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Updated: May 18, 2025
The folly of these people in their insane efforts to wreck Bivens's bank was making impossible a return to normal business. Stuart determined to face this crowd and have it out with them. He believed that a bold appeal to their reason would silence his critics and allay their insane fears.
When Stuart heard the door close and Bivens's step die away on the pavement below, he came down to see the doctor, haunted by a strange vision. Through every day of his subsequent life the most trivial details of that hour stood out in his memory with peculiar and terrible vividness. From every shadow he saw Nan's face looking into his.
When Stuart reached Bivens's new offices in Wall Street he was amazed at their size and magnificence. The first impression was one of dazzling splendour. The huge reception hall was trimmed from floor to dome in onyx and gold. The draperies were a deep scarlet, with massive furniture and oriental rugs to match. A fountain with concealed electric lights adorned the centre.
"May it please your honour," he slowly began, "I wish to establish to the court before I say anything in behalf of my client, the important fact that he offered to make full restitution of the property taken, that he did this voluntarily before he was even suspected of the crime, and that his offer was refused." The judge turned to Bivens's lawyers. "Is this admitted, gentlemen?"
How do you know the accuracy of the facts you state in a single line, for instance, about the private life and habits of the president of a certain trust company?" A cold smile played about Bivens's mouth for a moment. "You don't suppose I would make a statement like that unless I know it to be true?" "I found all your other facts correct. This I haven't been able to verify.
She could wait, and gain in power for the waiting. Her physician had told her that Bivens's days were numbered. Stuart had waited twelve years in silence; he could wait the few months more of her husband's flickering life. But on one thing she was determined.
"Yes, I'm going to show you that you're not Almighty God though you are the possessor of a hundred million dollars." "I'll be present at the demonstration, Jim. Good night!" Stuart was not surprised to receive notice from Bivens's lawyers that they would demand sentence on Woodman within two days.
Not a line appeared to darken the life of his little pal. Bivens's illness shook the financial world. The men who had professed his friendship most loudly to his face now sharpened their knives for his wounded body. Every stock with which his name was linked was the target of the most savage attacks.
"I'll do my best," he answered, soberly. Bivens's joy at meeting Stuart was pathetic, and moved him deeply. He was surprised to find him so strong, apparently, in body and yet so broken in spirit. "Lord, it's good to look into your face again, Jim! You know I haven't seen you really since that day in court when you gave me such a cussin'. But it was all in your day's work.
What could be Bivens's motive in making such an offer? It was impossible that the shrewd little president of the American Chemical Company had anything to fear personally from this attack. His fortune was vast and beyond question. His wealth had grown in the past nine years like magic. Everything his smooth little hand touched had turned to gold.
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