“The one thing that you ought to be lawyer enough to see at a glance.  There is no court to try it in.  With the Assembly in session we might do something:  as it is, we can only yap at the heels of the ringsters, and our yapping won’t help you in the railroad fight.  What do you hear from Boston?”

“Nothing new.  The stock is still flat on the market, with the stock-holders’ pool holding a bare majority, and the Plantagould brokers buying in driblets wherever they can find a small holder who is willing to let go.  It is only a question of time; and a very short time at that.”

The editor wagged his head in sympathy.

“I wish I could help you, David.  You’ve done a big thing for me—­for the Argus; and all I have to hand you in return is a death sentence.  MacFarlane is back.”

“Here?  In town?”

“Yes.  And that isn’t the worst of it.  The governor sent for him.”

“Have you any idea what is in the wind?” asked Kent, dry-lipped.

“I am afraid I have.  My young men have been nosing around in the Trans-Western affair, and several things have developed.  Matters are approaching a crisis.  The cut-rate boom is about to collapse, and there is trouble brewing in the labor organizations.  If Bucks doesn’t get his henchmen out of it pretty soon, they will be involved in the smash—­which will be bad for them and for him, politically.”

“I developed most of that a good while ago,” Kent cut in.

“Yes; I know.  But there is more to follow.  The stock-smashing plan was all right, but it is proving too slow.  Now they are going to do something else.”

“Can you give it a name?” asked Kent, nerving himself.

“I can.  But first tell me one thing:  as matters stand, could Guilford dispose of the road—­sell it or lease it?”

“No; he would first have to be made permanent receiver and be given authority by the court.”

“Ah! that explains Judge MacFarlane’s return.  Now what I am going to tell you is the deadest of secrets.  It came to me from one of the Overland officials, and I’m not supposed to gossip.  Did you know the Overland Short Line had passed under Plantagould domination?”

“I know they elected a Plantagould directory at the annual meeting.”

“Exactly.  Well, Guilford is going to lease the Trans-Western to its competitor for a term of ninety-nine years.  That’s your death sentence.”

Kent sprang to his feet, and what he said is unrecordable.  He was not a profane man, but the sanguine temperament would assert itself explosively in moments of sudden stress.

“When is this thing to be done?” he demanded, when the temperamental gods were appeased a little.

Hildreth shrugged.

“I have told you all I could, and rather more than I had any right to.  Open the door behind you, won’t you?  The air is positively sulphurous.”

Kent opened the door, entirely missing the point of the sarcasm in his heat.