“That is about the size of it,” said Kent; and the governor found his hat.

“I’ll trouble you to return my property,” he growled, pointing to the table drawer.

“Certainly.”  Kent broke the revolver over the blotting pad, swept the ejected cartridges into the open drawer, and passed the empty weapon to its owner.

When the door closed behind the outgoing visitor the victor in the small passage at arms began to walk the floor; but at four o’clock, which was Hildreth’s hour for coming down-town, he put on his hat and went to climb the three flights of stairs to the editor’s den in the Argus building.

XXV

DEAD WATER AND QUICK

The cubby-hole in which Hildreth earned his bread by the sweat of his brain was dark even at midday; and during working hours the editor sat under a funnel-shaped reflector in a conic shower-bath of electric light which flooded man and desk and left the corners of the room in a penumbra of grateful twilight.

Kent sat just outside of the cone of radiance, watching Hildreth’s face as the editor read stolidly through the contents of the box envelope.  It was an instructive study in thought dynamics.  There was a gleam of battle satisfaction in the editorial eye when Hildreth faced the last sheet down upon the accumulation of evidence, saying: 

“You didn’t overstate the fact in your brag about the political graves.  Only this isn’t a spade; it’s a steam shovel.  Do I understand you are giving me this stuff to use as I please?”

“Just that,” said Kent.

“And you have made it serve your turn, too?”

“No.”  Kent’s voice was sharp and crisp.

“Isn’t that what you got it for?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you use it?”

“That was what Bucks wanted to know a little while ago when he came to my rooms to try to buy me off.  I don’t think I succeeded in making him understand why I couldn’t traffic with it; and possibly you wouldn’t understand.”

“I guess I do.  It’s public property, and you couldn’t divert it into private channels.  Is that the way it struck you?”

“It is the way it struck a friend of mine whose sense of ultimate right and wrong hasn’t lost its fine edge in the world-mill.  I did not want to do it.”

“Naturally,” said the editor.  “Giving it up means the loss of all you have been working for in the railroad game.  I wish I could use it, just as it stands.”

“Can’t you?”

“I am afraid not—­effectively.  It would make an issue in a campaign; or, sprung on the eve of an election, it might down the ring conclusively.  I think it would.  But this is the off year, and the people won’t rise to a political issue—­couldn’t make themselves felt if they should.”

“I don’t agree with you.  You have your case all made out, with the evidence in sound legal form.  What is to prevent your trying it?”