Part 32 (2/2)
There was a swift panther-like sweep of Boone's right arm and Morgan felt fingers closing about his wrist. Then reason left him and he pressed the trigger.
But no report started echoes in the empty building. Morgan felt only the bone-crus.h.i.+ng pressure that made his wrist ache as it was forced up, and then he saw that the hand which had closed vice-like on it had one finger thrust between the hammer and firing pin of his weapon.
The reaction left him dizzy, as he reflected that he had done all that man could do toward homicide and had been halted only by his unarmed adversary's quicker thought and action. Boone unc.o.c.ked the firearm and laid it on the table, under the other's hand.
”I guess you see now,” said Morgan in a low voice, ”that after this the two of us can't stay in this office.”
Boone nodded. ”I know, too, that I've got to get out. You're his son, but”--his voice leaped--”but I know that having held myself in this long I can last a little longer. You're too sanctified for politics and dirty work like that. But your father's in it--and until this election is over I'm going to stay right with him--I'm going to do it because he's in actual danger. After that I'll quit--I'm not afraid of cooling off too much in the meantime, are you?”
”By G.o.d, NO!”
CHAPTER XXVII
Boone rose by gas-light the next morning and from the bureau of his hall bedroom, after removing a slender pile of s.h.i.+rts and underwear, he extracted a heavy-calibred revolver in a battered holster of the mountain type--the kind that fits under the left armpit, supported by a shoulder strap.
He took the thing out of its case and scrupulously examined into the smoothness of its working after long disuse, debating the while whether to take it or leave it. He knew that though the ”pure in heart”--as an administration speaker had humorously characterized the myrmidons of the city hall--might, with impunity, carry--and even use--concealed weapons, he and his like need expect no leniency in the courts for similar conduct. The advice at headquarters had been emphatic on that point: ”Keep well within the law. There may be court sequels.”
But Boone meant to be Colonel Wallifarro's bodyguard that day. He felt designated and made responsible for the Colonel's safety by Anne, and he knew that before nightfall contingencies might arise which would overshadow lesser and technical considerations. So he strapped the holster under his waistcoat, and went out into the autumn morning, which was gray and still save for the rumbling of occasional milk wagons.
At Fusion headquarters few others had yet arrived, but shortly he was joined by Colonel Wallifarro and General Prince, and within the hour the barren suite of rooms was close thronged and thick with the smoke of many cigars. Telephones were ajingle, and outside in the street a dozen motors were parked.
Nor was there any suspense of long waiting before events broke into racing stride, as a field of horses breaks from the upflung barrier.
From a half dozen sources came hurried complaints of flagrant violations and of police violence or police blindness.
When the polling places had been open an hour the wires grew feverish.
”A crowd of fifteen men came here and registered at opening time,”
announced one herald. ”Forty-five minutes later the same gang came back and registered again. The protest of our challenger was ignored.”
There were not enough telephones to carry the traffic of lamentation and complaint. ”Our camera men are being a.s.saulted and their instruments smashed....” ”The Chief of Police has just been here and left instructions that snapshotting is an invasion of private rights. He has ordered his men to lock up all photographers....” ”Our judge in this precinct challenged a man when he tried to register, the second time, and a crowd of thugs with blackjacks rushed the place and beat him unconscious. The police said they saw no difficulty.”
So came the burden of chorused indignation, and the automobiles began cruising outward on tours of investigation and protest. The ”boys” had been a.s.sured that they were to have ”all the protection in the world,”
and they were ”going to it.”
From this and that section of the city arrived news of men who had been blackjacked, crowd-handled and arrested, but out of the whole rapidly developing reign of terror certain precincts stood forth conspicuous.
Seated beside Colonel Wallifarro in the dust-covered car that raced from ward to ward, while the Colonel's face streamed sweat from the hurried tempo of his exertions, Boone marvelled at the fas.h.i.+on in which these men combined indomitable perseverance with self-contained patience.
Often he himself burned with an angry impulse to jump down from his seat and punish the insolent effrontery of some ruffian in uniform.
”I reckon you don't know who these gentlemen are,” he protested at one time to a police sergeant, whose manner had pa.s.sed beyond impertinence and become abuse.
”No and I don't give a d.a.m.n who they are,” retorted the guardian of peace. ”I know what this business means to me. It's four years with a job or four years without one.”
Twice during the morning they were called to a building that had once been a shoemaker's shop. The erstwhile showcase was dimmed by the dust of a dry summer and the grimy smears of a rainy autumn. There the tide of bulldozing had run to flood, and the Fusion judge of registration, an undersized chap with an oversized courage, had wrangled and fought against overweening odds until they took him away with both eyes closed beyond usefulness. A challenger with less stomach for punishment had borne the brunt as long as he could--and weakened. Colonel Wallifarro's car stood before the place and, with a weary gesture, he turned to Boone.
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