“It’s out of the question. We wouldn’t touch the property–––”
“I’ll take a quarter of its value in spot cash! I’ll give you ten thousand to put it through to-day!”
“Why can’t you understand that what you suggest would amount to collusion?”
“What I propose is to get a slice of what’s mine!” yelled Skidder, fairly dancing with fury. “D’yeh think I’m going to let that crooked wop, Puma, do this to me just like that! D’yeh think he’s going to get away with all my money and all Pawling’s money and leave me planted on my neck while about a million other guys come and sell me out and fill their pants pockets with what’s mine?”
Jim said: “If Mr. Pawling is the very rich man you say he is, he’s not going to let the defalcation of this fellow, Puma, destroy such a paying property.”
“Damn it, I don’t want him to buy it in for himself and freeze me out! I can’t stop him, either; Puma’s got all my money except what’s in this parcel. And you betcha life I hang onto this, creditors or no creditors, and Pawling to the contrary! He knows damn well it belongs to me. Try him again at the Rajah–––”
“They’re paging him. I left the number. But I 348 tell you the proper thing for you to do is to go to a lawyer, and then to the police,” repeated Jim. “There’s nothing else to do. This fellow, Puma, may have run for the Mexican border, or he may still be in the United States. Without a passport he couldn’t very easily get on any trans-Atlantic boat or any South American boat either. The proper procedure is to notify the police–––”
“Nix on the police!” shouted Skidder. “That’ll start the land-slide, and the whole shooting-match will go. I want this property. If the papers show it’s subject to the firm’s liabilities, then that dirty skunk altered the thing. It’s forgery.
“I never was fool enough to lump this parcel in with our assets. Not me. It’s forgery; that’s what it is, and this parcel belongs to me, privately–––”
“See an attorney,” repeated Jim patiently. “You can’t keep a thing like this out of the papers, Mr. Skidder. Why, here’s a man, Angelo Puma, who pounces on every convertible asset of his firm, stuffs a valise full of real money, and beats it for parts unknown.