<h2 id="c9"><span class="sc">Chapter IX</span> <br/><span class="small">THE OFFER AND THE THREAT</span></h2>
<p>“Good evening, Mr. Bolton,” said the intruder
mockingly.</p>
<p>“Good evening,” Bill replied politely. “I
don’t suppose it’s of any use to inquire how you
got in?”</p>
<p>The man’s manner rather flabbergasted
Bill. If there had been any suspicion of
menace in Sanders’ attitude, Bill would have
gone for him straightway with his fists.</p>
<p>“Not the slightest, Mr. Bolton!” And
then with a nod and a smile, “Excuse me!”</p>
<p>As Bill was still holding the curtain aside,
Sanders stepped past him into the lounge. On
the table beside the lamp and book he laid a
little automatic.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_130">130</div>
<p>“No need for that, I hope,” he remarked
pleasantly, and dropped into an armchair
quite within reach of the revolver. He gave
Bill that curious, quick, confidential nod, then
took out a gold case and lighted a cigarette.
He blew a thin spiral of smoke into the air
with obvious enjoyment. For cool nerve, the
man’s manner took Bill’s breath away.</p>
<p>“Without going into details,” he said offhandedly,
“I’ve as much right here as you,
so you’ll pardon me if I make myself at home,
won’t you? Sit down—sit down, Bolton.”
He pointed to a small seat at the side of the
hearth.</p>
<p>“Thanks, I’ll stand.”</p>
<p>“But I said, sit down!” Mr. Sanders’
voice was not raised in the least, but his words
came at Bill like an order. A trifle dazed,
he sank into the chair.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_131">131</div>
<p>There was no reason why he shouldn’t
have hurled the lamp in Sanders’ face, and in
the darkness, pitched the table on top of him.
But instead, for no reason he could give, Bill
obeyed him, and sat waiting for him to speak.
Naturally curious to fathom the reason for
this visit, Bill was astounded by his attitude,
considering what had happened in the motorboat.</p>
<p>“Thought I’d find you here, Bolton, so I’ve
dropped in for a chat.”</p>
<p>Bill leaned back, looking at him, but said
nothing.</p>
<p>Mr. Sanders raised his eyebrows, but the
tone of his voice did not alter. “I take it
that you’re a straightforward sort of fellow,
Bolton. You know where you stand with
them. I bear no malice for this afternoon’s
performance—in fact I admire you. At the
present moment, you’re hating me like poison,
and the only justification you have is that I
didn’t knock before I entered!”</p>
<p>“You’re so remarkably polite tonight,”
murmured Bill, “you might have carried
your politeness a little further.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_132">132</div>
<p>Again Sanders gave his quick nod and
smiled. “It isn’t always wise to knock,
Bolton. For instance, you might have mistaken
my politeness. Since it’s an informal
hour to call, you might not have invited me
in—and I hate talking on doorsteps. I want
a serious talk with you, Bolton.”</p>
<p>Bill made no comment.</p>
<p>“You know, Bolton,” he went on, knocking
the ash from his cigarette, “you’re on a fool’s
errand. Quite bluntly, you’re taking part in
a losing game. I’m being plain with you.
Your side hasn’t the foggiest hope of success—for,
frankly, I hold all the cards.”</p>
<p>“Well—and so what?”</p>
<p>“Look here!” He punctuated his words
with a long forefinger. “Haven’t you brains
enough to see you’re being made a catspaw.
You’re the one that’s to do the dirty work—you
are the lad that’s to run the risks and take
all the hard knocks. How do you like the
job?”</p>
<p>“I’m not kicking,” said Bill.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_133">133</div>
<p>Sanders smiled again. “Well, how much
are you getting out of it? That’s the
point.... Oh, yes, it’s not my business. I
know your type—stupid—loyal. I admire
stupidity and loyalty because they are
generally exerted in a good cause. But when
they are wasted qualities—wasted on one of
the worst scoundrels in America, it pains me.
I’m a student of these things, Bolton—it’s
part of a lawyer’s job to weigh motives.”</p>
<p>“A lawyer’s?” Bill looked surprised.</p>
<p>“Certainly,” he returned affably. “It’s an
honorable enough profession, eh? I started
to read for the English bar and chucked it.
I’m a Londoner by birth, you see. But I had
a knack for the law. In America I’ve
practised ten years as an attorney. However,
my energies at present are devoted to tracking
down a scoundrel named Evans. Do you
follow me?”</p>
<p>“Go on.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_134">134</div>
<p>Mr. Sanders nodded again. “Thank you.
I’ll come to the point at once, but I wanted
you to understand the situation. I intend to
get this Mr. Evans, and get him I shall.
Soon—very soon. Much sooner than he expects.
There is no way out of it for him. I
will get him in the end, and the end is not far
off.” The pleasant look had gone from his
eyes, and his mouth was hard.</p>
<p>“Why do you want him?” Bill blurted
out, and a moment later would have done
anything to withdraw his words.</p>
<p>“Ah!” Sanders cried, “I thought so! He
has been clever enough to conceal that.
Exactly. So that is part of his game! Well,
my young friend, it’s part of mine, too. It
is nobody’s business at present but Mr. Evans’
and my own. And I tell you, there is no
sacrifice I wouldn’t make to meet that man
face to face, alone, for ten minutes. Look
here, Bolton, to come to brass tacks, how
much do you want in hard cash to tell me
where Evans is at this moment?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_135">135</div>
<p>Sanders leaned forward, his glowering
eyes fixed upon Bill’s face.</p>
<p>Bill stared back at him and an angry devil
rose within the lad. Bribery—so that was
the object of his visit! And the man certainly
played his cards well. He insinuated that
Mr. Evans was a scoundrel, that Bill himself
was being made a tool. That was bad enough,
and the astuteness of his argument was apparent,
but the bribery business stung young
Bolton’s pride. He sprang to his feet, determined
to lash out at the white, grinning
face.</p>
<p>Sanders held up his hand, reading his purpose.
“Bolton, I’m delighted. I can see
you’re a good fellow. You refuse to give
away your man. If you had fallen for that,
I wouldn’t have had much respect for you,
would I?”</p>
<p>“What the blazes are you getting at now?”
demanded Bill.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_136">136</div>
<p>“Do sit down, my dear chap.” Again
came that quick nod. “I’ve no respect for a
fellow who sells his boss—cheaply. I’m not
asking you to do that, Bolton.”</p>
<p>“Then what—?”</p>
<p>“Just this. Why not come over to my side?
Why not leave a sinking ship and come aboard
a sound one? Whatever you’re getting out of
this game in hard cash, I’ll double. Row in
with me, Bolton. You won’t regret it.”</p>
<p>“Nothing doing.” Bill spoke slowly and
emphatically.</p>
<p>“You won’t—change your mind?”</p>
<p>“Not for a million.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I was going to do better than that.
In fact, my suggestion is that you come in
partnership with me. I know that your
father is a wealthy man—very wealthy—but
millions of dollars are not to be despised by
anyone. There are very big things at stake,
Bolton, very big indeed.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_137">137</div>
<p>He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Bill’s,
the smoke from his cigarette curling up between
them like a banner. “Well? Don’t
misunderstand me, Bolton. I don’t mean that
you’re to leave Mr. Evans. Oh, not at all.
No need for you to have a row with him or
anything of the sort. No, no, you can go on
exactly as you are doing. Carry out whatever
he has sent you here to do. Only there
will be a little understanding between us two,
Bolton, and no one except ourselves will know
anything about it. To prove I am in earnest,
I will give you money now if you want it.
Won’t you shake on it, young man?” He
held out his hand with as friendly a smile as
Bill had ever seen. “Well?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_138">138</div>
<p>“Well, just this—” Bill said evenly, “I’m
not posing as a saint, but I tell you to your
face I think you’re one of the lowest sorts of
cads I’ve ever met. You’re not clever enough
to get Mr. Evans yourself, so you come sneaking
along and try to bribe one of his friends.
But you’ve struck the wrong guy. You can
keep your filthy money. You can offer a
share of your rotten business, whatever it is,
to anybody who is rotten enough to go in with
you. Is that plain English, or do you want
me to make it plainer?”</p>
<p>As if Bill had touched a button, Sanders’
face changed. Gone was his cordial air, his
friendly smile. In its place, an evil look of
anger and wounded pride. He had failed in
his mission and he knew he had failed; but
Bill could see that he wasn’t the man to take
failure lying down. With an impatient gesture,
Mr. Sanders flung his cigarette into the
fireplace and got to his feet. White spots
showed on his nostrils.</p>
<p>“Bolton,” he said in low, suppressed tones,
“neither men nor boys trifle with me—you’ll
learn that before you’re much older. I’ve
given you your chance and you’ve refused
to take it. Now I shall give you my
orders.”</p>
<p>“Orders?” Bill laughed at him.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_139">139</div>
<p>“I will give you till tomorrow night to
obey my orders or the consequences for young
Charlie Evans and some other people will be
sudden and—er—not pleasant. By nine
o’clock tomorrow evening as a deadline you
will be in Gring’s Hotel, in Stamford, Connecticut.
You will ask for Mr. Harold
Johnson, and you will tell him exactly where
Mr. Evans is to be found. When you meet
Johnson, you will nod, as I have a habit of
doing, and you will say ‘Zenas,’ which happens
to be my first name. You will also pass
Johnson your word of honor that you will quit
this game for good.”</p>
<p>“Stamford is a long way from here,”
temporized Bill.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_140">140</div>
<p>“But you have an excellent plane at
Parker’s, in Clayton.” Sanders laughed
shortly. “This is not a lone hand I’m playing,
Bolton. I have an organization behind
me, and it is a thoroughly efficient one. What
I don’t know about you, and particularly your
doings since that youngster Charlie brought
you his father’s message, would not be worth
writing home about.”</p>
<p>“And if I refuse?” Bill crossed his legs
and looked at him with as much insolence as
he could command.</p>
<p>“If you refuse, Mister Midshipman Bolton,
your friend Charlie, who my men caught
up this morning, and the girl, Deborah, will
have to take the consequences of your bullheadedness.”</p>
<p>Slowly Bill got to his feet. “So that’s your
filthy threat, is it?” he cried. “You hold
that over my head. Well, Mr. Zenas Sanders,
two can play at your game!” Bill took a step
forward, prepared to spring on him.</p>
<p>The man did not move. A smile had come
back to his face, and again he gave a quick
little nod.</p>
<p>“Look out, Bolton! Don’t do anything
foolish!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_141">141</div>
<p>Bill followed the direction of his eyes. In
the corner of the alcove, appearing between
the folds of the curtain, was the long, blue-black
barrel of a rifle, and it was pointed at
Bill’s breast.</p>
<p>“You see!” sneered Sanders. “It would
have paid you to become my friend. You
haven’t the option now. Nine o’clock tomorrow
night by the latest, at Gring’s Hotel,
Bolton—or—you know the rest.”</p>
<p>Sanders slipped behind the curtain out of
sight. At the same moment the barrel of the
gun disappeared. With a cry, Bill snatched
up the automatic from the table where
Sanders had overlooked it, and darted into
the hall.</p>
<p>But the hall was empty. No sound came
from any part of the house.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_143">143</div>
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