Part 43 (1/2)

”I do,” returned the Interpreter, gently.

”Oh, you _are_ in touch with him then?”

”He comes here sometimes. He is coming this afternoon--at four o'clock.

Will you not stay and meet him, Mr. McIver?” McIver hesitated. He decided to ignore the invitation. With more respect in his manner than he had so far shown, he said, courteously, ”May I ask why Jake Vodell comes to you?”

The Interpreter replied, sadly, as one who accepts the fact of his failure, ”For the same reason that McIver came.”

McIver started with surprise. ”You know why I came to you?”

The man in the wheel chair looked steadily into his visitor's eyes. ”I know that you are not personally responsible for the death of the workman, Captain Martin.”

McIver sprang to his feet. He fairly gasped as the flood of questions raised by the Interpreter's words swept over him.

”You--you know who killed Charlie Martin?” he demanded at last.

The old basket maker did not answer.

”If you know,” cried McIver, ”why in G.o.d's name do you not tell the people? Surely, sir, you are not ignorant of the danger that threatens this community. The death of this union man has given Vodell just the opportunity he needed and he is using it. If you dare to s.h.i.+eld the guilty man--whoever he is--you will--”

”Peace, McIver! This community will not be plunged into the horrors of a cla.s.s war such as you rightly fear. There are yet enough sane and loyal American citizens in Millsburgh to extinguish the fire that you and Jake Vodell have started.”

When Jake Vodell came to the Interpreter's hut shortly after McIver had left, he was clearly in a state of nervous excitement.

”Well,” he said, shortly, ”I am here--what do you want--why did you send for me?”

The Interpreter spoke deliberately with his eyes fixed upon the dark face of the agitator. ”Vodell, I have told you twice that your campaign in Millsburgh was a failure. Your coming to this community was a mistake. Your refusal to recognize the power of the thing that made your defeat certain was a mistake. You have now made your third and final mistake.”

”A mistake! Hah--that is what you think. You do not know. I tell you that I have turned a trick that will win for me the game. Already the people are rallying to me. I have put McIver at last in a hole from which he will not escape. The Mill workers are ready _now_ to do anything I say. You will see--to-morrow I will have these employers and all their capitalist cla.s.s eating out of my hand. To me they shall beg for mercy. I--I will dictate the terms to them and they will pay. You may take my word--they will pay.”

The man paced to and fro with the triumphant air of a conqueror, and his voice rang with his exultation.

”No, Jake Vodell,” said the Interpreter, calmly. ”You are deceiving yourself. Your dreams are as vain as your mistake is fatal.”

The man faced the old basket maker suddenly, as if arrested by a possible meaning in the Interpreter's words that had not at first caught his attention.

”And what is this mistake that I have made?” he growled.

The answer came with solemn portent. ”You have killed the wrong man.”

The agitator was stunned. His mouth opened as if he would speak, but no word came from his trembling lips. He drew back as if to escape.

The old man in the wheel chair continued, sadly, ”_I_ am the one you should have killed--I am the cause of your failure to gain the support of the Mill workers' union.”

The strike leader recovered himself with a shrug of his heavy shoulders.

”So that is it,” he sneered; ”you would accuse me of shooting your Captain Charlie, heh?”