Part 93

“There is a man in this state who knows true law,” continued the speaker, “and that you may be assured that he will sign a bill which is passed for the good of the people, let me tell you a little about his character.”

Colonel Dodd cursed without trying to moderate his tones very much.

“There's no telling what tack that renegade will take next. This infernal convention is getting to be a nightmare. Those fools out there are listening as if they expected that cheap demagogue to bring 'em a new Messiah,” he told the committeemen near him.

“There's a funny noise going on out there among 'em,” ventured “Whispering Saunders.” “Round-up fellows say they hear something like it when a herd is getting ready to stampede. It's the same thing in a political convention sometimes. The reason for it is: the crowd is ripe and the head steer gives the right bellow--and off they go!”

Colonel Dodd grabbed his nephew by the elbow and rushed him off the stage and into an anteroom.

“Is that matter on the hair-trigger, Richard?” he demanded.

“It's ready to be snapped any minute.”

The colonel whipped out his check-book and began to write. “It's as old Saunders said,” he muttered as he wrote. “And we've got to rope, throw, and tie that one steer.”

The check was for five thousand dollars!

Young Dodd seized it, and when his uncle hurried back upon the stage the nephew, through the door which was left open, beckoned to Mullaney. The detective came, hurrying past Colonel Dodd, who stared until the door had closed behind young Dodd and the officer.

“But he's my own nephew!” he assured himself, as if he were replying to an accusation laid against Richard Dodd. He shook his head and sat down in his chair. “I wonder how long it has been since old Bob Mullaney put a price of that size on his secrets! I'm afraid Richard hasn't the Dodd ability to drive a sharp trade.”

But Richard was showing considerable ability in that line behind the door of the anteroom.

He jammed two hundred and fifty dollars in crumpled bills into the detective's hands, cleaning out his pockets for the purpose. He had slipped the check into his deepest pocket the moment his uncle had handed it to him.

“It was hard work to screw him up, Mullaney. You have seen how I worked him. This is all he gave me--two hundred and fifty. Take it and spring your trap.”

“You don't look honest,” grumbled the detective. “If I'm any kind of a guesser you're holding out on me.”

“That's your price. You agreed. There isn't any time to argue this. Give me back the money.” He grabbed the bills from Mullaney's clutch. It was magnificent bluff. “I'll hand it to my uncle. He isn't very keen on the thing, anyway.”

“I'll take it--give it back. I'll apologize,” pleaded Mullaney.

“Will you swear to keep all this under your hat--the whole thing? Uncle says if you dare to speak to him about it--hint to him or anybody that he paid money for anything on Farr--he'll deny the story and have your license taken away.”

“I promise--swear it,” Mullaney agreed.

Dodd returned the money, and the detective started out on the trot.

“You come, too, and I'll tell you on the way. Time is short. You'd better help me,” he advised Dodd. They hurried away together, rushed out into the alley and around to the front of the hall, the detective pouring certain information into Dodd's ear as they made their way to the big door and into the main corridor.

Then they bored through the crowds.

The detective led the way and showed his badge to compel the people to give them a lane.

They entered the rear of the auditorium.

“You take the left side and I'll take the right,” commanded Mullaney. “We need to paralyze him first. That's all there's time for just now--I've had short notice. But get that name to every man of your crowd you can, and when the howl is started tell 'em all to join in.”

Dodd had had scant time to digest the knowledge which the detective had imparted on the run. But his eyes gleamed wickedly as he began to whisper to men among the delegates. And as he moved about he noticed that the girl in the gallery had marked his activity, even to the extent of turning her gaze from Walker Farr, whose voice was ringing through the spacious hall.

XXIX

THE BOMB