Part 22 (2/2)

”What do you mean?”

”Why, he sees that his goose is cooked if you run. He's determined that he won't let you.”

Warrington laughed; there was a note of battle in his laughter. ”Go on,” he said.

”n.o.body knew anything about your habits. So McQuade has sent Bolles to New York. He used to be a private detective, He's gone to New York to look up your past there. I know Bolles; he'll stop at nothing.

McQuade, however, was wise enough to warn him not to fake, but to get real facts.”

This time Warrington's laughter was genuine.

”He's welcome to all he can find.”

”But this isn't all. I know a printer on the Times. To-morrow the whole story about your accepting the senator's offer will come out.

They hope the senator will be forced to change his plans. They think the public will lose interest in your campaign. Surprise is what the public needs. I'll tell you something else. Morris, who died last week, had just sold out his interest in the Telegraph to McQuade. This means that McQuade has the controlling interest in every newspaper in town. I never heard of such a thing before; five newspapers, Democratic and Republican, owned by a Democratic boss.”

Warrington smoked thoughtfully. This man McQuade was something out of the ordinary. And he had defied him.

”I am very much obliged to you, Osborne. If I win out, on my word of honor, I'll do something for you.”

”You aren't afraid of McQuade?” anxiously.

”My dear Mr. Osborne, I am not afraid of the Old Nick himself. I'll give this man McQuade the biggest fight he has ever had. Bolles will have his pains for nothing. Any scandal he can rake up about my past will be pure blackmail; and I know how to deal with that breed.”

”McQuade will try something else, then. He's sworn to stop you. I'm glad you aren't afraid of him.”

”I can't thank you enough.”

”I wander about town a good deal; n.o.body pays much attention to me; so lots of things fall under my notice. I'll let you know what I hear.

You'll find all the decent people on your side, surprise or no surprise. They're tired of McQuade and Donnelly; Some of these paving deals smell. Well, I'm keeping you from your work.” Bill rose.

”Help yourself to these cigars,” said Warrington gratefully, pa.s.sing the box.

Bill took three.

”Good night, Richard.”

”Good night, Mr. Osborne. If by any good luck I become mayor of Herculaneum, I'll not forget your service to-night.”

”That's all that's necessary for me;” and Bill bowed himself out. He layed his course for his familiar haunts.

Warrington turned to his work again. But the news he had just received disturbed all connected thought, so he put the ma.n.u.script away. So the first gun had been fired! They had sent a man to hunt up his past in New York. He looked back, searching this corner and that, but he could not recall anything that would serve McQuade's purpose. No man is totally free from folly. True, there was a time when he drank, but he had stopped that idiocy nearly two years before. This could not be tallied against him with effect. And, thank G.o.d, there had been no women. His gambling had been of the innocuous kind. Well, let them hunt; much good it would do them.

He picked up the letter which Osborne had so fortunately come upon. He was often amused at the fascination it held for him. He would never meet the writer, and yet not a day pa.s.sed that he did not strive to conjure up an imaginative likeness. And he had nearly lost it. The creases were beginning to show. He studied it thoroughly. He held it toward the light. Ah, here was something that had hitherto escaped his notice. It was a peculiar water-mark. He examined the folds. The sheet had not been folded originally, letter-wise, but had been fiat, as if torn from a tablet. He scrutinized the edges and found signs of mucilage. Here was something, but it led him to no solution. The post-office mark had been made in New York. To trace a letter in New York would be as impracticable as subtracting gold from sea-water. It was a tantalizing mystery, and it bothered him more than he liked to confess. He put the letter in his wallet, and went into the sewing-room, where his aunt was knitting. The dear old lady smiled at him.

”Aunty, I've got a secret to tell you.”

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