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Updated: June 2, 2025
He recalled his uncle's prediction that Ruef's capture would result in extraordinary revelations. But it had not been Ruef, after all, who "spilled the beans." Ruef might confess later. They would need his testimony to make the case complete. As a matter of fact, Ruef had already begun negotiations with Langdon and Heney looking toward a confession.
Frank heard that Ruef was to be tried on one of the three hundred odd indictments found against him. Schmitz had been sentenced to five years in San Quentin. He had appealed. Several times Frank tried to reach Aleta on the telephone. But she did not respond to calls, a fact which he attributed to disorganized service. But presently there came a letter from Camp Curry in the Yosemite Valley.
Here was Ruef between two bodeful dates. Yesterday had come the news that Langdon had appointed Heney the relentless enemy of boodlers to a place of power. Tomorrow would begin the impaneling of a Grand Jury, whose avowed purpose it was to "investigate municipal graft." "What would I do if I were Ruef?" Frank asked himself. But no answer came.
It was in the Palais Royal that Francisco met Abraham Ruef, a dapper and engaging gentleman of excellent address, greatly interested in politics. He was a graduate of the State University, where he had specialized in political economy. Francisco liked him, and they often sat for long discussions of the local situation after lunching at the Palais Royal.
All his acts were open to investigation. "Do you know that Ruef has skipped?" Frank asked. "Wh-a-a-t!" the Mayor set down his grip. He seemed struck all of a heap by the announcement. "Fact!" another newsman corroborated. "Abie's jumped his bond. He's the well-known 'fugitive from justice." Without a word the Mayor left them. He walked aboard the ferry boat alone.
A saturnine man took him up in a little box-like elevator, pointing out a door inscribed: A. RUEF, Att'y-at-Law. The reception-room was filled. Half a dozen men and two women sat in chairs which lined the walls. A businesslike young man inquired Francisco's errand. "You'll have to wait your turn," he said. "I can't go in there now ... he's in conference with Mr. Schmitz."
Sixteen out of the eighteen Supervisors had confessed to taking bribes from half a dozen corporations. Wholesale indictments would follow, it was stated, involving the heads of public service companies men of unlimited means, national influence. Many names were more than hinted at. Ruef, according to these confessions, had been the arch-plotter.
"Meaning what?" asked Robert. "Nothing much.... I just remembered something Ruef was telling me." He walked on thoughtfully. "Might be a story there for the boy's paper," he cogitated. Ruef's offices were at the corner of Kearney and California streets. Thither, with some half-formed mission in his mind, Francisco took his way.
Later came the reigns of little bosses, the specter of the big corporation boss behind them all, and then the triumph of decency under McNab, when good men served as supervisors. Then came the sinister triumph of Ruef and the days of graft, cut short by the amazing exposure, detection, and overthrow of entrenched wickedness, and the administration of Dr. Taylor, a high idealist, too good to last.
The courtroom where the trial was held was, by order of the boss's attorney, packed with hired toughs whose duty it was to make a mockery of the prosecution. Every point against the Ruef side was received by these toughs with jeers and hootings. The district attorney was insulted, badgered, and openly threatened with violence. Mrs.
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