“You’ve got a good eye, sir,” said Bullen approvingly. “A year and a half ago you’d not have seen any difference between one bit of steel and another. But there’s one thing I didn’t see about it myself until Venly—he’s a new man we’ve taken on—pointed it out to me. He came across a case of these to-day we’d thrown out in the waste-heap. We thought our machine had jarred them out of shape, because they were a fraction off size; well, so they were. But Venly he spotted them in a minute, when he was out there, and he asked me if they weren’t from the Benschoten factory—he was turned off from there last week, they’re cutting down the force; they always do, come spring. He said they looked like part of a bum lot that had flaws in them. He got the magnifying-glass and showed me, and, sure enough, ’twas right he was! He says they’ve got piles of them they’ve been workin’ off on the trade at a cut price. Venly he said he didn’t have any stomach for a skin game like that.” “That’s a pretty ruinous way to do business, isn’t it?” asked Justin. “Oh, they’re going to sell out in July, so they don’t care. I pity anyone that’s counting on any sort of machine that’s got these in ’em. Would you take the glass and look for yourself, sir? Every one of ’em is flawed!” CHAPTER NINETEEN “Slipped through your fingers like that! Like a—” Leverich’s words were not fit for print. He had been away for a couple of days, and now sat tilted back in his office chair, a heavy, leather-covered thing not meant for tilting, his face puffed with anger, his mouth snarling—a wild beast balked of his prey. His eyes, ferociously insolent, dwelt on Justin, who, fine and keen and smiling a little, sat opposite him. Brute anger never had any effect on Justin but to give him a contemptuous, chill self-possession. “You’re sure the agreement’s made?” “Cater’s been sending new consignments as fast as they could go for the past three days; he’s loaded up with machines.” Leverich swore again. “D——d fools, not to have made terms with Hardanger first! If we’d only known! If there was only some way to put a spoke in the wheel, even yet!” “Oh, I’ve got the spoke, easily enough,” said Justin indifferently, “the only trouble is, I can’t use it.” “Got a spoke! Why in heaven didn’t you say that before?” Leverich came down on the front legs of his chair with a force that sent it rolling ahead on its casters. “What are you sitting here for? What do you mean by telling me that you can’t use it?” “Just what I say. But it’s not worth talking about.” “See here, Alexander, could you get our machine in now instead of his?” “I suppose I might.” “And you’re not going to do it?” “I can’t, I tell you, Leverich. The information came to me in such a way that I can’t touch it.” “‘The information—’ It’s something damaging to do with the machine?” Justin drummed with his fingers on the desk without answering. “You have proof?”