“Oh, we’re all in it––you may as well be! You’re on the inside, as it is! The play got too high for Rockamore, and he cashed in; you’ve bluffed old Mallowe till he’s looking up sailing dates for Algiers, but I knew you’d be sensible, when it came to the scratch, and divide the pot, rather than blow your whistle and have the game pulled!”
“But it was old Mallowe”––Blaine’s tone was puzzled––“who succeeded in transferring all that worthless land he’d acquired to Lawton, when Lawton wouldn’t come in and help him on that Street-Railways grab, which would have made him practically sole owner of all the suburban real estate around Illington, wasn’t it?”
“Sure it was!” laughed Carlis, ponderously. “But who made it possible for Mallowe to palm off those miles 287 of vacant lots––as improved city property, of course––on Lawton, without his knowledge, and even have them recorded in his name, but me? What am I boss for, if I don’t own a little man like the Recorder of Deeds?”
“I see!” Blaine tapped his finger-tips together and smiled slowly, in meditative appreciation. “And it was your man, also, Paddington, who found means to provide the mortgage, letter of appeal for a loan, note for the loan itself, and so forth. As for Rockamore––”
“Oh, he fixed up the dividend end, watered the stock and kept the whole thing going by phony financing while there was a chance of our hoodwinking Lawton into going into it voluntarily. He was one grand little promoter, Rockamore was; pity he got cold feet, and promoted himself into another sphere!”
“All things considered, it may not be such a pity, after all!” Blaine rose suddenly, whirling his chair about until it stood before him, and he faced his amazed visitor from across it. “Now, Carlis, suppose you promote yourself from my office!”
“Wh-what!” It was a mere toneless wheeze, but breathing deep of brute strength.
“I told you when you first came in that this promised to be one of my busiest days. You’re taking up my time. To be sure, you’ve cleared up a few minor points for me, and testified to them, but you haven’t really told me anything I didn’t know. The game is up! Now––get out!”
He braced himself, as he spoke, to meet the mountain of flesh which hurled itself upon him in a blind rush of Berserk rage––braced himself, met and countered it. Never had that spacious office––the scene of so many heartrending appeals, dramatic climaxes, impassioned 288 confessions and violent altercations––witnessed so terrific a struggle, brief as it was.
“I’ll kill you!” roared the maddened brute. “You’ll never leave your office, alive, to repeat what I’ve told! I’ll kill you, with my bare hands, first, d––n you!”