Fisher knew how closely connected my house and the Textile Trust had been; but he showed, and probably felt no astonishment. He was too experienced in the ways of finance and financiers. It was a matter of indifference to him whether I was trying to assassinate my friend and ally, or was feinting at Langdon, to lure the public within reach so that we might, together, fall upon it and make a battue. Your lawyer is your true mercenary. Under his code honor consists in making the best possible fight in exchange for the biggest possible fee. He is frankly for sale to the highest bidder. At least so it is with those that lead the profession nowadays, give it what is called “character” and “tone.” Not without some regret did I thus arrange to attack my friend in his absence. “Still,” I reasoned, “his blunder in trusting some leaky person with his secret is the cause of my peril--and I'll not have to justify myself to him for trying to save myself.” What effect my injunction would have I could not foresee. Certainly it could not save me from the loss of my fortune; but, possibly, it might check the upward course of the stock long enough to enable me to snatch myself from ruin, and to cling to firm ground until the Coal deal drew me up to safety. My next call was at the Interstate Trust Company. I found Corey waiting for me in a most uneasy state of mind. “Is there any truth in this story about you?” was the question he plumped at me. “What story?” said I, and a hard fight I had to keep my confusion and alarm from the surface. For, apparently, my secret was out. “That you're on the wrong side of the Textile.” So it was out! “Some truth,” I admitted, since denial would have been useless here. “And I've come to you for the money to tide me over.” He grew white, a sickly white, and into his eyes came a horrible, drowning look. “I owe a lot to you, Matt,” he pleaded. “But I've done you a great many favors, haven't I?” “That you have Bob,” I cordially agreed. “But this isn't a favor. It's business.” “You mustn't ask it, Blacklock,” he cried. “I've loaned you more money now than the law allows. And I can't let you have any more.” “Some one has been lying to you, and you've been believing him,” said I. “When I say my request isn't a favor, but business, I mean it.” “I can't let you have any more,” he repeated. “I can't!” And down came his fist in a weak-violent gesture. I leaned forward and laid my hand strongly on his arm. “In addition to the stock of this concern that I hold in my own name,” said I, “I hold five shares in the name of a man whom nobody knows that I even know. If you don't let me have the money, that man goes to the district attorney with information that lands you in the penitentiary, that puts your company out of business and into bankruptcy before to-morrow noon. I saved you three years ago, and got you this job against just such an emergency as this, Bob Corey. And, by God, you'll toe the mark!”