Part 6 (2/2)

I accepted and we were soon sociable, each taking an instinctive liking to the other. We talked of the business situation, of the news in the papers, and then of political affairs. Each of us saw that there he was at the other's keenest interest in life. He knew the game,--practical politics as distinguished from the politics talked by and to the public.

But he evaded, without seeming to do so, all the ingenious traps I laid for drawing from him some admission that would give me a clue to where he ”fitted in.” I learned no more about him than I thought he learned about me.

”I hope we shall meet again,” said I cordially, as we parted at the cab-stand.

”Thank you,” he answered, and afterward I remembered the faint smile in his eyes.

I, of course, knew that Roebuck was greatly interested in my project for putting political business on a business basis; but not until he had explained why he sent for me did I see how it had fascinated and absorbed his mind. ”You showed me,” he began, ”that you must have under you a practical man to handle the money and do the arranging with the heelers and all that sort of thing.”

”Yes,” said I; ”it's a vital part of the plan. We must find a man who is perfectly trustworthy and discreet. Necessarily he'll know or suspect something--not much, but still something--of the inside workings of the combine.”

”Well, I've found him,” went on Roebuck, in a triumphant tone. ”He's a G.o.dless person, with no character to lose, and no conception of what character means. But he's straight as a string. Providence seems to have provided such men for just such situations as these, where the devil must be fought with fire. I've been testing him for nearly fifteen years. But you can judge for yourself.”

I was the reverse of pleased. It was not in my calculations to have a creature of Roebuck's foisted upon me, perhaps--indeed, probably--a spy.

I purposed to choose my own man; and I decided while he was talking, that I would accept the Roebuck selection only to drop him on some plausible pretext before we began operations. I was to meet the man at dinner,--Roebuck had engaged a suite at the Auditorium. ”It wouldn't do to have him at my house or club,” said he; ”neither do we want to be seen with him.”

Coincidence is so familiar a part of the daily routine that I was not much surprised when my acquaintance, the astute poker player with the scar, walked in upon us at the Auditorium. But Roebuck was both astonished and chagrined when we shook hands and greeted each other like old friends.

”How do you do, Mr. Sayler?” said Woodruff.

”Glad to see you, Doctor Woodruff,” I replied. ”Then you knew me all the time? Why didn't you speak out? We might have had an hour's business talk in the train.”

”If I'd shown myself as leaky as all that, I guess there'd have been no business to talk about,” he replied. ”Anyhow, I didn't know you till you took out your watch with the monogram on the back, just as we were pulling in. Then I remembered where I'd seen your face before. I was up at your state house the day that you threw old Dominick down. That's been a good many years ago.”

That chance, easy, smoking-compartment meeting, at which each had studied the other dispa.s.sionately, was most fortunate for us both.

The relation that was to exist between us--more, much more, than that of mere employer and employe--made fidelity, personal fidelity, imperative; and accident had laid the foundation for the mutual attachment without which there is certain to be, sooner or later, suspicion on both sides, and cause for it.

The two hours and a half with Woodruff, at and after dinner, served to reinforce my first impression. I saw that he was a thorough man of the world, that he knew politics from end to end, and that he understood the main weaknesses of human nature and how to play upon them for the advantage of his employers and for his own huge amus.e.m.e.nt. He gave a small exhibition of that skill at the expense of Roebuck. He appreciated that Roebuck was one of those unconscious hypocrites who put conscience out of court in advance by a.s.suming that whatever they wish to do is right or _they_ could not wish to do it. He led Roebuck on to show off this peculiarity of his,--a jumbling, often in the same breath, of the most sonorous piety and the most shameless business perfidy. All the time Woodruff's face was perfectly grave,--there are some men who refuse to waste any of their internal enjoyment in external show.

Before he left us I arranged to meet him the next morning for the settlement of the details of his employment. When Roebuck and I were alone, I said: ”What do you know about him? Who is he?”

”He comes of a good family here in Chicago,--one of the best. Perhaps you recall the Bowker murder?”

”Vaguely,” I answered.

”It was Woodruff who did it. We had a hard time getting him off. Bowker and Woodruff's younger brother were playing cards one day, and Bowker accused him of cheating. Young Woodruff drew,--perhaps they both drew at the same time. At any rate, Bowker shot first and killed his man,--he got off on the plea of self-defense. It was two years before Bowker and Doc met,--in the lobby of the Palmer House,--I happened to be there. I was talking to a friend when suddenly I felt as if something awful was about to happen. I started up, and saw Bowker just rising from a table at the far end of the room. I shan't ever forget his look,--like a bird charmed by a snake. His lips were ajar and wrinkled as if his blood had fled away inside of him, and his throat was expanding and contracting.”

Roebuck wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. ”It was Doc Woodruff walking slowly toward him, with a wicked smile on his face, and that scar--you noticed the scar?”

I nodded.

”Well, you can imagine how that scar stood out. He came slowly on, n.o.body able to move a muscle to stop him. When he was about ten feet from Bowker and as near me as you are now, Bowker gave a kind of shudder and scream of fright, drew his pistol, and fired. The bullet clipped Woodruff's ear. Quick as that--” Roebuck snapped his fingers--”Doc drew, and sent a bullet into his heart. He fell forward across the table and his pistol crashed on the marble floor. Doc looked at him, gave a cold sort of laugh, like a jeer and a curse, and walked out into the street.

When he met a policeman he said, 'I've killed d.i.c.k Bowker. Here's my gun. Lock me up'--perfectly cool, just as he talked to us to-night.”

”And you got him off?”

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