“It would be quite legal,” Ruef contended.  “The Mayor and Board have power to remove a district attorney and select his successor.”

Henry Ach, advisor of the boss, looked dubious.  “I’m not sure of that.  Moreover, it’s bad politics.  It would be better seemingly to cooperate with Langdon.  He has the public confidence.  We’ve not....  Besides, whom would we put in Langdon’s place?”

“Ruef,” said “Big Jim,” with his ready admiration.  “He’s the man.”

“Hm!” the little boss exclaimed, reflectively.  “Well we shall see.”

* * * * *

Frank liked Langdon.  He was rather a slow-thinking man; not so clever at expedient as Ruef.  But he was grounded in the Law—­and honest.  Moreover, he had courage.  Powerful enemies and their machinations only stirred his zest.

Single-handed Langdon might have been outwitted by the power and astuteness of his foes.  But another mind, a keener one was soon to add its force to Langdon’s.  Francis J. Heney, special investigator of the Roosevelt government, who had unmasked and overthrown corruption in high places, was in town.

Frank knew that he had come to San Francisco for a purpose.  He met this nervous, wiry, sharp-eyed man in the managing editor’s office now and again.  Once he had entered rather unexpectedly upon a conference of Heney, former Mayor James D. Phelan, Rudolph Spreckels, son of the sugar nabob, and William J. Burns.  Frank, who guessed he was intruding, made a noiseless exit; not, however, till he heard that there would be a thorough, secret search into the trolley franchise and some other actions of the Ruef administration.  Spreckels and Phelan guaranteed to raise $100,000 for this purpose.  Burns and his detectives had for several months been quietly at work.

On October 24 District Attorney Langdon publicly announced the appointment of Francis J. Heney as his assistant, stating that a thorough and fearless search into the actions of the city government would ensue.

On October 25 the Supervisors met.  Frank, himself, went to the council chamber to learn what was afoot.  He suspected a sensation.  But the Board met quietly enough at 2:30 o’clock, with Jim Gallagher in the chair.  At 2:45 a special messenger called the acting Mayor to Ruef’s office.  Three hours later he was still absent from the angry and impatient Board.

That some desperate move was imminent Frank realized.  Here was Ruef between two bodeful dates.  Yesterday had come the news that Langdon had appointed Heney—­the relentless enemy of boodlers—­to a place of power.  Tomorrow would begin the impaneling of a Grand Jury, whose avowed purpose it was to “investigate municipal graft.”

“What would I do if I were Ruef?” Frank asked himself.  But no answer came.  He paced up and down the corridor, pondering the situation.  At intervals he paused before the Supervisors’ chamber.  Once he found the door slightly ajar and listened shamelessly.  He saw Big Jim Gallagher, red-faced, excited, apparently much flustered, reading a paper.  He thought he heard Langdon’s name and Heney’s.  There seemed to be dissension in the board.  But before he learned anything definite a watchful attendant closed the portal with an angry slam.  Frank resumed his pacing.