"If you know where the stock is,
you'll understand."

"Do you mean what it is quoted at, or who owns it?" interrupted Plank.

"Who owns it. Everybody knows where it has dropped to, I suppose. Most
people know, too, where it is held."

"Yes; I do."

"And who is manipulating it," added Quarrier indifferently.

"Do you mean Harrington's people?"

"I don't mean anybody in particular, Mr. Plank."

"Oh!" said Plank, staring, "I was sure you couldn't have meant
Harrington; because," he went on deliberately, "there are other theories
floating about that mysterious pool, one of which I've proved."

Quarrier looked at him out of his velvety-lidded eyes:

"What have you proved?"

"I'll tell you, if you'll appoint an interview."

"I'll come too," began Belwether, who had been listening, loose-mouthed
and intent; "we're all in it--Howard, Kemp Ferrall, and I--"

"And Stephen Siward," observed Plank, so quietly that Quarrier never
even raised his eyes to read the stolid face opposite.

Presently he said: "Do you know anybody who can deliver you any
considerable block of Amalgamated Electric at the market figures?"

"I could deliver you several blocks, if you care to bid," said Plank
bluntly.

Belwether grew red, then pale. Quarrier stiffened in his chair, but his
eyes were only sceptical. Plank's under lip had begun to protrude again;
he swung his massive head, looking from Belwether back to Quarrier:

"Pool or no pool," he continued, "you Amalgamated people will want to
see the stock climb back into the branches from which somebody shook it
out; and I propose to put it there. That is all I had meant to say to
you, Mr. Quarrier. I'm not averse to saying it here to you, and I do.
There's no secrecy about it. Figure out for yourself how much stock I
control, and who let it go. Settle your family questions and put your
house in order; then invite me to call, and I'll do it. And I have an
idea that we are going to stand on our own legs again, and recover our
self-respect and our fighting capacity; and I rather think we'll stop
this hold-up business, and that our Inter-County friend will let go the
sand-bag and pocket the jimmy, and talk business across the line-fence."

Quarrier's characteristic pallor was no index to his feelings, nor was
his icy reticence. All hell might be boiling below.

When anybody gave Quarrier a letter to read he took a long time reading
it; but if he was slow he was also minute; he went ove