“Nothing doing.” Bill spoke slowly and emphatically.
“You won’t—change your mind?”
“Not for a million.”
“Oh, I was going to do better than that. In fact, my suggestion is that you come in partnership with me. I know that your father is a wealthy man—very wealthy—but millions of dollars are not to be despised by anyone. There are very big things at stake, Bolton, very big indeed.”
He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Bill’s, the smoke from his cigarette curling up between them like a banner. “Well? Don’t misunderstand me, Bolton. I don’t mean that you’re to leave Mr. Evans. Oh, not at all. No need for you to have a row with him or anything of the sort. No, no, you can go on exactly as you are doing. Carry out whatever he has sent you here to do. Only there will be a little understanding between us two, Bolton, and no one except ourselves will know anything about it. To prove I am in earnest, I will give you money now if you want it. Won’t you shake on it, young man?” He held out his hand with as friendly a smile as Bill had ever seen. “Well?”
“Well, just this—” Bill said evenly, “I’m not posing as a saint, but I tell you to your face I think you’re one of the lowest sorts of cads I’ve ever met. You’re not clever enough to get Mr. Evans yourself, so you come sneaking along and try to bribe one of his friends. But you’ve struck the wrong guy. You can keep your filthy money. You can offer a share of your rotten business, whatever it is, to anybody who is rotten enough to go in with you. Is that plain English, or do you want me to make it plainer?”
As if Bill had touched a button, Sanders’ face changed. Gone was his cordial air, his friendly smile. In its place, an evil look of anger and wounded pride. He had failed in his mission and he knew he had failed; but Bill could see that he wasn’t the man to take failure lying down. With an impatient gesture, Mr. Sanders flung his cigarette into the fireplace and got to his feet. White spots showed on his nostrils.
“Bolton,” he said in low, suppressed tones, “neither men nor boys trifle with me—you’ll learn that before you’re much older. I’ve given you your chance and you’ve refused to take it. Now I shall give you my orders.”
“Orders?” Bill laughed at him.
“I will give you till tomorrow night to obey my orders or the consequences for young Charlie Evans and some other people will be sudden and—er—not pleasant. By nine o’clock tomorrow evening as a deadline you will be in Gring’s Hotel, in Stamford, Connecticut. You will ask for Mr. Harold Johnson, and you will tell him exactly where Mr. Evans is to be found. When you meet Johnson, you will nod, as I have a habit of doing, and you will say ‘Zenas,’ which happens to be my first name. You will also pass Johnson your word of honor that you will quit this game for good.”