“They told me you weren’t running straight,” said Haines deliberately.  “Now, neither one of us has been crooked, but somebody else has been, and this was the plan to keep us apart.”

“Norton told me you were speculating in Altacoola lands,” said Langdon.

“And Norton told me the same of you,” retorted Bud.

The Senator’s face grew very serious.

“But my daughter, Miss Carolina Langdon, confirmed Norton’s story.”

Haines here faced the most difficult part of his interview.  He hardly knew how to answer.  His manhood rebelled against placing any blame on a woman.  He revolted at the thought of ruining a father’s faith in his daughter’s honesty, especially when that father was the man he most admired, a man for whom he had genuine, deep-rooted affection.  But it was necessary that the words be spoken.

“I hate to tell you, sir,” he said in a low, uncertain voice, “that it was your daughter Carolina who made me believe this story told about you and vouched for by your son Randolph.”

Langdon started back aghast.  He stared at Haines and knew that he spoke the truth.  Then his white head sank pathetically.  Tears welled into the eyes of the planter, and this sturdy old fighting man dropped weakly into a chair, sobbing convulsively, broken in spirit and wearied in body.

At length Haines spoke to his stricken chief.

“I know it hurts,” he said.  “It hurt me to have to say it.  Don’t believe it until you get it out of Norton, but then you must do something.”

Langdon came to his feet, mopping his cheeks.  But there was no weakness in him now.  Yes, he would do something.  He would go after the thieves that had turned his own flesh and blood against him and root them all out—­show them all up.

“Oh, I’ll do something,” he said grimly.  “I’m going to make up for lost time.  Of course, Norton is speculating.  Who’s behind him?”

“Stevens and Peabody, I’m positive,” answered Haines, “and behind them is Standard Steel.”

“What!” exclaimed Langdon.  “Stevens in a swindle like this!  Are you sure?  How do you know?”

“A Gulf City man who couldn’t carry his liquor gave me some clues, and I worked Norton into telling some more,” answered the secretary.  “Where is Peabody?”

“He’s here now.”

“Then he hasn’t got my letter yet.  I sent him a note and signed your name, Senator, to the effect that the Gulf City claims have been brought before you so strongly that you might vote for Gulf City.”

Langdon was amazed.

“You sent that note,” he exclaimed, “when you know Altacoola is the only proper place and Gulf City is a mud bank?”

The newspaper man smiled.

“Of course,” he agreed, “but I had to get a rise out of Peabody.  This will show where he stands.”

“Oh,” said Langdon, “I understand.  Thanks, boy.”

A servant entered with a note.