Part 39 (2/2)

Towards the end of Silas Finn's speech, at his last great meeting, a man, sitting in the body of the hall near the platform, got up and interrupted him. ”What about your own past life? What about your three years' penal servitude?” All eyes were turned from the man--a common looking, evil man--to the candidate, who staggered as if he had been shot, caught at the table behind him for support and stared in greyfaced terror. There was an angry tumult, and the interrupter would have fared badly, but for Silas Finn holding up his hand and imploring silence.

”I challenge the candidate to deny,” said the man, as soon as he could be heard, ”that his real name is Silas Kegworthy, and that he underwent three years' penal servitude for murderously a.s.saulting his wife.”

Then the candidate braced himself and said: ”The bare facts are true.

But I have lived stainlessly in the fear of G.o.d and in the service of humanity for thirty years. I have sought absolution for a moment of mad anger under awful provocation in unremitting prayer and in trying to save the souls and raise the fortunes of my fellow-men. Is that all you have against me?”

”That's all,” said the man.

”It is for you, electors of Hickney Heath, to judge me.”

He sat down amid tumultuous cheers, and the man who had interrupted him, after some rough handling, managed to make his escape. The chairman then put a vote of confidence in the candidate, which was carried by acclamation, and the meeting broke up.

Such were the essential facts in the somewhat highly coloured newspaper story which Paul read in stupefied horror. He dressed quickly and went to his sitting-room, where he rang up his father's house on the telephone. Jane's voice met his ear.

”It's Paul speaking,” he replied. ”I've just this moment read of last night. I'm shaken to my soul. How is my father?”

”He's greatly upset,” came the voice. ”He didn't sleep all night, and he's not at all well this morning. Oh, it was a cruel, cowardly blow.”

”Dastardly. Do you know who it was?”

”No. Don't you?”

”I? Does either of you think that I--?”

”No, no,” came the voice, now curiously tearful. ”I didn't mean that. I forgot you've not had time to find out.”

”Who does he think it was?”

”Some old fellow prisoner who had a grudge against him.”

”Were you at the meeting?”

”Yes. Oh, Paul, it was splendid to see him face the audience. He spoke so simply and with such sorrowful dignity. He had their sympathy at once. But it has broken him. I'm afraid he'll never be the same man again. After all these years it's dreadful.”

”It's all that's d.a.m.nable. It's tragic. Give him my love and tell him that words can't express my sorrow and indignation.”

He rang off. Almost immediately Wilson was announced. He came into the room radiant.

”You were right about the divine common-sensicality,” said he. ”The Lord has delivered our adversary into our hands with a vengeance.”

He was a chubby little man of forty, with coa.r.s.e black hair and scrubby moustache, not of the type that readily appreciates the delicacies of a situation. Paul conceived a sudden loathing for him.

”I would give anything for it not to have happened,” he said.

Wilson opened his eyes. ”Why? It's our salvation. An ex-convict--it's enough to d.a.m.n any candidate. But we want to make sure. Now I've got an idea.”

Paul turned on him angrily. ”I'll have no capital made out of it whatsoever. It's a foul thing to bring such an accusation up against a man who has lived a spotless life for thirty years. Everything in me goes out in sympathy with him, and I'll let it be known all through the const.i.tuency.”

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