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Updated: May 7, 2025
"Well, it's been an awfully bad year losses have been terrific," stammered the underwriting executive, anxious to placate the god of his car. "They're all bad years with you. Leave these papers with me; I want to go over them again." Wellwood slunk out. The presidency of the Salamander, involving as it did occasional interviews of a nature similar to this with Mr. Murch, was no sinecure. Mr.
If the Salamander's loss up there is less than $600,000, I shall be surprised." "Their surplus isn't as much as that, is it? That will impair them." "On the first of January their surplus was a little less than half a million." "Oh, well," Mr. Wintermuth returned, "I suppose they'll assess their stockholders. That man Murch will probably get up an underwriting syndicate to handle it."
Murch," he said. "I don't have to tell you that. You're supposed to be an expert in picking winners, although you made a bad break on Wellwood. I'm the right man for your job, and you knew it when you sent for me. And your offer is a handsome one I'll admit that. I'll admit it so willingly that I'll come out and lay my cards and yours on the table. I'll put it to you straight."
Murch was called 'Captain Snarl'; a tall, fierce-looking man, who just filled my idea of a Spanish freebooter, was 'Dr. Coddle. I think his real name was Wood. The rum seems to make them crazy, for one, who was called 'Rub-a-dub, pitched 'Dr. Coddle' head and heels into the water.
Either you've got something against her and you don't want me to get hold of it; or else you've made up your mind she's innocent, but have no objection to my wasting my time over her. Well, it's all in the game; which begins to look extremely interesting as we go on." To Mr. Murch he said aloud: "Well, I'll draw the bedroom later on. What about this?"
Trent rose and glanced again through the papers set out on the table. "Business letters and documents, mostly," said Mr. Murch. "Reports, prospectuses, and that. A few letters on private matters, nothing in them that I can see. The American secretary Bunner his name is, and a queerer card I never saw turned he's been through this desk with me this morning.
For one thing, she felt the need to make a scene; her nerves were overwrought. But her scenes were at a discount with the other domestics, and as for Mr Murch, he had chilled her into self-control with his official manner. Trent, her glimpse of him had told her, had not the air of a policeman, and at a distance he had appeared sympathique.
O'Connor's fiber was not of the tenderest, but he had his intervals of conscientiousness, when his brain saw the correct ethics, even if his hand did not always follow. Mr. Murch got up from his chair. "I'll call you on the phone Monday, after our meeting," he said. "I shall be at the office until five." They parted.
Some company might be glad to get hold of a large amount of cash which it could use to pay its own Boston losses, and then it could pay the losses on our outstanding business, which would come along gradually for several years, out of its own normal profits in that time." Mr. Murch looked at O'Connor with more respect. "That sounds plausible. How much would it cost in round numbers?"
He didn't return in the car until later in the evening; so before thinking the matter out any further, I wired to Southampton making certain enquiries. 'Simple and satisfactory, observed Mr Murch as Trent, after twice reading the message, returned it to him. 'His own story corroborated in every particular.
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