Neil was now watching him steadily,
"If that fact could be widely advertised," went on Keith slowly, "by way of a threat, so to speak, it strikes me it would be very apt to discourage bidding at the commissioners' sale. Nobody wants to buy a lot of lawsuits, at any price. In absence of competition, a fifty vara lot might be sold for as low as—say $500."
Neil nodded, Keith leaned forward.
"Now here's my real idea: suppose I buy in against this timid bidding. Suppose I am the one who gets the commissioners' title for $500. Then I have both titles. And I am not likely to contest against myself. It's cost me $1,000 per lot—$500 at each sale—a profit of from $4,000 to $7,000 on each lot."
He leaned back. Malcolm Neil sat like a graven image, no expression showing on his flintlike face nor in his eyes. At length he chuckled harshly. Then, and not until then, Keith proceeded:
"But that isn't all. There's plenty more scrip afloat. If you can buy up as much of it as you can scrape together, I'll get judgment for it in the courts, and we can enlarge the deal until somebody smells a rat. We need several things."
"What?"
"Secrecy."
Neil made no reply, but the lines of his mouth straightened.
"Influence to push matters along in official circles."