Flomerfelt's thin lips widened into a diabolical grin.
"How are you going to do it, Wilkinson?"
His chief did not reply immediately. His hesitation made the other's grin widen all the more.
"I'll have to work that out, Flomerfelt," presently he said, "but I'll do it. He might as well smart as anyone else. Besides, what will it amount to, anyway? An investigation—censure—a few bribes—and—— The rest of us can go to Europe and enjoy ourselves until it's blown over."
"If it ever blows over," put in Flomerfelt. Then he stretched out his arm and laid his long, lean fingers on the sleeve of Wilkinson's coat.
"Peter V.," he said in a low voice, "I'll give you credit in this, as well as in other things; but let me tell you something: while you've been mumbling here, I've worked your idea out—sketched in the details."
"You don't say!" cried Wilkinson. "Good boy! Well?" And he looked at him questioningly.
But Flomerfelt shook his head.
"No, chief, I'll work it out myself. But I'll say this much, I've got a hold on nearly every man in the Tri-State Trust Company, the Interstate also. There are things to be done, things to be sworn to, and only I know how...." He withdrew his hand. "The question is, Wilkinson," he went on, "am I to get good pay?... This thing is more serious than you think. It won't blow over, take my word for it. A million people in three States are up in arms; what's more, District Attorney Murgatroyd is up in arms, too."