Free Executive Suite by Cameron Hawley

impression?”
    â€œThis is confidential, of course?”
    â€œNaturally.”
    â€œCould be only a coincidence, but it seems to fit together a little too well for that. What time was Bullard’s luncheon date with Pilcher?”
    â€œTwelve-forty-five at Julius Steigel’s office in the Chippendale Building.”
    â€œThen the lunch would be over by two-thirty?”
    â€œI imagine so. What are you getting at?”
    Finch turned, half twisting his body so that he faced George Caswell across the wide back seat of the limousine. “A few minutes after two-thirty Bruce Pilcher called our office and gave us a wide-open order to sell Tredway common short.”
    Caswell jerked to attention. “So that’s where all that stock came from.”
    â€œWe got rid of two thousand shares in about twenty minutes.”
    â€œI know. I bought it.”
    â€œThe hell you did! For your own account?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou must have a lot of faith in that outfit.”
    â€œI have a lot of faith in Avery Bullard,” Caswell said, hesitating before he went on as if he were debating the propriety of an important revelation. “I’ve been building a block of Tredway for the past several years, picking it up whenever I could. It’s not very actively traded, you know, most days not more than a few hundred shares. That’s why I was so surprised when I got back to the office and found that the boys had bought me two thousand shares this afternoon. Frankly, that’s considerably more that I’d expected to get when I told them to buy everything that turned up.”
    â€œWhen did you place that order, George—to buy everything you could get?”
    Caswell turned, squinting, as if the question surprised him. “About noon.”
    â€œAfter you had talked to Bullard?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen Pilcher must have wormed something out of Bullard at lunch that you didn’t find out this morning.”
    â€œI don’t see how that’s possible.”
    â€œPilcher is no fool. It’s plain that he had a tip on some really bad news.”
    â€œThere is no bad news. The company’s in excellent shape.”
    Finch shook his head. “Bruce Pilcher wouldn’t have gone short on that much stock if he didn’t have a sure thing—if he weren’t positive that there was something coming up that would really break the price.”
    â€œBut what could it be?”
    â€œDon’t ask me. You’re the specialist on Tredway. I’m simply telling you what happened. Cigar?”
    â€œNo thanks,” Caswell said, preoccupied. “Is Bruce Pilcher a regular customer of yours?”
    Finch glanced away from the match flame as if he were surprised by the apparent irrelevancy of the question. “Occasional—perhaps a half-dozen transactions a year.”
    â€œThat’s what I thought,” George nodded grimly. “He has a very active account with us.”
    Finch got the point immediately. “You think he switched this order to us to keep you from knowing who was selling?”
    â€œObviously.”
    â€œOr else,” Finch said with a taunting grin, “he’d just gotten tired of doing business with a second-string broker.”
    Caswell’s smile was a weak attempt. “Unless I miss my guess, Mr. Pilcher has crawled out on a very long limb. He’ll have a hard time covering a short sale of two thousand shares. The stock’s too inactive and most of it’s in very strong hands.”
    â€œI hope you’re right, George. Hate to see an old war horse like you being put over the jumps by an upstart like Bruce Pilcher.”
    â€œSave your worry for your customers, Neil. Pilcher’s the boy who’s put himself on a spot.”
    â€œYou still have no idea of what he might have gotten out of Bullard at lunch? He’s a clever young fox, George. You know that as well as I