Part 28 (1/2)
”That in the report which I shall make, I may feel compelled to arrange my data in such a manner that they will point to a conclusion somewhat at variance with yours?”
”In which case,” interrupted Firmstone; ”I shall claim the right to another and counter statement.”
Hartwell looked even more intently at Firmstone.
”In your report you stated positively that there were three thousand, one hundred and twenty-five ounces of bullion in your s.h.i.+pment; that this amount was lost in the wreck of the stage.”
”Exactly.”
Hartwell leaned forward, his eyes still fixed on Firmstone's eyes. Then, after a moment's pause, he asked, explosively,--
”Was there that amount?”
Firmstone's face had a puzzled look.
”There certainly was, unless I made a mistake in weighing up.” His brows contracted for a moment, then cleared decisively. ”That is not possible.
The total checked with my weekly statements.”
Hartwell settled back in his chair. There was a look of satisfied cunning on his face. He had gained his point. He had attacked Firmstone in an unexpected quarter, and he had flinched. He had no further doubts.
This, however, was not enough. He would press the br.i.m.m.i.n.g cup of evidence to his victim's lips and compel him to drink it to the last drop.
”Who saw you put the bullion in the safe?”
”No one.”
”Then, if the safe is never recovered, we have only your word that the bullion was put in there, as you stated?”
Firmstone was slowly realising Hartwell's drift. Slowly, because the idea suggested appeared too monstrous to be tenable. The purple veins on his forehead were hard and swollen.
”That is all,” he said, from between compressed lips.
”Under the circ.u.mstances, don't you think it is of the utmost importance that the safe be recovered?”
”Under any circ.u.mstances. I have already taken all the steps possible in that direction.” Firmstone breathed easier. He saw, as he thought, the error of his other half-formed suspicion. Hartwell was about to suggest that Zephyr should not be alone in guarding the river.
Hartwell again leaned forward. He spoke meditatively, but his eyes were piercing in their intensity.
”Yes. If in the event of the unexpected,” he emphasised the word with a suggestive pause, ”recovery of the safe, it should be found not to contain that amount, in fact, nothing at all, what would you have to say?”
Every fibre of Firmstone's body crystallised into hard lines. Slowly he rose to his feet. Pale to the lips, he towered over the general manager.
Slowly his words fell from set lips.
”What have I to say?” he repeated. ”This. That, if I stooped to answer such a question, I should put myself on the level of the brutal idiot who asked it.”
CHAPTER XIX
_The Fly in the Ointment_