"You don't want much, do you?" he observed. "Those are modest requests."

"And," continued Mr. Murch, disregarding the interruption, "we wish to be a.s.sured by reasonable show of proof that the new business will be of a cla.s.s that will be more profitable than the old--in other words, that it will not increase the company's present loss ratio."

"Which is quite high enough already," commented the other, dryly.

"In short, Mr. O'Connor, we must be a.s.sured not only that you can secure this increase in income, but we feel that we are ent.i.tled to be shown where it is likely to come from, and how you are going to stop the loss on our present business, before the matter goes before our directorate."

The Guardian's Vice-President rose, and stood looking down at Mr. Murch from across the table.

"You need me, Mr. 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."

"Yes?" replied the capitalist, inquiringly.

"Yes. What you mean is this. I've had charge of the underwriting of the Guardian for seven years. Many of its best agents look on me as the company; the Guardian is just a name, but the man they do business with is F. Mills O'Connor, and I'll guarantee that a lot of the best of them will keep on doing business with me, no matter with what concern I'm a.s.sociated. Now the Guardian has as fine a cla.s.s of big city business on its books as any company of its size in the field, and I'll bet that in the big cities, where you've lost your money, its business is not only better but larger than the Salamander's. In New York and Boston and Philadelphia you couldn't beat it to save your life. What you want to know is whether I can get equally good stuff for the Salamander, and I want to tell you that I can. And in some pretty important places I can get the identical business, you understand. You want to know how I'm going to get it. Well, what I just told you about a lot of agents keeping on with F. Mills O'Connor is one factor, but there are several others, and I'd rather not mention them until I take charge. But you need have no fear that they cannot be successfully utilized. Do I make myself clear?"

Mr. Murch smiled a deprecatory smile.

"Quite," he said. "In fact, you put it a little more bluntly than I had expected."

"Well, then, if you want to ratify this arrangement at the next meeting of your board, it will be all right with me, and moreover I'll guarantee you personally that within a year the Salamander will be taking over the Guardian's business in at least three of the princ.i.p.al cities of the United States."

"The next meeting is on Monday," said Mr. Murch.

"Very well. Ratify it then, but keep it strictly under cover for two months. If I hear from you that the deal has gone through, I'll start laying my wires. This is the first of October. Don't let anything out until the first of December. Then I'll resign, and come to the Salamander the first of the new year--possibly before that."

"How so?"

"Oh, I've a notion that when I resign, Mr. Wintermuth will say that I needn't remain the customary thirty days; I fancy he'll let me out at once."

A smile, none too pleasant, crossed the lips of the Guardian official.

Business was business, of course, and a man was ent.i.tled to use his personal influence to advance himself; but he scarcely relished the idea of practically looting the company for which he had worked for a good many years. 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.

Criminologists a.s.sert, from many years' observation of many men in many lands, that no man positively desires to become a criminal. So little does the average man wish it, that it is usually difficult, even in the case of the most confirmed lawbreaker, to persuade him that he actually is or has been criminal in intent, no matter what his acts may have been.

This state of affairs is equally true in those higher grades of society where instincts are less pa.s.sionate. Just as the man who kills his king or his father holds himself absolutely innocent of any wrong intent, so the unhappy parasite who steals his wife's earnings for drink, or the bookkeeper who makes away with the contents of the firm's cash drawer in order to play the races, believes himself to be unfortunate only, and more sinned against than sinning. No matter how much of a scoundrel a man may be, his self-a.n.a.lysis brings him far short of the correct degree of turpitude.

Mr. O'Connor was not a villain or a criminal. He was not, according to the standard of many, a dishonest man. But he was not an honest one.

He had several weaknesses, the chief among which was venal ambition; and of courage, that quality which makes all other qualities seem just a little tawdry and futile, he had none except in a broad, physical sense. He was not, of course, afraid of the dark, but he was decidedly afraid of James Wintermuth; and when on Monday noon the telephone rang at the call of Mr. Murch, it is not too much to say that he was momentarily shaken.

"Suppose you drop around to the Club in about twenty minutes," was the suave suggestion of the man at the other end of the line.

"For a moment," the Guardian's Vice-President agreed hastily. "For a moment," he repeated, as he replaced the receiver on its hook. It were much better that he and Mr. Murch be not seen together in public until the meat was ready for the fire. And so it was the briefest of interviews that took place between them in the big smoking room. A few words, concluding with a handshake and a "Congratulate you, Mr.

President," and the incident was closed. Even had the lynx eyes of Simeon Belknap himself perceived this meeting, he could hardly have found significance in the episode. And an event in the insurance world without significance to Mr. Belknap was a rara avis indeed.

Mr. O'Connor betrayed that night, aside from his customary lack of the refinements of courtesy, the first indication of human weakness that his household had noted for some time past. For a considerable part of the night he lay awake, tossing about in his bed until his long-suffering wife thought he must be ill.

"Is anything the matter?" came her solicitous voice through the dark doorway. And her husband answered irritably:--

"No. Don't bother about me. I'm all right."

Whether this nocturnal disquiet was the last throe of an expiring sense of honor and decency, or whether it was ambition burning in the blood, it is impossible to say. Quite likely it was a little of each. Mr.

Wintermuth had been a good friend to O'Connor; still, a man must needs look first after his own interest; no one was apt to b.u.t.ter his bread for him. Sophistry old as the world.

Nevertheless, when morning dawned, the travail of the night had left no mark on Mr. O'Connor's brow. His wife, accustomed from many years of sky searching to look for trouble there, saw the unwrinkled expanse and took heart. Her husband answered her polite morning inquiries with sufficient attention, although he was palpably preoccupied and in no mood for casual conversation.

The fact was that his mind was made up and his plan of campaign chosen, and he was now bending all his thought and energies upon the manner and details of attack. There was no time to lose, and the iron would never be hotter than now. Accordingly, when he had disposed of the acc.u.mulation of morning mail at his desk, he walked thoughtfully over to President Wintermuth's office. In response to that gentleman's invitation he entered and seated himself near the desk, holding in his hand a number of papers pinned together. From his expression it would have seemed that disquieting reflections occupied his mind.

"What's the matter? Loss?" inquired his chief, taking the cue O'Connor had proffered.

"No," said the Vice-President, slowly. He glanced down at the papers that he held. "Mr. Wintermuth," he said, "what is your opinion of--or no, let me put it another way: how deeply are we committed to the Eastern Conference?"

"What do you mean--how deeply are we committed?"

"Just that. We were among the original subscribers to the Eastern Conference agreement, as you are aware. What I want to know is whether we are bound to a more rigid observance of its rules than other companies that are members of it."

"We are not, sir," returned the President. "Of course we are not. Why do you ask?"

"Well, sir, I hardly like to say so, but for a long time I have been growing to feel that our strict adherence to our obligations was affecting our business unfavorably at some points. In other words, I have been growing more and more sure that we are too honest--comparatively."

"How is that? How is that?" said Mr. Wintermuth, sharply.

"Perhaps I should say that some of our a.s.sociates in the Conference are not quite honest enough, at least in the construction they put upon _their_ pledges."

"You will have to be more specific, sir," returned the President, somewhat sternly.

"Very well, sir; I will be as specific as you please. Bluntly, then, I know that at least three of the leading Conference companies are violating the conditions of the Conference agreement, which they are pledged to observe, in no less than four cities in New England, and probably a dozen in New York and Pennsylvania. Some of them are in agencies where the Guardian is represented, and it's hurting us. I know it to be a fact."

"But I thought we went into this recently in New York State. I remember there was a lot of talk about crookedness, and Smith went up to find out what was going on. We made some charges, didn't we? And didn't we get a satisfactory answer?"

"Satisfactory, I presume, to the companies that made it. And possibly satisfactory to Smith, who seemed to me at the time, I confess, a little too easily satisfied for a man with his eyes open. But not to me. I wasn't satisfied at all, or rather I was entirely satisfied in my own mind that we were being sacrificed to our own uprightness."

"What companies are these that are breaking their pledges? How are they doing it? And where?"

"Mr. Wintermuth, I am absolutely convinced that three Conference companies in the Nolan agency, who represent us at Syracuse, are paying at least ten per cent excess commission on preferred business without going through the formality of demanding even a receipt for it. I know it to be a fact that at Trenton, New Jersey, the special agent of one of the biggest American companies--also a Conference member--makes a monthly visit for the purpose of putting into the agent's hands spot cash equal to the amount of the agent's illegitimate excess commissions for that month. The agent deducts his regular commission in his account, and gets this additional amount in cash, so that he gets a good deal more than what we can pay him under the rules. Is it any wonder, then, that our business is dropping off in these offices? And these are two cities only. I could name a dozen. That is why I asked you how deeply we were committed to the Conference."

The President rose, his eyes flashing.

"If these are facts capable of substantiation, we will be committed only until our resignation can take effect. I believe it takes thirty days' notice for a company to terminate its membership. If these cases are typical of others, and you can prove them, exactly thirty-one days later the Eastern Conference will lack one of its charter members."