Beloved Bonds

F.E. Campbell

Prologue

The rich sweep of Board Room mahogany. Seated at its end as Chairman, a girl. The corporate chairs, mostly empty. Five men. Four of them amused or embarrassed, one stony-faced with distaste. All eyes upon the only female present.

“The meeting is called to order,” announced Mrs. Caroline Dowling sweetly. “The Chair is open to offers.”

McIntyre, of the Devereaux Corporation, was decisive, faintly mocking. “I’ll assume the debentures in default and take four million in unissued stock,” he said crisply. “That should put Dowling Ltd. in pretty fair shape.”

Simard was more cautious. “My company will certainly go that far,” he agreed slowly. “But has this—this . . . whole incredible affair the blessing of . . . ?” He turned to the cold features of the man, aloof and alone, whose lips were a thin line of disapproval. “Mr. Dowling . . . ?”

“I’ll contest nothing.” Dowling’s statement was sardonic. “I’m here to watch and—you may have questions.”

“My husband and I understand each other.”

Caroline’s focus turned upon the youngest male present. “Mr. Dexter, you arrived late. You are bidding on Dowling Ltd. and me, my husband to remain as Chairman of the Board.” She made a pretty moue of disparagement. I go along with the deal as a sweetener. Whichever of you buys Dowling buys me.”

“Can’t possibly be legal.” Stafford of Altodox was prepared to be amused. “You mean to tell us—?”

“I do tell you!” The feminine reproof was incisive. “As an earnest of good faith I bought these.” Caroline Dowling held up for their inspection the shining chrome of a pair of handcuffs. The successful bidder can lock these on my wrists when he takes me with him at the conclusion of this meeting.” She exhibited a tiny key, and added demurely. “The man who sold them to me assured me they were of the finest quality.”

“I’ll be going to hell!” Lassiter Metals’ Ambrose thumped the solid table in extrovert enjoyment. “I’ll up the ante on the stock a couple of million and guarantee the debentures and those shaky first mortgage bonds.” He laughed jovially. “Dammit. Dowling, you’re the luckiest failure in the market.”

“Please resume the bidding,” said Caroline Dowling firmly.

It took exactly eight minutes to make Dowling Ltd. financially secure. The girl who had been Mrs. Robert Dowling watched amusedly as the handcuffs were locked upon her wrists. She had, thoughtfully, provided a cape to hide her enslavement from the world.

She left, without a backward glance, smiling.