"That's where I differ from you," said Matt sturdily. "If I'm not mistaken, you were using me as a club to drive Mrs. Traquair into signing that paper," and he nodded toward a document that was lying on the table near pen and ink.
"Don't make any misstatements, sir," blustered the broker.
"And don't you," cautioned Matt. "I overheard you tell Mrs. Traquair that you would have to pay a thousand or two in order to get me to risk my life flying that aëroplane. As a matter of fact, Mr. Murgatroyd, you did not offer to pay me a cent. I was to exhibit the machine, then, if the government bought it for fifteen thousand dollars, I was to have half."
The red ran into Murgatroyd's face.
"How do you know that I was referring to you?" he demanded.
"I know it, and that's enough." Matt picked the paper from the table. "I'll just look over this and see——"
"Give that to me!" cried Murgatroyd, stepping toward Matt and making a grab at the document.
Matt jumped back quickly and thrust the paper behind him.
"Mrs. Traquair," said he to the woman, "I want to be a friend of yours. May I read this?"
"So—so far as I am concerned," the woman whispered, with a frightened look at the broker.