"Morrison has jammed the Personal Liberty bill through," saidWaldemar, scrawling a head on his completed editorial, with one eyeon the clock, which pointed to midnight.
"That was to be expected, wasn't it?" asked Average Jones.
"Oh, yes," replied the editor-owner of the Universal in his heavybass. "And now the governor announces he will veto it."
"Thereby bringing the whole power of the gambling ring down on himlike an avalanche."
"Naturally. Morrison has declared open war against 'Pharisee Phil,'as he calls Governor Arthur. Says he'll pass the bill over hisveto. In his heart he knows he can't do it. Still, he's a hardfighter."
Average Jones tipped his chair back against the wall of theeditorial sanctum. "What do you suppose," he inquired with an airof philosophic speculation, "that the devil will do with CarrollMorrison's soul when he gets it? Deodorize it?"
"Harsh words, young sir! Harsh words and treasonable against one ofour leading citizens; multimillionaire philanthropist, socialleader, director of banks, insurance companies and railroads, andemperor of the race-track, the sport of kings."
"The sport of kings-maintained on the spoils of clerks," retortedAverage Jones. "'To improve the breed of horses,' if you please!To make thieves of men and harlots of women, because CarrollMorrison must have his gambling-game dividends! And now he has our'representative' legislature working for him to that honorable end!"
"Man to see you, Mr. Waldemar," said an office boy, appearing at thedoor.
"Too late," grunted the editor.
"He says it's very particular, sir, and to tell you it's somethingMr. Morrison is interested in."
"Morrison, eh? All right. Just step into the inner office, willyou, Jones? Leave the door open. There might be somethinginteresting."
Hardly had Average Jones found a chair in the darkened office whenthe late caller appeared. He was middle-aged, pursy, and dressedwith slap-dash ostentation. His face was bloated and seared withexcesses. But it was not intoxication that sweated on his foreheadand quivered in his jaw. It was terror. He slumped into thewaiting chair and mouthed mutely at the editor.
"Well?" The bullet-like snap of the interrogation stung the man intobabbling speech.
"'S like this, Misser Wald'mar. 'S like this. Y-y-yuh see, 's likethis. Fer Gawsake, kill out an ad for me!"
"What? In to-morrow's paper? Nonsense! You're too late, even if Iwished to do it."
The visitor stood up and dug both hands into his side pockets. Heproduced, first a binocular, which, with a snarl, he flung upon thefloor. Before it had stopped bumping, there fluttered down upon theseat of his chair a handful of greenbacks. Another followed, andanother, and another. The bills toppled and spread, and some ofthem slid to the floor. Still the man delved.
"There!" he panted at last. "Money talks. There's the stuff.Count it. Eighteen hundred if there's a dollar. More likely twothou. If that ain't enough, make your own price. I don't care whatit is. Make it, Misser. Put a price on it."
There was something loathsome and obscene in the creature'sgibbering flux of words. The editor leaned forward.
"Bribery, eh?" he inquired softly.
The man flinched from the tone. "It ain't bribery, is it, to astyou to rout out jus' one line from an ad an' pay you for thetrouble. My own ad, too. If it runs, it's my finish. I was nuttywhen I wrote it. Fer Gawsake, Misser--"
"Stop it! You say Morrison sent you here?"
"No, sir. Not exac'ly. 'S like this, M' Wald'mar. I hadda get toyou some way. It's important to Misser Morrison, too. But he don'tknow I come. He don't know nothing about it. Oh, Gaw! If he findsout--"
"Put that money back in your pockets."
With an ashen face of despair, the man obeyed. As he finished, hebegan to sag at the joints. Slowly he slackened down until he wason his knees, an abject spectacle of disgust.
"Stand up," ordered Waldemar.
"Liss'n; liss'n t' me," moaned the man. "I'll make it threethousand. Fi' thou--"
"Stand up!"
The editor's hearty grip on his coat collar heaved the creature tohis feet. For a moment he struggled, panting, then spun, helplessand headlong from the room, striking heavily against the passagewall outside. There was a half-choked groan; then his footstepsslumped away into silence.
"Ugh!" grunted Waldemar. "Come back, Jones."
Average Jones reentered. "Have you no curiosity in yourcomposition?" he asked.
"Not much--having been reared in the newspaper business."
Stooping, Average Jones picked up the glasses which the man hadthrown on the floor and examined them carefully. "Rather a fineinstrument," he observed. "Marked N. K. I think I'll follow up theowner."
"You'll never find him now. He has too much start."
"Not at all. When a man is in his state of abject funk, it's ten toone he lands at the nearest bar. Wait for me."
In fifteen minutes Average Jones was back. There was a curiousexpression on his face as he nodded an assent to his friend'sinquiring eyebrows.
"Where?" asked Waldemar.
"On the floor of a Park Row saloon."
"Dead drunk, eh?"
"No--er; not--er--drunk. Dead."
Waldemar stiffened in his chair. "Dead!" he repeated.
"Poison, probably. The ad was his finish, as he said. The nextthing is to find it."
"The first edition will be down any minute now. But it'll take somefinding. Why, counting 'classified,' we're carrying fifteen hundredads in every issue. With no clue to the character of this one--"'
"Plenty of clue," said Average Jones suavely. "You'll find it onthe sporting page, I think."
"Judging from the man's appearance? Rather far-fetched, isn't it?"
"Judging from a pair of very fine binoculars, a mention of CarrollMorrison's name, and, principally, some two thousand dollars in ahuge heap."
"I don't quite see where that leads."
"No? The bills must have been mostly ones and twos. Those are abook-maker's takings. The binocular is a racing-man's glass. Ourlate friend used the language of the track. I think we'll find himon page nine."
"Try," said Waldemar, handing him a paper still spicy with the keenodor of printer's ink.
Swiftly the Ad-Visor's practiced eye ran over the column. Itchecked at the "offer" of a notorious firm of tipsters whoadvertised to sell "inside information" on the races to theirpatrons. As a special lure, they were, on this day, letting thepublic in on a few particularly "good things" free.
"There you are," said Average Jones, pointing out the advertisement.
To his astonishment, Waldemar noted that his friend's indicatoryfinger shook a little. Normally, Average Jones was the coolest andmost controlled of men.
"Noble and Gale's form ad," he observed. "I see nothing unusual inthat."
"Yet--er--I fancy it's quite important--er--in its way."
The editor stared. "When you talk like a bored Britisher, Average,"he remarked, "there's sure to be something in the air. What is it?"
"Look at the last line."
Again Waldemar turned to the paper. "'One Best Bet,"' he read."'That the Pharisee will never finish.' Well?"
"That the Pharisee will never finish," repeated Average Jones. "Ifthe Pharisee is a horse, the line becomes absurd at once. How couldany one know that a horse would fail to finish in a race? But ifit--er--referred--er--to a man, an official known--er--as PhariseePhil--"
"Wait!" Waldemar had jumped to his feet. A thrill, increasing andpulsating through the floor beneath them, shook the building. Theeditor jumped for the telephone.
"Composing room; quick! Give me the foreman. Hello! That you,Corrigan? Stop the presses. . . I don't care if we miss everytrain in the country. . . Don't answer back. This is Mr. Waldemar.Stop the presses!"
The thrill waned and ceased. At the telephone, Waldemar continued:"Look up the Noble and Gale tip ad, page nine, column six. Kill thelast line, the One Best Bet. . . Don't ask me how. Chisel it out.Bum it out. Dynamite it out. But kill it. After that's done,print. . . . Hello; Dan? Send the sporting editor in here in ahurry."
"Good work," said Average Jones. "They'll never know how near theiridea of removing Governor Arthur came to being boasted of in plainprint."
Waldemar took his huge head in his hands and rocked it gently."It's on," he said. "And right-side-before. Yet, it tries to tellme that a man, plotting to murder the governor, advertises the factin my paper! I'll get a new head."
"Keep that one for a while," advised Average Jones. "It may bebetter than you think. Anyway, here's the ad. And down yonder isthe dead man whom it killed when he failed to kill it. So much isreal."
"And here's Bendig," said the other, as the sporting editor entered."Any such horse as 'The Pharisee,' Bendig?"
"No, sir. I suppose you mean that Noble and Gale ad. I saw it inproof. Some of Nick Karboe's funny work, I expect."
"Nick Karboe; N. K.," murmured Average Jones, laying a hand on theabandoned field glass. "Who is this man Karboe, Mr. Bendig?"
"Junior partner of Noble and Gale. He puts out their advertising."
"Any connection whatever with Mr. Carroll Morrison?"
"Why, yes. Before he went to pieces he used to be Mr. Morrison'sconfidential man, and lately he's been doing some lobbying for theassociation. I understood he'd quit it again."
"Quit what?" asked Waldemar. "Drink?"
"Worse. The white stuff. Coke."
Average Jones whistled softly. "That explains it all," he said. "Acocaine fiend on a debauch becomes a mental and moral imbecile. Itwould be perfectly in character that he should boast of a projectedcrime."
"Very well," said Waldemar, after the sporting editor had left, "butyou don't really connect Morrison with this?"
"Don't I! At least I propose to try. See here, Waldemar; twomonths ago at a private dinner, Morrison made a speech in which hesaid that men who interfered with the rights of property, likeGovernor Arthur, were no better than anarchists and ought to behandled accordingly. Therefore, I don't think that a plan--a safeone, of course--to put 'Pharisee Phil' away would greatly disturbour friend's distorted conscience. You see, the governor has laidimpious hands on Morrison's holy of holies, the dividend. By theway, where is Governor Arthur?"
"On the train for this city. He's to review the parade at theHarrisonia Centennial, and unveil the statute to-morrow night; thatis, to-night, to be accurate."
"A good opportunity," murmured Average Jones.
"What! In the sight of a hundred thousand people?"
"That might be the very core of the opportunity. And at night."
"If you feel certain, it's a case for the police, isn't it?"
"Hardly! The gambling gang control the police, wholly. They woulddestroy the trail at once."
"Then why not warn the governor?"
"I don't know him."
"Suppose I make an appointment to take you to see him in themorning?"
This was agreed upon. At ten o'clock Governor Arthur received themat his hotel, greeting Average Jones with flattering warmth.
"You're the amateur detective who scared the Honorable WilliamLinder out of the mayoralty nomination," said he, shaking hands."What are you going to do to me?"
"Give you some racing news to read, Governor."
The governor took the advertisement proof and read it carefully.Characteristically, he then re-read it throughout.
"You think this is meant for me?" he asked, handing it back.
"I do. You're not exactly what one would call popular with theracing crowd, you know, Governor."
"Mr. Morrison, in the politest manner in the world, has allowed meto surmise as much," said the other, smiling broadly. "A verypolished person, Mr. Morrison. He can make threats ofextinction--political, of course--more delicately than any other subtleblackmailer I have ever met. And I have met several in my time."
"If this were merely political extinction, which I fancy you cantake care of yourself, I shouldn't be taking up your time, sir."
"My dear Jones--" a friendly hand fell on the visitor's shoulder--"Igravely fear that you lack the judicial mind. It's a great thing tolack--at times." Governor Arthur's eyes twinkled again, and hisvisitor wondered whence had come his reputation as a dry, unhumorousman. "As to assassination," he pursued, "I'm a sort of ChristianScientist. The best protection is a profound conviction that you'resafe. That reacts on the mind of any would-be assassin. To mymind, my best chance of safety lies in never thinking of danger."
"Then," said Waldemar, "any attempt to persuade you againstappearing at Harrisonia to-night would be time wasted."
"Absolutely, my dear Waldemar. But don't think that I'm notappreciative of your thoughtfulness and that of Mr. Jones."
"What is the program of the day, Governor?" asked Average Jones.
"Rather a theatrical one. I'm to ride along Harrison Avenue to thereviewing stand, in the old coach-of-state of the Harrison family, alofty old ark, high as a circus wagon, which has been patched up forthe occasion. Just before I reach the reviewing stand, a silk cordis to be handed to me and I am to pull the veil from the great civicstatue with that, as, I move on."
"Then I think that Mr. Waldemar and I will look the ground over.Could we get you by telephone, sir, if necessary?"
"Any time up to seven o'clock."
"What do you think of the chance of their passing the bill over yourveto?" asked Waldemar.
"They are spending money as it has never been spent before," repliedGovernor Arthur. "I'll admit to you, Waldemar, that if I could findany legitimate method of calling Morrison off, I would not scrupleto use it. It is, of course, Morrison's money that we arefighting."
"Possibly--er--that, too--er--might be done," drawled Average Jones.
The governor looked at him sharply. "After the Linder affair, Mr.Jones," said he, "I would follow you far. Call my secretary at anytime, if you want me."
"Now to look over the line of parade," said Average Jones as he andWaldemar emerged from the hotel.
Half an hour's ride brought them to the lively suburban city ofHarrisonia, gay with flags and bunting. From the railroad station,where the guest of honor was to be met by the old coach, to the spotwhere the civic statue awaited its unveiling at his hands, was abouthalf a mile along Harrison Avenue, the principal street. The walkalong this street developed nothing of interest to Average Jonesuntil they reached the statue. Here he paused to look curiously ata number of square platforms built out from windows in the businessblocks.
"For flash-light outfits," explained Waldemar. "One of them is ourpaper's."
"Flash-lights, eh?" said Average Jones. "And there'll be fireworksand the air will be full of light and noise, under cover of whichalmost anything might be done. I don't like it! Hello! What'shere?"
He turned to the glass front of a prosperous-looking cigar store onthe south side of the avenue and pointed to a shattered hole in thewindow. Behind it a bullet swung on a thread from the ceiling, andthis agent of disaster the proprietor had ingeniously turned toaccount in advertising, by the following placard:
AIM LOWER If you expect to shoot holes in our prices. WE CHALLENGE OUR COMPETITION
"Not bad," approved Average Jones. "I feel a great yearning tosmoke--"
They entered the store and were served by the proprietor. As he wasmaking change, Average Jones asked:
"When was the bombardment?"
"Night before last, some time," replied the man.
"Done by a deflected bullet, wasn't it?"
"Haven't any idea how it was done or why. I got here in the morningand there she was. What makes you think it was a deflected bullet?"
"Because it was whirling end-over. Normally, a bullet bores apretty clean hole in plate glass."
"That's so, too," agreed the man with some interest.
Average Jones handed a cigar to Waldemar and lighted one himself.Puffing at it as he walked to the door, he gazed casually around andfinally centered his attention on a telegraph pole standing on theedge of the sidewalk. He even walked out and around the pole.Returning, he remarked to the tobacconist:
"Very good cigars, these. Ever advertise 'em?"
"Sure." The man displayed a tin square vaunting the virtues of his"Camarados."
"Outside the shop, I meant. Why wouldn't one of those signs lookgood on that telegraph pole?"
"It would look good to me," said the vendor, "but it wouldn't lookgood to the telegraph people. They'd have it down."
"Oh, I don't know. Give me one, lend me a ladder, and I'll make theexperiment."
The tobacconist stared. "All right," he said. "Go as far as youlike." And he got the required articles for his customer.
With silent curiosity Waldemar watched Average Jones place theladder against the outside of the pole, mount, nail up the sign,drop a plumb-line, improvised from a key and a length of string, tothe ground, set a careful knot in the string and return to earth.
"What did you find?" asked the editor.
"Four holes that you could cover with a silver dollar. Somegunnery, that!"
"Then how did the other shot happen to go so far wrong."
"Do you see that steel work over there?"
Average Jones pointed across to the north side of the street, justopposite, where a number of buildings had been torn down to permitof the erection of a new one. The frame had risen three stories,and through the open spaces in the gaunt skeleton the rear of thehouses facing on the street next northward could be seen. Waldemarindicated that he did see the edifice pointed out by Average Jones.
"The bullet came from back of that--perhaps from the next street.They sighted by the telegraph pole. Suppose, now, a man riding in ahigh coach passes along this avenue between the pole and the gunoperator, over yonder to the northward. Every one of the bulletswhich hit the pole would have gone right through his body. Probablya fixed gun. As for the wide shot, we'll see."
As he spoke, the Ad-Visor was leading the way across the street.With upturned face he carefully studied the steel joists from end toend. Presently he pointed. Following the line of his finger,Waldemar saw a raw scar on the under side of one of the joists.
"There it is," said Average Jones. "The sights were a trifle off atthe first shot, and the bullet ticked the steel and deflected."
"So far, so good," approved Waldemar.
"I can approximate the height of the steel beam from the ground,close enough for a trial formula," continued Average Jones. "Now,Waldemar, I call your attention to that restaurant on the oppositecorner."
Waldemar conned the designated building with attention. "Well," hesaid finally, "what of it? I don't see anything wrong with it."
"Precisely my point," returned the Ad-Visor with a grin. "Neitherdo I. Therefore, suppose you go there and order luncheon for two,while I walk down to the next block and back again. I'll be withyou in four minutes."
He was somewhat better than his word. Dropping into the chairopposite his friend, he figured swiftly and briefly on the back ofan envelope, which he returned to his pocket.
"I suppose you've done a vast amount of investigating since you leftme," remarked the editor sardonically. "Meanwhile, the plot tomurder the governor goes merrily on."
"I've done a fair amount of pacing over distance," retorted AverageJones imperturbably. "As for the governor, they can't kill him tillhe comes, can they? Besides, there's plenty of time for them tochange their minds. As a result of my little constitutional justnow, and a simple exercise in mathematics, you and I will call at ahouse on Spencer Street, the next street north, after luncheon."
"What house?"
"Ah! that I don't know, as yet. We'll see when we get there."
Comfortably fed, the two strolled up to Spencer Street and turnedinto it, Average Jones eying the upper windows of the houses. Hestopped in front of an old-fashioned frame structure, which wasbuilt on a different plan of floor level from its smaller neighborsof brick. Up the low steps went Jones, followed by the editor. Anaged lady, of the species commonly, conjectured as "maiden," openedthe door.
"Madam," said Average Jones, "could we rent your third floor rearfor this evening?"
"No, sir," said she. "It's rented."
"Perhaps I could buy the renters off," suggested Jones. "Could Isee them?"
"Both out," she answered shortly. "And I don't believe you couldget the room from them, for they're all fixed up to take photographsof the parade."
"Indee-ee-eed," drawled Average Jones, in accents so prolonged, evenfor him, that Waldemar's interest flamed within him."I--er--ra--ra-aather hoped--er--when do you expect them back?"
"About four o'clock."
"Thank you. Please tell them that--er--Mr. Nick Karboe called."
"For heaven's sake, Average," rumbled Waldemar, as they regained thepavement, "why did you use the dead man's name? It gave me ashiver."
"It'll give them a worse one," replied the Ad-Visor grimly. "I wantto prepare their nerves for a subsequent shock. If you'll meet mehere this evening at seven, I think I can promise you a queerspectacle."
"And meantime?"
"On that point I want your advice. Shall we make a sure catch oftwo hired assassins who don't amount to much, or take a chance atthe bigger game?"
"Meaning Morrison?"
"Meaning Morrison. Incidentally, if we get him we'll be able tokill the Personal Liberty bill so dead it will never raise its headagain."
"Then I'm for that course," decided the editor, after a littleconsideration, "though I can't yet make myself believe that CarrollMorrison is party to a deliberate murder plot."
"How the normal mind does shrink from connecting crime with goodclothes and a social position!" remarked the Ad-Visor. "Just giveme a moment's time."
The moment he spent jotting down words on a bit of paper, which,after some emendation, he put away.
"That'll do for a heading," he remarked. "Now, Waldemar, I want youto get the governor on the 'phone and tell him, if he'll followdirections, we'll put the personal liberty bill where the wickedcease from troubling. Morrison is to be in the reviewing stand,isn't he?"
"Yes; there's a special place reserved for him, next the pressseats."
"Good! By the way, you'd better send for two press seats for youand myself. Now, what I want: the governor to do is this: get acopy of the Harrisonia Evening Bell, fold it to an advertisementheaded 'Offer to Photographers,' and as he passes Carroll Morrisonon the stand, hold it up and say to him just this: 'Better luck nexttime.' For anything further, I'll see you in the reviewing stand.Do you think he'll do it?"
"It sounds as foolish as a college initiation stunt. Still, youheard what Governor Arthur said about his confidence in you. Butwhat is this advertisement?"
"As yet, it isn't. But it will be, as soon as I can get to theoffice of the Bell. You'll meet me on this corner at seven o'clock,then?"
"Yes. Meantime, to be safe, I'll look after the reviewing standtickets myself."
At the hour named, the editor arrived. Average Jones was alreadythere, accompanied by a messenger boy. The boy wore the cheerfulgrin of one who has met with an unexpected favor of fortune.
"They've returned, both of 'em," said Average Jones as Waldemarapproached. "What about the governor?"
"It took a mighty lot of persuasion, but he'll do it," replied theeditor.
"Skip, son," said the Ad-Visor, handing the messenger boy a foldednewspaper. "The two gentlemen on the third floor rear. And be sureyou say that it's a personal, marked copy."
The boy crossed the street and entered the house. In two minutes heemerged, nodded to Average Jones and walked away. Five minutespassed. Then the front door opened cautiously and a tall,evil-looking man slunk into the vestibule. A second man followed him.They glanced eagerly from left to right. Average Jones stepped out to thecurb-stone.
"Here's the message from Karboe," he called.
"My God!" gasped the tall man.
For an instant he made as if to turn back. Then, clearing the stepsat one jump, he stumbled, sprawled, was up again instantly andspeeding up the street, away from Average Jones, turned the comerneck and neck with his companion who, running powerfully, hadovertaken him.
The door of the house stood ajar. Before Waldemar had recoveredfrom his surprise, Average Jones was inside the house. Hesitationbeset the editor. Should he follow or wait? He paused, one foot onthe step. A loud crash within resolved his doubts. Up he started,when the voice of Average Jones in colloquy with the woman who hadreceived them before, checked him. The colloquy seemed excited butpeaceful. Presently Average Jones came down the steps.
"They left the ad," said he. "Have you seen it?"
"No; I hadn't time to get a paper," replied Waldemar, taking thecopy extended to him and reading in large display:
OFFER TO PHOTOGRAPHERS $1,000 Reward for Special, Flash-light Photo of Governor Arthur in To-night's Pageant. Must be Taken According to Plans and Specifications Designated by the Late Nick Karboe. Apply to A. JONES, Ad-Visor. Astor Court Temple, New York City.
"No wonder they ran," said Waldemar with a grin, as he digested thisdocument.
"And so must we if we're to get through the crowd and reach thereviewing stand," warned Average Jones, glancing at his watch.
Their seats, which they attained with some difficulty, were within afew feet of the governor's box. Within reach of them sat CarrollMorrison, his long, pale, black-bearded face set in that immobilityto which he had schooled it. But the cold eyes roved restlessly andthe little muscles at the corners of the lips twitched.
"Tell me that he isn't in on the game!" whispered Average Jones, andWaldemar nodded.
The sound of music from down the street turned all faces in thatdirection. A roar of cheering swept toward them and was taken upin the stands. The governor, in his high coach, came in sight.And, at that moment, terror struck into the soul of Waldemar.
"Suppose they came back!" he whispered to Average Jones. "We'veleft the house unguarded."
"I've fixed that," replied the Ad-Visor in the same tone. "WatchMorrison!"
Governor Arthur approached the civic statue. An official, runningout to the coach, handed him a silken cord, which he secured with aturn around the wrist. The coach rolled on. The cord tautened; theswathings sundered and fell from the gleaming splendor of marble,and a blinding flash, followed by another, and a third, blotted outthe scene in unbearable radiance.
Involuntarily Morrison, like thousands of others, had screened hissight with his hands after the second flash. Now, as the kindlierlight returned, he half rose, rubbing his eyes furiously. Ahalf-groan escaped him. He sank back, staring in amaze. ForGovernor Arthur was riding on, calm and smiling amid the shouts.
Morrison shrank. Could it be that the governor's eyes were fixed onhis? He strove to shake off the delusion. He felt, rather thansaw, the guest of honor descend from the coach; felt rather than sawhim making straight toward himself; and he winced and quivered atthe sound of his own name.
"Mr. Morrison," the governor was saying, at his elbow, "Mr.Morrison, here is a paper that may interest you. Better luck nexttime."
Morrison strove to reply. His voice clucked in his throat, and thehand with which he took the folded newspaper was as the hand of aparalytic.
"He's broken," whispered Average Jones.
He went straight to Governor Arthur, speaking in his ear. Thegovernor nodded. Average Jones returned to his seat to watch CarrollMorrison who, sat, with hell-fires of fear scorching him, until thelast band had blared its way into silence.
Again the governor was speaking to him.
"'Mr. Morrison, I want you to visit a house near here. Mr. Jonesand Mr. Waldemar will come along; you know them, perhaps. Pleasedon't protest. I positively will not take a refusal. We have amotor-car waiting,"
Furious, but not daring to refuse, Morrison found himself whirledswiftly away, and after a few turns to shake off the crowd, intoSpencer Street. With his captors, he mounted to the third floor ofan old frame house. The rear room door had been broken in. Insidestood a strange instrument, resembling a large camera, which hadonce stood upright on a steel tripod riveted to the floor. The legsof the tripod were twisted and bent. A half-demolished chair nearby suggested the agency of destruction.
"Just to render it harmless," explained Average Jones. "It formerlypointed through that window, so that a bullet from the barrel wouldstrike that pole way yonder in Harrison Street, after first passingthrough any intervening body. Yours, for instance, Governor."
"Do I understand that this is a gun, Mr. Jones," asked thatofficial.
"Of a sort," replied the Ad-Visor, opening up the camera-box andshowing a large barrel superimposed on a smaller one. "This is asighting-glass," he explained, tapping the larger barrel. "Andthis," tapping the smaller, "carries a small but efficient bullet.This curious sheath"--he pointed to a cylindrical jacket around partof the rifle barrel--"is a Coulomb silencer, which reduces asmall-arm report almost to a whisper. Here is an electric buttonwhich was connected with yonder battery before I operated on it withthe chair, and distributed its spark, part to the gun, part to theflash-light powder on this little shelf. Do you see the plan now?The instant that the governor, riding through the street yonder, issighted through this glass, the operator presses the button, andflash-light and bullet go off instantaneously."
"But why the flash-light?" asked the governor.
"Merely a blind to fool the landlady and avert any possiblesuspicion. They had told her that they had a new invention to takeflash-lights at a distance. Amidst the other flashes, this onewouldn't be noticed particularly. They had covered their trailwell."
"Well, indeed," said the governor. "May I congratulate you, Mr.Morrison, on this interesting achievement in ballistics?"
"As there is no way of properly resenting an insult from a man inyour position," said Morrison venomously, "I will reserve my answerto that outrageous suggestion."
"Meantime," put in Average Jones, "let me direct your attention to asimple mathematical formula." He drew from his pocket an envelopeon which were drawn some angles, subjoined by a formula. Morrisonwaved it aside.
"Not interested in mathematics?" asked Average Jones solicitously."Very well, I'll elucidate informally. Given a bullet hole in atelegraph pole at a certain distance, a bullet scar on an irongirder at a certain lesser distance, and the length of a block fromhere to Harrison Avenue--which I paced off while you were skillfullyordering luncheon, Waldemar--and an easy triangulation brings usdirect to this room and to two fugitive gentlemen with whom Imention the hypothesis with all deference, Mr. Morrison, you areprobably acquainted."
"And who may they have been?" retorted Morrison contemptuously.
"I don't know," said Average Jones.
"Then, sir," retorted the racing king, "your hypothesis is asimpudent as your company is intolerable. Have you anything furtherto say to me?"
"Yes. It would greatly please Mr. Waldemar to publish into-morrow's paper an authorized statement from you to the effectthat the Personal Liberty bill will be withdrawn permanently."
"Mr. Waldemar may go to the devil. I have endured all the hectoringI propose to. Men in my position are targets for muckrakers andblackmailers--"
"Wait a moment," Waldemar's heavy voice broke in. "You speak of menin your position. Do you understand just what position you are inat present?"
Morrison rose. "Governor Arthur," he said with with stony dignity,"I bid you good evening."
Waldemar set his bulky back against the door. The lips drew backfrom Morrison's strong teeth with the snarl of an animal in the furyand terror of approaching peril.
"Do you know Nick Karboe?"
Morrison whirled about to face Average Jones. But he did not answerthe question. He only stared.
"Carroll Morrison," continued Average Jones in his quiet drawl, "thehalf-hour before he--er--committed suicide--er--Nick Karboe spent inthe office of the--er--Universal with Mr. Waldemar and--er--myself.Catch him, Waldemar!"
For Morrison had wilted. They propped him against the wall and he,the man who had insolently defied the laws of a great commonwealth,who had bribed legislatures and bossed judges and browbeaten thepublic, slobbered, denied and begged. For two disgustful minutesthey extracted from him his solemn promise that henceforth he wouldkeep his hands off the laws. Then they turned him out.
"Suppose you enlighten me with the story, gentlemen," suggested thegovernor.
Average Jones told it, simply and modestly. At the conclusion,Governor Arthur looked from the wrecked camera-gun to themathematical formula which had fallen to the floor.
"Mr. Jones," he said, "you've done me the service of saving my life;you've done the public the service of killing a vicious bill. Iwish I could thank you more publicly than this."
"Thank you, Governor," said Average' Jones modestly. "But I owedthe public something, you know, on account of, my uncle, the lateMayor Van Reypen."
Governor Arthur nodded. "The debt is paid," he said. "Thatknowledge must be your reward; that and the consciousness of havingworked out a remarkable and original problem."
"Original?" said Average Jones, eying the diagram on the envelope'sback, with his quaint smile. "Why, Governor, you're giving me toomuch credit. It was worked out by one of the greatest detectives ofall time, some two thousand years ago. His name was Euclid."