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Updated: May 15, 2025
It looked as if Selfridge had made up his mind to frame Gordon for a prison sentence. The worst of it was that he need not invent any evidence or take any chances. If Macdonald came through on the stand with an identification of Elliot as one of his assailants, the young man would go down the river to serve time. There was enough corroborative testimony to convict St. Peter himself.
With a rifle he was a fair shot, but he lacked experience with the revolver. In the afternoon he walked out of town and practiced shooting at tin cans for a half an hour. The engineer came straight to the subject in his mind. "Selfridge came to see me last night. He told me about the trouble between you and Macdonald, Gordon. You must leave town till he cools down.
"How do you do it?" she asked her hostess enviously. "My dear, if you say it was a success " "What else could one say?" Genevieve Mallory always preferred to tell the truth when it would do just as well. Now it did better, since it contributed to her own ironic sense of amusement. Macdonald had once told her that Mrs. Selfridge made him think of the saying, "Monkey sees, monkey does."
The general opinion was that Mac was playing politics about the trial of his rival. He would not let the case come to a jury until the time when a conviction would have most effect in the States, the gossips predicted. They did not know that he was waiting for the return of Wally Selfridge. The whispers touched closely the personal affairs of Macdonald. Young Elliot called there too.
Selfridge had arisen and was also staring, not at Rowland, but at the child, who, seated in the lap of the big Captain Barry, was looking around with wondering eyes. Her costume was unique. A dress of bagging-stuff, put together as were her canvas shoes and hat with sail-twine in sail-makers' stitches, three to the inch, covered skirts and underclothing made from old flannel shirts.
One was to get the coroner, a second Wally Selfridge, another the United States District Attorney. He divided the rest into squads to guard the roads leading out of town and to see that nobody passed for the present. As soon as the men he had sent for arrived, Macdonald went over the scene of the crime with them.
On a certain morning, about two months after the announcement of the loss of the Titan, Mr. Meyer sat at his desk in the Rooms, busily writing, when the old gentleman who had bewailed the death of his son in the Intelligence office tottered in and took a chair beside him. "Good morning, Mr. Selfridge," he said, scarcely looking up; "I suppose you have come to see der insurance paid over.
And at the end of the long trek there awaited him monotonous months in a wretched coal camp far from all the comforts of civilization. No wonder he grumbled. But though he grumbled at home and at the club and on the street about his coming exile, Selfridge made no complaints to Macdonald. That man of steel had no sympathy with the yearnings for the fleshpots.
"You wouldn't stand for that." The quick glance of Selfridge asked a question. The lips of the Scotchman were like steel traps and his eyes points of steel. "We'll cross that bridge if we come to it. Our first move is to try to win him to see this thing our way. I'll have a casual talk with him before he leaves for Kamatlah and feel him out." "What's he doing here at all?
Presently an eruption of men poured into the room. At the head of them was Gopher Jones. Near the rear Wally Selfridge lingered modestly. He was not looking for hazardous adventure. "Whad you doing here?" demanded Gopher, bristling up to Elliot. The young man watched a smoke wreath float ceilingward before he turned his mild gaze on the chief of police. "I'm smoking."
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