CHAPTER XV. HURLING A BOMB.

Half a dozen men were gathered in the private conference room of Random & Griggs’ palatial brokerage offices in Liberty Street. One of these half dozen was the colonel. Another was Joshua Griggs. The remaining four were capitalists.

Colonel Mark Antony Billings was in his element. He had never looked more impressive than he did then. Levitt and McGlory had failed to arrive in time for the meeting, but they might come later. In any event, their presence was not of supreme importance.

In front of the colonel, on the mahogany table, sparkled the two bars of yellow bullion. They caught the gleams from the incandescent lights and reflected luring rays into the eyes of the capitalists.

The capitalists seemed greatly impressed. Griggs--the brokerage firm was to receive a very large commission if the mine was sold--wore a broad and amiable smile. The colonel was plausible and full of tact, answering questions promptly.

In the midst of the deliberations the quiet of Liberty Street was disturbed by the sputter of an automobile. For the most part, Liberty Street, in the vicinity of the brokers’ offices, was a deserted cañon at that hour.

But if the automobile disturbed the quiet of the street, it did not disturb the deliberations of those in Random & Griggs’ offices. It took a rap on the outer door to do that. Mr. Griggs himself answered the summons.

“McGlory and Levitt, colonel,” he called.

Mr. Griggs had made a slight mistake. Hearing the name McGlory, and understanding that Levitt was expected with him, the broker had jumped at conclusions.

“The expert, gentlemen,” smiled the colonel, addressing the capitalists, “whom you sent to investigate my little property. A very painstaking person, and reliable to the last degree. McGlory is one of our original stockholders; a young man--a mere lad, in fact--but sharp as a steel trap.” The colonel lifted his voice. “Have them come right in, Mr. Griggs,” he called.

Matt King and McGlory did not stand on the order. Supporting his chum by the arm, King and the cowboy passed into the conference room and stood under the astounded eyes of the colonel.

“Why,” said Mr. Isidore Sleipnitz, one of the moneyed men, “dot ain’t der expert, Levitt. Neider of ’em is Levitt.”

“But I’m McGlory,” said the cowboy, steadying himself by leaning against a table. Although his face was white, his eyes glowed with resolution and steadfast purpose. “Mr. Levitt was thrown from the automobile and injured. He’s now in a doctor’s office in Hempstead. This is my chum, Matt King. If he hadn’t picked me up I’d never have got here.”

The colonel, to put it colloquially, “smelled a rat.” Something was wrong, and he knew it.

“This meeting, gentlemen,” said he, “is not for outsiders. Mr. King is not a stockholder in the ‘Pauper’s Dream,’ nor, so far as I am informed, is he one of your syndicate. I think he had better withdraw.”

“I’m not going to withdraw,” said Matt, “until I tell these gentlemen of your crooked transactions in the matter of the mine you are trying to sell them. McGlory and I have come here for that purpose, and----”

“Silence!” roared the colonel, starting menacingly toward Matt. “Do you think, for a minute, you can blow in here and blacken my character in the eyes of these gentlemen?” Billings struck a pose, and shoved one hand into the breast of his long coat. “I am too well known,” he went on, “to suffer from the maunderings of a cub like you!”

“I’d like to put in a few maunderings of my own, colonel,” said McGlory. “I’ll have to hurry, too, for I got badly shaken up in that accident that knocked out Levitt. There were two reports----”

“Silence!” thundered the colonel. “Get out of here, McGlory! Clear out, I say, and take that other young scoundrel with you. If you don’t, I’ll call the police!”

Hiram McCormick, another of the capitalists, got up from his chair and raised his hand.

“This isn’t one of your Southwestern ‘rough-houses,’ colonel,” said he, “so please remember that. Roar less and listen more, will you? I am interested in hearing what these young men have to say.”

“If that’s the way you stack up,” clamored the colonel, grabbing his slouch hat and his gold bullion from the table, “I’ll make myself absent. I didn’t come here to be insulted.”

He started for the door. Before he could reach it the door of a telephone booth opened and a blue-coated man, with a star flashing on his breast, stepped in front of him.

The appearance of the policeman was a surprise to the colonel, Griggs, Matt, and McGlory. The four capitalists did not seem to think it anything out of the ordinary.

“Where--where did that man come from?” inquired Griggs.

Inasmuch as he was a member of the firm that occupied the offices, it might be supposed that he would have had knowledge of any policeman secreted about the premises. But it was plain he had not been informed of the presence of this particular officer.

Hiram McCormick was still on his feet. While the colonel was glaring at the policeman, Mr. McCormick observed calmly:

“Mr. Griggs, we shall have to ask your pardon for the presence of the officer. He slipped in, by my request, before the colonel came, and while you were in the board room.”

“What’s he here for?” inquired Griggs.

“That will appear later. Just now he is going to keep the colonel with us while these young men relieve their minds.”

Colonel Billings understood that he was face to face with disaster--a disaster so comprehensive that he could not readily grasp it. Heeding a motion of the officer’s hand, he dropped defiantly into a chair.

“Now, my lad,” said McCormick to the cowboy.

McGlory jumped at once into his recital. Beginning away back in his New York experience, he told of the trouble he and Matt had had on account of the bullion; then, after showing the telegram which had been sent to him over the signature of “Joshua Griggs,” he began narrating the adventures which had fallen to him and Matt on that eventful day. The colonel’s double-dealing was shown up in all its ugly brazenness, and the cowboy finished by regretting that he had not the private report of Hannibal J. Levitt to offer in evidence.

“Perhaps,” suggested Matt, “the colonel can show it to you, if it has not already been destroyed.”

“The colonel,” spoke up that gentleman witheringly, “is not here to be bossed by a fellow of your stripe. Your wild and woolly stories seem to have made a hit with the representatives of capital, but they’re fakes, and everybody here will know they’re fakes, before many days.”

“Gentlemen,” put in Mr. Griggs, whose faith in the colonel was dying hard, “is it right to take the word of these boys against a man so well known throughout the Southwest as Colonel Billings?”

Colonel Billings waved his hand gently but firmly toward Mr. Griggs.

“Never mind me, sir,” said he. “The kid element seems to predominate in the meeting, and men of experience and reason are relegated to the background. Don’t disturb yourself on my account, I beg. There are other bidders for the ‘Pauper’s Dream.’ The mine will be snapped up before the week is over.”

“Mr. Griggs,” went on Hiram McCormick, “these young men have come here--one of them with everything to lose and nothing to gain by blocking the sale of the mine--and told us a most remarkable story of guile and duplicity. I may say, however, that neither I nor my associates are surprised. We have already had cause to suspect the colonel of double-dealing. Two experts were sent by us to examine the ‘Pauper’s Dream.’ In matters of this sort, it is best not to place all your faith in one man. Levitt went to the mine, made himself known to the colonel, and examined the prospect under his supervision. Perhaps it is not to be wondered at that the colonel bought him. But the second expert reached the mine in laborer’s clothes, and was hired by the colonel to ‘salt’ the breast of the ‘Pauper’s Dream’ tunnel. I have that man’s report here in my pocket. It only arrived to-day, but my friends of this projected syndicate have all read it. For this reason we feared we might have trouble with the colonel, and so we smuggled the policeman into the telephone booth.

“Colonel Billings,” and McCormick turned and leveled a hard look at the Arizona man, “your rascally game would not have succeeded, even had these lads not come here and told us of your knavery. We had you spotted. From now on you will be blacklisted in this town, and you will try in vain to float any other mining proposition on New York capital. Mr. Griggs was deceived in you, and he and his partner have our sympathy, and have not lost a particle of our good will; but as for you, if you are not out of the city within twenty-four hours we shall try and see just how much responsibility the law can put upon you for this day’s events. There is the door; close it from the outside.”

The colonel got up. Calmly he drew a canvas bag from his pocket, and deliberately placed his gold bars within it; then, holding the bag in one hand, he allowed the other to dart toward his hip--a move young King had seen before.

“Look out for him!” warned Matt.

The officer grabbed a revolver out of the colonel’s hand in just the nick of time. There was a brief struggle, but the colonel got the worst of it.

“I’ll play even with that cub of a Matt King,” the colonel was heard to breathe, “if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

“Take him out, officer,” said Hiram McCormick, in undisguised contempt, “and, of course, you’ll confiscate the weapon. This is not Arizona.”

None too gently the policeman hustled Colonel Billings out of the door. Hardly had they left when McGlory staggered, tossed his hands, and fell heavily into Matt’s arms.

Instantly there was a flurry of excitement in the office, Griggs, McCormick, and the others all hurrying forward to be of what assistance they could.