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Updated: May 27, 2025
Ah, that telephone call! Had Kate been guilty would she have confided to her, Patty? She seemed to be pulled, now forward, now backward. McQuade knew something, the wretch! but what? This letter had never been written by him. A man would have used a pronoun, third person, masculine; he would have shown some venom back of the duplicity that affirmed an interest in her welfare.
It fell to the asphalt, bounded and rolled rapidly in the wake of the flying car. Thomas McQuade, scenting an opportunity, darted from his place among the Preacher's goats. In thirty seconds he had caught the rolling tire, swung it over his shoulder, and was trotting smartly after the car.
It was a half-sheet of ordinary office paper, written on a typewriter. Its purport was similar to the one he had read but a few minutes since. Only it was bolder; there were no protestations about anybody's welfare. It was addressed to John Bennington. "Great God! another anonymous letter! Do you know who sent this?" "I can think of no one but McQuade; no one!" frantically. "Save me, Richard!
I've tried to figure out just what happened to me that I could make such a record. No use. It was all beginning to be as unreal as if it was something I had dreamed of doing. "And then yesterday, while reading a recent golf magazine, I ran across this item of news which gave me such a shock. It told of the sudden death from pneumonia of Alexander McQuade.
Once the door had closed upon them, Warrington capered around the room like a school-boy. The publication of this confederacy between Morrissy and McQuade would swing the doubting element over to his side and split the ranks of the labor party. Patty, Patty Bennington! He must see her. It was impossible to wait another day. When was it he had seen her last?
"Are you afraid of me?" "Not of you, my lad," McQuade answered sardonically, spreading out his great hands. "Do I look like a man afraid of anything? But the thought of a stranger becoming mayor of Herculaneum rather frightens me. Let us have peace, Mr. Warrington." "I ask nothing better." "Withdraw." "I never withdraw. I am not afraid of anything.
"Bite, both of you now, if you dare." "I'll trouble you for that carbon," said McQuade. "Hardly. But you have my word of honor that it shall not be used against you unless you force me. It will repose in my deposit box at the bank. But as for you, Morrissy, this climate doesn't suit your abilities. The field is too small. Take my advice and clear out. That is all, gentlemen. Come, John."
Henderson is going to put Warrington up for mayor." "The hell he is!" said Bolles. Martin's jaw dropped, and the cigar ashes tumbled down his shirt bosom. "It's no joke," went on McQuade. "If he is nominated, he'll win. The people are wanting a change. If the Henderson people get into the City Hall, I stand to lose a fortune on contracts. You both know what that means.
"You say McQuade called you up by telephone?" "Yes." He struck his forehead. The carbon sheet! He ran to his desk, pulled out all the drawers, tumbling the papers about till he found what he sought. From the letter to the faint imprint on the carbon sheet and back to the letter his eyes moved, searching, scrutinizing. "Look!" with a cry of triumph. "What is it?"
McQuade had an able lieutenant in Alderman Martin, whom the sporting fraternity followed loyally. Martin owned and ran the most disreputable hotel in the city. It occupied a position of unusual prominence on one of the principal business streets. There was a saloon and a cheap restaurant on the ground floor. On the second floor were wine-rooms and a notorious gambling-den.
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