I'm ready to go the limit. That's final, Rowe. That's all I have to say."
The other rose and put down his cigar.
"It will interest him," he said ironically. "It will interest him more than anything has since you first mentioned the timber. I—" his eyes ran over Taylor's face craftily. "I will go back tonight with your message. Beyond a doubt you will hear of it—and before long."
They stood silent a moment.
"Then we understand each other," said Taylor and with no more took his hat and walked out. He went down the stairs, down the steps and along the walk. He did not notice the two figures on the hotel verandah, two men who stopped talking when he came out and watched him go. He was in a swirl of impulses. Go to Detroit and face his father? No, that would do no good. Stay here, confide in Helen, summon Humphrey Bryant and plan their campaign of resistance? Or think it out himself? There was time—and he again shrank from the ordeal of making Helen know what he had brought upon her by trying to help.
In his room Phil Rowe lighted a fresh cigar, looked at his reflection in the faulty mirror and smiled.
"That makes it very simple." He laughed nervously. "John Taylor—as an heir, you're a wash-out—and as for this other, I'll strike so quick you'll not get your breath!"
On the verandah Milt Goddard leaned closer to Jim Harris.
"I knew it all along, " he said, thickly, watching Taylor.
