He sat in his massive chair; one hand propped on the arm, his elbow
akimbo, and with the other hand plucked slowly at the narrow strip of
beard which extended from his lower lip to the peaked end of his chin.
"Very well, Mr. Bradish," he remarked, after the latter had lifted the
blotter from the check.
Bradish rose and bowed, and started to leave. He was a tall and shapely
young man, with a waist, with a carriage. His garb was up-to-the-minute
fashion--repressed. He was a study in brown, as to fabric of attire and
its accessories. One of those white-faced chaps who always look a bit
bored, with a touch of up-to-date cynicism! One of those fellows who
listen much and who say little!
"Just a moment, Bradish," invited Marston, and the young man stopped.
"I like your way in these matters. You don't ask questions. You show no
silly interest in any check you sign."
Bradish reflected an instant on the check in the restaurant cashier's
drawer, and pinched his thin lips a little more tightly.
"I'm quite sure you don't do any broadcast talking about the nature of
these special duties." The financier pointed to the check. "I'll say
quite frankly that I didn't select you for this service until I had
ascertained that you did no talking about your own affairs in the office
with my other clerks."
Bradish inclined his head respectfully.
"In financial matters it is necessary to pick men carefully. I trust
you understand my attitude. These transactions are quite legitimate.
But modern methods of high finance make it necessary to manipulate the
details a little. Your attitude in accepting these duties, as a matter
of course is very gratifying from a business standpoint. As a little
mark of our confidence in you, you will receive seventy-five dollars per
week hereafter."
"Thank you."
Mr. Martson allowed himself a quick, dry smile. "This isn't a bribe,
you understand. There is nothing attached to this nominal service which
requires bribing. We merely want to make it worth while for a prudent
and close-mouthed young man to remain with us."
A buzzer, as unobtrusive as were all the characteristics of Financier
Marston, sounded its meek purr.
"Yes," he murmured into the receiver of the telephone which communicated
with the watchful picket of the Marston & Waller offices. "Who? Oh, she
may come in at once."
"Wait here a moment, if you please, Mr. Bradish. It is my daughter who
has dropped in for a moment's word with me. I have something more for
you to attend to."