“Yes, the directors were quite pleased about it,” Atherson said. “But I suppose even that could be misinterpreted to look as if Freeholders was in on the plot to get control of Andscott—if someone were to take Mr. Conway’s view.”
“Not my view,” Conway corrected. “I’m only attempting to demonstrate what Torrant’s view might be.”
“But do you think Clay Torrant would really do a thing like that?” Atherson asked. “Oh, I know he’s an old fool in a lot of ways—makes a nuisance of himself around The Wharf—but I’ve never thought of him as a man who would stoop to anything of this sort.”
Conway paused to frame his reply. “I don’t know Torrant socially—only professionally—and even there his practice is very small, apparently, and I’ve had little or no contact with him. My impressions are largely based upon the things he’s written. He writes little poison-pen essays—clever enough, I suppose, if you care for that sort of thing—but the subject matter, I believe, is a reasonably clear revelation of character. Nothing delights him so much as to take a nasty crack at some member of the Bar who’s been more successful than he’s been.”
Cash’s eyes narrowed. “Is he the man who wrote that article you sent me—the one with the biblical quotation?”
“Proverbs—twenty-eight: twenty,” Conway quoted. “—‘He who maketh haste to be wealthy shall not be innocent.’”
Cash switched the subject abruptly. “Tell me this, Mr. Conway—if someone was attempting to establish the fact that there had been a conspiracy, wouldn’t they have to start by proving that I’d known, before I bought Suffolk Moulding, that I could turn around and sell it to Andscott Instrument?”
“What’s your point?” Conway asked. “That you had no idea what you were going to do with Suffolk Moulding until General Danvers so fortuitously walked into your apartment?”
“But it’s true!” Gil heard himself whisper, the words unintentionally audible.
Conway swung around to face him. “Yes, true—but is it believable? Does it sound plausible that a man with General Danvers’ reputation would actually put on such a stupid exhibition as Mr. McCall claims he did? Who would believe it—or who would believe that you, Mr. Clark, didn’t know a thing about those patents until General Danvers let the cat out of the bag? And don’t forget that you would be testifying after having had access to all of Suffolk Moulding’s confidential operating information for a period of several years.”
“But I didn’t know—”
“Come, come, Mr. Clark! After all, you’re a professional business analyst, aren’t you? I’d hardly believe you so incompetent as to miss something as important as that—or to have failed to pass it along to Mr. McCall.”
Despite the recognition that the lawyer was doing only what he’d done earlier to Atherson, Gil found it necessary to consciously restrain the rise of anger, forcing a smile as he asked, “But couldn’t General Danvers himself testify as to what had happened?”
“General Danvers?” Conway asked. “Well, let’s look at Danvers’ status—as the prosecution might see it, of course. If we’re correct in our hypothesis that Mrs. Kennard overheard him that night in the hotel, then the prosecution already knows that Danvers accused Mr. McCall of conspiracy, fraud, putting a spy in his plant—in fact, their whole case is probably based on those Danvers accusations. But then what happens? All of a sudden, Danvers meekly subsides. Why? You know the answer, don’t you? We bought him off with a promise that he’d be kept on as chairman of the board at a hundred thousand a year—and you, Mr. Clark, are the guilty man. You made that deal—just as you made the deal to buy off Bergmann.”
The pressure of angry argument drove against Gil’s lips but they were sealed by the recognition of his junior standing in the group and the realization that he knew nothing that Cash didn’t know. Cash was the one to say whatever there was to be said.
“Go on, Mr. Conway,” Cash said quietly. “What’s the rest of their case?”
“This is all hypothetical, of course,” Conway said. “And we should be able to rely on the traditional assurance that we’ll be presumed innocent until proven guilty. Unfortunately, we can’t. The presumption will be guilt.”
“I know—Proverbs twenty-eight: twenty,” Cash said flatly. “Go ahead—where else do we look bad?”
“Suppose we go back to the beginning,” Conway said. “The first odd fact we encounter is the suddenness of Grant Austen’s decision to sell. That’s hardly normal, you know, a man making a decision like that on the spur of the moment. He’d—what’s that, Mr. Atherson?”
Gil’s side glance caught a fading expression of protest on the banker’s face as he mumbled, “Nothing—nothing at all.”
Gil felt certain he knew what Atherson was about to say and supplied it himself. “Austen was under a lot of pressure from Andscott. They were after him to—”
Conway slashed in, “Or thought he was under a lot of pressure. And who might have put that thought in his head? Weren’t you with him the day before he sold?”
“Yes, but I—”
“And were you not an employee of Corporation Associates—an organization secretly owned by Cash McCall?”
Thoroughly in character, Harrison Glenn had sat motionless until this moment. Now his body moved, a sudden heaving as if a blast had been touched off under a rock monolith, exploding in Gil’s direction. “Didn’t you assure me, Clark, that you’d done nothing whatsoever to influence Austen?”
“And I didn’t!” Gil retorted, flashing back to the charge, unaware until a beat later that the real purpose of Harrison Glenn’s question had been to clear himself with Cash McCall, a revelation of personal weakness that Gil found shocking in a man to whom he had always attributed great strength of character.
“Suppose we follow Mr. Conway’s suggestion and forget our own defense,” Cash said mildly. “But since it may have some bearing, I might tell you that I made a special point of informing Mr. Austen before I bought Suffolk Moulding that I did control Corporation Associates—and that I’d had access to various reports on and about his company.”
Conway asked, “You told him that before he sold?”
“Definitely.”
Gil felt himself prompted to add that Cash had called him immediately afterward to tell him that Austen had been told about Corporation Associates, but Conway’s voice cut in ahead of him.
“Am I right, Mr. McCall, in assuming that there were no witnesses present—no one who could testify against Austen in the event that he claimed he hadn’t been told?”
There was a long silence before Cash said, “No, there’d be no one to testify against him.”
The dropping of Cash’s voice left an ominous silence and, watching his face as everyone else was doing, Gil was horror-stricken to see an expression of resignation spread slowly across his features, an acknowledgment of defeat confirmed when he said in a coldly flat voice, “I guess this game is like all the others—sometimes you draw a bad hand—and when that happens there’s nothing to do but throw it in.”
A scream of objection rose in Gil’s throat … Cash couldn’t give in now … it would be an admission of guilt! There had been no conspiracy. No one had done anything wrong. There were a thousand truths to hurl against the ridiculous lies of …
“What do you suggest, Mr. Conway?” Cash asked.
For a moment, Gil recaptured hope. Surely Winston Conway wouldn’t give ground … not after all the things he’d said that morning at breakfast in Suffolk … the way he had talked about Cash … how much it meant to him to have a man like Cash McCall for a client …
And hope was sustained as Conway said carefully, “I’m quite certain that we could defend ourselves against any charges that Austen might bring—no one has been wronged, we all know that—in fact, it’s hard to imagine the case ever getting to court.”
Then, in a traitorous turnabout, the lawyer added, “But you may be right, Mr. McCall, I hate saying this but—”
Cash cut in,
“You think I’m licked before I start?”
“I fear that may be the case. If Austen goes only as far as to file his suit—even if the rumor gets around that he might—you know what will happen to this new issue that the Andscott stockholders are being asked to approve.”
Gil felt himself slapped for stupidity. Until this instant he had failed to see the real crux of the situation. Unless the new Andscott stock issue with which Suffolk Moulding was to be acquired received the stockholder approval, Cash would not have control of the company. A charge of fraud and conspiracy, no matter how unfounded, would arouse the stockholders to band solidly against him. Even with the support of the Andrews Foundation votes, there would be little hope of getting a majority—and it was by no means sure that Bergmann, once he heard the story, might not back water on his promise.
This was the danger that Conway had brought up yesterday. Then it had been remote and intangible. Now it was devastatingly real, a catastrophe from which there seemed no escape.
“What do you advise?” Cash asked Conway. “Try to wash the whole thing out—give Austen his company back—let him have the Andscott deal himself if he wants it?”
“I don’t know what else to suggest,” Conway said slowly. “It seems a terrible thing to be forced into doing—so damned unfair—but under the circumstances it might be the wisest course.”
Cash turned to Atherson. “What’s your opinion?”
The banker’s face was blanched. “I don’t know what to say. If it weren’t for the bank—all the rumors that Freeholders was involved—”
“All right,” Cash said abruptly, rising. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He strode across the office and was out through the door before Gil could break the bond that tied him to the silently staring group around the table. He ran out into the hall and when he called Cash’s name he tried to make it a cry of allegiance and a vow of personal loyalty, but the single word came out as only a halting hail, and when Cash stopped and turned back to face him, Gil Clark realized the hopelessness of attempting to express what was in his mind.
“Don’t worry, Gil,” Cash said. “You’ll be all right.”
“I’m not thinking about myself!” Gil protested vehemently. “I’m thinking about you. You’ve done nothing wrong! No one could have been fairer than you’ve been. Why are you giving in? Why don’t you fight it? If the stockholders realized that—”
“There are some things you can’t fight, Gil.”
Cash’s voice was dead flat, completely devoid of expression, but in the instant before he turned away his doubled fist thumped Gil’s forearm, and the faintly lingering muscle ache remained as a sensation that Gil’s mind tried to translate into the words that Cash might have spoken, telling him that he knew he wasn’t guilty of the same self-seeking disloyalty that Atherson had exhibited … nothing mattering but the Freeholders Bank & Trust Company. And Harrison Glenn’s silence had been a conviction of the same groveling fear … that some whisper of gossip might besmirch his precious Corporation Associates. Winston Conway was no better … all that high-sounding talk about morality and ethics, all that praise of Cash McCall as an honorable man … but Conway had belly-crawled like the others, all of them defending Cash only as long as it meant no sacrifice of their own selfish interests.
The frame of anger broadened and he thought of Grant Austen. Who was Austen to accuse anyone else of fraud? Hadn’t he juggled the company books to transfer stock to his daughter … that phony story about an agreement with his father-in-law!
But that was no worse than the way Austen had dumped the Suffolk Moulding Company overboard, not even waiting for the sale to be consummated … no worry about what was going to happen to the company … as callously selfish as any man could be … two million for himself and not even a token bonus to men like Ed Berger and Jake Crown who had done almost as much as he had to build the business. But now two million wasn’t enough … he wanted more! And he’d do anything to get it … anything … swear that Cash hadn’t told him about Corporation Associates … even that he’d been tricked into selling …
The cyclonic swirl of righteous anger left a strange vacuum in Gil Clark’s mind and in the storm-center silence he heard the faint whisper of a question that he had never before realized his mind was sheltering. Was it true that he had done nothing to influence Grant Austen to sell … nothing?
He was sure that there were no quotable words that could be used against him … but might he still be guilty? He had wanted Austen to sell … at the time not realizing why, but now he knew … hoping that somehow he might get Suffolk Moulding for himself. That must have been obvious … Harrison Glenn had seen it in his face … and Cash had known, too … and afterwards Winston Conway. Was he any less guilty of self-interest than all of the others?
No, that wasn’t true! As soon as he had really gotten to know Cash he had forgotten all about Suffolk Moulding …
The wraith of suspicion whispered again. Was it really because of Cash that he had forgotten Suffolk Moulding? Or was it because one selfishness had been displaced by another? Hadn’t he been hoping that there would be a place for him in Andscott Instrument? He must have been … Winston Conway had guessed it. Was it unrecognized jealousy that had made his heart skip a beat when Cash had told him that John Allenby would be the new Andscott president? And Cash must have known … offering him that job today … You are a company man, aren’t you, Gil?
But what was wrong with that? Different men want different things … Cash had said that himself. He had always known what he wanted … his own company … something that a man could build … watch it grow … look at it and see what he had accomplished!
Why had he ever imagined that he could find what he wanted in Cash McCall’s way of life? Hadn’t he known from the beginning that it wasn’t there? Hadn’t he said as much to Winston Conway? Then why had he done what he had done? Because he hadn’t cared about the means, only the end? Would he do anything to get what he wanted … Bergmann and the Foundation?
What had happened to him? He had known what he was getting into … the jackals and vultures at S.F.&P … the Ivanhoe gang. Had he really believed that Cash McCall was any different from the others?
But Cash was different! Had he hurt anyone? Had he taken the slightest unfair advantage? Had he done anything that was morally wrong?
Memory rushed to Cash McCall’s support, offering the sustaining proof of what he had said that first day they had met … We maintain that the very foundation of our life is what we call free enterprise … fight and die to defend it … but now we’ve come to regard money-making as a secret vice indulged in by all but never mentioned in the best society.
Cash was right! Of course he was! But wasn’t there something strange about a man whose only interest was in making money? No, that wasn’t true! Cash was concerned about Andscott Instrument … getting the company back on its feet. But it was somehow different … strange … never getting into a company himself … never making it his company …
And even what Cash had said that noon at the Ivanhoe … yes, it was all true, but wasn’t there something peculiar about a man who talked so much about morality and ethics? And there had always been that kind of talk every time they had been together. Other men didn’t do that. Was it possible that it was a sort of psychological something or other … a cover-up to hide his own doubts … not as sure of himself as he pretended to be? If there weren’t something wrong, why had he given in so easily today?
“Mr. Clark?”
Gil wheeled to the sound of his name and found himself facing Will Atherson, waiting for the same elevator.
“Do you know where Mr. McCall has gone?” the banker asked.
“No, I don’t.”
“Perhaps to the Ivanhoe,” Atherson speculated. “And if he’s there I’ll see him. But if I should miss him, I wonder if you’d be kind enough to give him a message?”
Gil hesitated. “I don’t know whether I’ll be seeing him
or not.”
“If you do, please tell him that I—the bank—won’t expect him to take that block of stock. Under the circumstances—well, what he’s doing is for all of us.” He had been looking down, grinding the bowl of his pipe into his cupped palm, but now he raised his eyes. “I only hope that this doesn’t mean—”
The opening of the elevator door cut him off and whatever Atherson had been about to say was lost. Incongruously, Gil’s mind flashed the thought of Lory Austen. Was it possible that what Cash had done was because of her?
Before his mind could suggest an answer the question was swept away by the explosive realization that Cash had stranded him … his car was still standing out there at the Suffolk airport!
12
Lory Austen lay across her bed, staring at the dress that she had tossed over the back of a chair when the sounds of her mother’s arrival had sent her dashing to the head of the stairs. For that first moment there had been only the blankness of surprise, then a rise of apprehension when she had imagined that something had happened to her father, finally the blast of revelation when her mother had told her what he was planning to do.
Even now, looking back with the added comprehension that this last hour had given her, Lory could not completely understand the strangeness of her reaction. She had remained astoundingly clearheaded, not even a fleeting instant when her mind had suffered the disablement of shock. It was almost as if last night had given her a new mind. But the change had not been completely for the better. Before, she could not have been as cruelly cold to her mother as she had been in these minutes at the head of the stairs.
That had all been erased after her mother had followed her into the bedroom, but Lory still felt herself guilty of a lack of initial understanding. There was that understanding now—she had never before known her mother as the warmly compassionate human being that this last hour had proved her to be … but could she pay the price that her mother demanded?
Over and over, as if the words had been picked up for endless repetition by the voice of her conscience, Lory heard her mother saying, “There’s more than one kind of love in the world, Lory—there’s the love of a father for his daughter, too. Can you forget that so easily?”
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