"If that fact could be widely advertised," went on Keith slowly, "by way of a threat, so to speak, it strikes me it would be very apt to discourage bidding at the commissioners' sale. Nobody wants to buy a lot of lawsuits, at any price. In absence of competition, a fifty vara lot might be sold for as low as--say $500." Neil nodded, Keith leaned forward. "Now here's my real idea: suppose _I_ buy in against this timid bidding. Suppose _I_ am the one who gets the commissioners' title for $500. Then I have both titles. And I am not likely to contest against myself. It's cost me $1,000 per lot--$500 at each sale--a profit of from $4,000 to $7,000 on each lot." He leaned back. Malcolm Neil sat like a graven image, no expression showing on his flintlike face nor in his eyes. At length he chuckled harshly. Then, and not until then, Keith proceeded: "But that isn't all. There's plenty more scrip afloat. If you can buy up as much of it as you can scrape together, I'll get judgment for it in the courts, and we can enlarge the deal until somebody smells a rat. We need several things." "What?" "Secrecy." Neil made no reply, but the lines of his mouth straightened. "Influence to push matters along in official circles." "Matters will be pushed along." "A newspaper." "Leave that to me." "Agents--not known to be connected with us." Neil nodded. "Working capital--but that is provided for in the contract. And"--he hesitated--"it will not harm to have these matters brought before a court whose judge is not unfriendly." "I can arrange for that, Mr. Keith." Keith arose. "Then that is settled." He picked up the duplicate copy of the contract. "There remains only one other formality." "Yes? What?" "Your check for $12,000." "What for?" "For my expenses in this matter up to date." "What!" cried Neil. "The contract specifies that you are to furnish the working capital," Keith pointed out. "But that means the future--" "It doesn't say so." Neil paused a moment. "This contract would not hold in law, and you know it," he asserted boldly. "It would be held to be an illegal conspiracy." "I would be pleased to have you point out the illegality in court," said Keith coldly, his manner as frosty as Neil's. "And if conspiracy exists, your name is affixed to it." Neil pondered this point a moment, then drew his checkbook toward him with a grim little smile. "Young man, you win," said he. Keith thawed to sunniness at once. "Oh, we'll work together all right, once we understand each other," he laughed. "Send your man out after scrip. Let him report to me." Neil arose rather stiffly, and extended his hand. "All right, all right!" he muttered, as though impatient. "Keep In touch. Good-day. Good-day." XXI