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He nodded his head at the narrow back that remained turned on him. "Well, since then," Standing went on, "seven years have passed. Circumstances have forced modifications on my plans. Hellbeam is the circumstance. You say we are the gophers hunting our holes. Maybe you're right. Anyway Hellbeam's shadow is haunting me.
Whatever insane hatred lay behind Hellbeam's purpose, it was not one whit more insensate than Elas Peterman's feelings against the man who had come down from Sachigo at Nancy's bidding. Suddenly he looked up and glanced at the man occupying the chair that was his. Hellbeam was still gazing at the window, pre-occupied with his own thoughts. "You can leave this thing in my hands, sir," he said.
The smile in Hellbeam's eyes was no less ironical than the agent's. "When I was working like a swine." "These lumber-jacks. They knew all that in Standing's mind is?" "No. But I learned it all." "How?" The demand was instant, and a surge of force lay behind it. "Because some I saw. Some I picked up from general talk.
The agent passed into the great man's presence, slim, dark, confident. Then the door closed without a sound. "Well?" There was no cordiality in the greeting. That was not Hellbeam's way with a paid agent. Idepski walked across to the chair always waiting to receive a visitor and sat down. "May I sit?" he inquired coolly, after the operation had been performed. Hellbeam nodded.
The missionary smiled. "You'd have had him shot up," he said. "I know. No. If you'd known I was around it would have queered the hand I was playing. Here, Bat, let's get this thing right. You could shoot up a dozen Idepskis, and there'd be others to replace 'em. Hellbeam's dogs'll never let up." He shook his head. "It's a play that'll go on to the end. I know that.
I'm out for you all the time, and I want you to know it when I'm telling you the things in my mind. Hellbeam's got a mighty big kick coming. It's the biggest kick any feller of his sort can have. He's the money power of Sweden. He's one of the big money powers of the States. He lives for money and the power it hands him. Well? This is how I figger. Just how you played him up I can't say.
You're going to find things a heap tougher than No. 10 Camp where you sent me. You surely are." "The coast?" The missionary was startled. "Yep. There's going to be no play game this time. Hellbeam's yacht's waiting on you. You'll take the sea trip. It's safer that way." "Yes." The mitted hands had dropped to the missionary's sides. He moistened his lips, which seemed to have become curiously dry.
And he saw a way whereby the smashing of Bull Sternford could be achieved through His mind focused itself, as it was bound to do, upon this thing as it affected his own desires. He, too, was a passionate hater, for all Hellbeam's denial. His thought leapt at once to Nancy McDonald and the man who had thrust himself between him and his desires.
The smile had gone from Hellbeam's eyes. They were fiercely burning. They were the hot, passionate eyes of a man obsessed, of a man possessed of a monomania. Peterman, watching, beheld the sudden change in him. He shrank before the insanity he had so deeply probed. Hellbeam sat forward in his chair.
I'm going to hand you full powers through Charles Nisson. You'll run this thing on the lines laid down. If you fancy carrying on the original proposition of extension, well and good. If not, just carry on and leave the rest for later. You'll be manager for me through Nisson. I shan't remove one cent of capital. I don't want Hellbeam's money beyond the barest grub stake.
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