"Scratched out?" he repeated. "Who scratched it out?"
Graves shrugged his shoulders.
"Yes, yes," said the captain. "You don't know, but we're all entitled to
guess, hey?... Humph!"
"If this person is living," began Sylvester, "it follows that--"
"Hold on a minute! I don't know much about corporations, of
course--that's more in your line than 'tis in mine--but I want to
ask one question. You say this what-d'ye-call-it--this Akrae
thingamajig--was sold out, hull, canvas and riggin', to a crowd in
Brazil? It's gone out of business then? It's dead?"
"Yes. But--"
"Wait! Ain't it customary, when a sale like this is made, to turn over
all the stock, certificates and all? Sometimes you get stock in the new
company in exchange; I know that. But to complete the trade, wouldn't
this extry hundred shares be turned in? Or some sharp questionin' done
if 'twa'n't?"
He addressed the query to Sylvester. The latter seemed more troubled
than before.
"That," he said with some hesitation, "is one of the delicate points in
this talk of ours, Captain Warren. A certificate for the missing hundred
shares WAS turned in. It was dated at the time of the original issue,
made out in the name of one Edward Bradley, and transferred on the back
by him to your brother.
Pages:
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329