Without comment, Bowen took the flat packet Miss Ferguson handed him, dropped into the big plush chair beside her, and glanced at his watch.
“Eleven o’clock. Time to talk before lunch.” He glanced around and found they were in no danger of eavesdroppers. Then, with leaping pulses, he told the girl of his conversations with Henderson and Dickover.
“And I refused Dickover’s offer,” he concluded bluntly, “and accepted his threat to smash the stock. He’ll do it, too. By this time he’s sent orders to his brokers to sell it, to smash the market flat.”
The girl’s eyes were steady on his.
“I’m content,” she said curtly. “But please explain. You’ve some scheme?”
“You’ve said it. Some scheme! Do you mind if I smoke? My nerves are jumpy, and they’ll be worse before they’re better.”
She made a gesture of impatient assent. He lighted Dickover’s parting gift and for a space sat in silence, his face deeply lined in thought.
“I’ve got to make this clear to you,” he said at last slowly. “You know anything about low-grade silver ores?”
“Very little.”
“They’re low-grade because they are mixed with lead or zinc, hold a small proportion of silver, and yield very small profit. The separation of the silver and zinc is difficult. A hyperstatic process has been invented, but if a chemical process could be found, it would be cheaper and better; besides, it would make a yield of zinc as well as of silver. And to-day both zinc and silver are soaring. You understand?”
She nodded quickly. “And—and you think such a process has been found?”
A gleam of admiration sprang into Bowen’s gray eyes. For the first time, he smiled his likable, boyish smile.
“Great Jehu, there is nothing slow about you!” he breathed. “Yes. My guess—and mind this, it’s no more than a guess—is that Dickover has advance information that this chemical process is now a verity. You see? It is probably workable on ores of a certain silver-zinc combination. I deduce this from the fact that the Apex Crown, the two holdings I sold Henderson, and the Big Bony I sold Dickover are of almost the same identical ore properties. Only such a discovery would get Dickover after low-grade ores.”
She was leaning forward now, her eyes shining like twin stars.
“I see! Of course!” she exclaimed eagerly. “Henderson learned of this and at once went out on his own hook to secure all the mines and claims possible containing this grade of ore! And Dickover is here in San Francisco to buy everything in sight before news of the discovery has broken! Is that it?”
“You’ve said it. So far all’s straight. Got any questions ready?”
“Heaps!” The girl laughed, then instantly grew grave. “Dickover knows that Henderson is a traitor and has been buying Apex Crown; yet Dickover is ready to buy our stock, make the Apex Crown a great success and enrich Henderson! Why?”
“I’ve doped it out; I struck the same snag myself—and others, too. Like this! If Dickover gets our block of stock, he controls that mine. He can let it lie useless for years, until Henderson has given up hope and sold out the stock he’s been buying. And until that happens, Dickover lets the mine lie dead for five years or fifty! Savvy?”
“Sure, so far.” Miss Ferguson frowned. “It’s getting involved, though. The salient fact is the human equation—Dickover wants to smash Henderson first, then develop the mine!”
“Exactly. He knows that Henderson is loaded to the guards with the stock and is taking all that’s offered.”
“Then why does Dickover threaten to throw all his stock on the market? How would that smash anybody? Henderson could simply buy it up, control the mine, and develop it by means of the new chemical process!”
Bowen leaned back in his chair and puffed for a moment.
“Right there is where I had to make another quick guess, Miss Ferguson. But I think I’m right. I know I’m right! From what I remember of the Apex Crown affair, a fair quantity of stock was issued in the early days; close to half a million, I believe. We can verify the figures this afternoon. With Henderson and Dickover scrapping over a mere block of ten thousand shares, you see they have absorbed about all of that stock that was lying around loose. Call it about two hundred thousand shares or more to each of them.
“Now, when Dickover issued his Apex Crown ultimatum, I thought about what I’d do if I were in his place and with his power; and upon that it flashed over me exactly what he would do—the only thing he logically could do, upon such a threat as his! Remember that Dickover knows human nature and gambles on it; remember, also, he has agents or brokers in every large city in the country, and can strike contemporaneously at a moment’s notice.”
“All clear so far,” said the girl quietly. “And your prophecy—”
“Is this: By to-day the stock is probably up to ten cents or more, and none offered. Dickover to-day issues orders to throw overboard the stock, beginning to-morrow morning; to throw overboard in such big blocks that Henderson will know where it’s coming from. He’ll hammer down the market, hammer it down until the stock is back to two cents or less.
“And what happens? Will Henderson buy everything in sight? No. He won’t have the money or the nerve. He’s a traitor, remember, and a traitor has a yellow spot somewhere. Henderson will think that the Apex Crown ore has proven unfit for going through the new chemical process; or he may think that Dickover has put some string on the property that makes the stock worthless; he may think any of a dozen things, and he will. He’ll think all of ’em! Instead of finding himself grown rich by a sneaky, slick trick, he’ll find Dickover fighting him—and his nerve will go.”
“Possibly,” agreed the girl, watching Bowen with fascinated eyes. “But it’s a poor thing to bet on, isn’t it? What’s the rest of the prophecy?”
Bowen smiled grimly. “Quite logical. Henderson will find that he gave me five thousand of his cash when he’s going to need it all. Before the market is quite smashed down to its original state, he’s going to loosen up on a big bunch of his stock. He’ll argue that at the right moment. When Dickover begins to buy in again, he, too, can step forward and get back his own—with some of Dickover’s to boot; enough to give him control.”
“And,” cried the girl quickly, “Dickover knows that he’ll think so! With all his organization and power, Dickover will step in first! Before Henderson can do it, Dickover has done it. Is that the idea?”
“Exactly.” Bowen puffed for a moment; that cigar was too good to be allowed to die. “Exactly. If Henderson does have the nerve to stick, Dickover will beat him anyhow. Now do you see what the game of Dickover is?”
“I see. And I think I agree with you—Henderson will lack nerve. He’ll begin to unload his stock at four cents, will unload more at three, and throw off all of it at two to break even. Then, when he’s cleaned out of the stock, Dickover will rob the whole market!”
“Bully for you!” exclaimed Bowen eagerly. “I knew you’d understand!”
“Thank you.” She smiled, a trifle wanly. He saw that the strain of understanding had been telling upon her. After all, that block of stock was hers! “But I don’t understand yet why you refused Dickover’s offer for my stock; and I don’t understand why you sold him a mine at half its value!”
“I sold him that mine because I was going to need the money right after lunch—and need it badly.” Bowen rose. “As for why I refused his offer, let that go until we have lunch. I’ve licked Henderson and Dickover this morning, which is going some; now I must add you to the list—and I need a stimulant before opening fire.”
The girl made no demur. They sought the dining-room together; Bowen, no less than Alice Ferguson, was keyed up to a high tension by the big game, and the biggest game was still ahead of him—the hardest work.
Midway through luncheon, Bowen was sought by special messenger and was handed a folded message. He put it in his pocket without reading, and smiled across the table.
“Information for which I phoned. I don’t think much of brokers as a class, but I do know of one man in the game whom I’d trust—Gus Saunders. Ever hear of him?”
The girl shook her head. Bowen switched the subject. He took pains to impress upon Miss Ferguson that he was not the magnate she had thought him. He felt impelled to stand upon a frankly honest footing with this level-eyed girl; he could do nothing else.
“And it was meeting Dickover on the train and here at the hotel,” she said, laughter twinkling in her eyes, “that started you on this high finance wave? Good gracious! If I’d known that when you called up about the stock—”
“Well? What would you have said?”
“Just what I did say!” she finished with a laugh. “Now here comes our coffee. Can’t you possibly unburden your mind yet? I can’t stand this suspense a moment longer!”
Bowen grinned and slipped the waiter a gold piece. They were in a corner of the big dining-room, and to themselves.
“Here, my friend! Keep everybody away from us and don’t bother us until I call you!” The waiter bobbed and departed, and Bowen drew a sigh of relief. “Now! We’ll wade in.”
He produced the packet of notes, and Dickover’s check for thirty thousand, and laid them on the table before him. Then he drew forth the message that had been brought him.
“Miss Ferguson, my proposition is simply this: That we go into partnership on the Apex Crown. This message is from Gus Saunders. The Apex Crown issued five hundred thousand shares, and the original holders unloaded everything about a year ago, so that the entire issue is on the market—or is divided between Henderson and Dickover. We’ve already figured out that by to-morrow most of that stock will be back on the market temporarily.”
“Until Dickover can swallow it at a gulp,” she added.
“Sure. That mine is highly valuable property—if the chemical process has really been discovered. That’s what I’m gambling on; I’m certain that in about another fortnight the mining world will get the news. So, then, let’s get busy! I propose that you and I step in at the psychological moment, when Dickover has scared Henderson into unloading; that we make a bold strike and gobble about three hundred thousand shares of that stock at the lowest figure. In short, that we grab the Apex Crown for ourselves! Are you game?”
He was leaning forward, his lean face tensed, his gray eyes holding her gaze.
For a moment she did not respond. When she did answer, her words surprised him.
“Mr. Bowen, I—I don’t see why you make this proposition to me. You have enough money there on the table to handle the affair yourself. I cannot put any money into it.”
“What! Then you don’t want to go into it? You have no faith in my theories?”
“Please don’t misunderstand me!” she replied quickly. “I’ve every faith in you. But I cannot enter upon a partnership where I can give nothing. Because I’m a girl, you’re generous to me—and I don’t want people to be generous; I can fight my own battles—”
From Bowen broke a sudden ejaculation.
“Great Jehu! Of all the nonsense I ever heard, this is the worst!”
“Well! Isn’t it true?”
“No!” he exclaimed savagely. “It is not true! Not as you think. See here, don’t you like the scheme? Don’t you realize that it’s a big thing if successful?”
“Of course I do. But—if I were not a woman, you’d not offer this partnership.”
It was Bowen’s turn to take the aggressive; he did it with a vim and earnestness that brought the color flooding into her cheeks.
“You’re right. I wouldn’t! It’s because you are a woman that I want you for partner in this business; I need you! Fighting for myself, I’d be apt to do any fool trick. But with your interests hanging on mine, fighting for you as well as for myself, saddled with the responsibility of your trust and your future—why, I’d fight like hell! Excuse me. I didn’t mean that profanely, but literally.
“I tell you frankly, Miss Ferguson, you’d be an inspiration to any man! I don’t talk like this to every woman. I’ve never felt like this before in my life. I never met you before, that’s the reason! When I say I need you for a partner, I mean just that.
“Get angry if you want to; I can’t help it. This isn’t a question of what money you can put in. You can put in your block of stock, for that matter; the rest is personality, outbalancing all the money on earth! You can help me with your advice, your character. I’m not offering you charity, God knows!
“Now, it’s up to you—my cards are on the table. Say no, and I’ll give you ten thousand for your stock. Say yes, and we’ll go into the game as fighting partners. Which is it?”
In his appeal was force and something better than force—earnestness.
Alice Ferguson recognized it. She worked for her living, and had learned to know something of what might lie beneath the words of a man. She saw that Bowen’s speech might be crude and a bit too frank; but she saw that he meant it. She read down to the good honest soul of the man from Tonopah, and found honesty there. She realized that he did indeed need her; that it would be a coward’s part to fail him. And he was a man to trust.
“Yes,” she said, her eyes grave.
Bowen relaxed suddenly, drew a long breath like a sigh. He had been tremendously keyed up to that moment.
“Then let’s go,” he said, rising. “Let’s go see Gus Saunders.”