthlessness and power of the Quintell combination, Mrs. Liggs, in her warning to him had quite obviously given him but the barest glimpse of existing conditions. Lemuel, attired in a rakishly-cut corduroy suit and the best that money could buy in buckled boots, smoked his cigar with amazing dignity and talked cattle raising with Lex, like the owner of ten thousand herds.
Driving the two detectives to camp, Sangerly bade them good-by and steered his roadster up through the jam of traffic to the Brokers’ Exchange Building. Now, at Harrison’s invitation, he entered Quintell’s inner office and waited, while the boss of Geerusalem, without deigning his visitor so much as a glance, finished perusing his mail. He sat back finally and trained his piercing, black eyes on the other.
“Mr. Sangerly, I presume,” he began, with cold business courtesy, and paused awkwardly as he recognized in his caller the stranger with whom he had collided on the sidewalk in front of Mrs. Liggs’ store one evening some weeks before.
He got up out of his chair now and approached Lex, smiling deprecatingly, his hand extended.