He wanted to say that Tom Kirkwood was the malignant agent in the situation, but he shrank from mentioning the lawyer. He wished Phil would come down and terminate an interview that was becoming increasingly disagreeable.
"What do you consider those Sycamore bonds worth, Mr. Holton?"
"Par!" he ejaculated.
"You really think so?"
"My word of honor! There's not a better 'buy' in the American market," he affirmed solemnly.
"You can dispose of them at full face value?" she queried, arching her brows, her eyes full of wonder.
"I'll pay that for any you have, Mrs. Holton," he threw out at a venture, feeling that it was a "safe" play.
"Then I have twenty of them, and I believe I'll sell. You may bring me a check to-morrow. I shall have the bonds here at, say, three o'clock."
She glanced carelessly at the watch on her wrist, and murmured something about Phil's delay. The bond transaction was concluded, so far as she was concerned; she spoke now of the reported illness of the Czar. She had visited St. Petersburg and appeared to be conversant with Russian politics.
It was in Charles's mind that his Uncle Jack would never have dropped a woman who owned twenty bonds that were worth even a dime apiece. He was confident of some trick. Phil's mother had led him into ambush, and was now enjoying his discomfiture. His face reddened with anger. She knew perfectly well that he could not fulfill the commission he had been trapped into undertaking. His pride was stung, and his humiliation was deepened by her perfect tranquillity. Phil's delay had been by connivance, to give time for this encounter. His Uncle Jack had been right: the woman belonged to the Devil's household.