“Do you suppose they’ll catch him—­Ruef, I mean?”

“Not if the big fellows can prevent it.  If he’s caught there’ll be the deuce to pay.  Our Pillars of Finance will topple....  No, I think Ruef is safe.”

“I don’t quite understand,” said Stanley.

“Ruef, himself, is nothing; a political boss, a solicitor of bribes.  But our corporation heads.  The town will shake when they’re accused, perhaps indicted.  I know what’s been going on.  We’re close to scandals that’ll echo round the world.”

Frank looked at his uncle wonderingly.  Windham was a corporation lawyer.  Doubtless he knew.  Silently the two men made their way out of the graveyard.  Frank determined to ride down town with his uncle, and then telephone to Aleta.  He hadn’t seen her for a week.

As the car passed the Call building they noted a crowd at Third and Market streets, reading a bulletin.  People seemed excited.  Frank jumped from the moving car and elbowed his way forward.  In the newspaper window was a sheet of yellow paper inscribed in large script:  “BURNS ARRESTS RUEF AT THE TROCADERO ROADHOUSE.”

CHAPTER LXXXXIV

THE NET CLOSES

Frank discussed the situation with Aleta one evening after Ruef’s capture.  Her friend, the Supervisor, had brought news of the alarm.

“He says no one of them will trust the other; they’re afraid of Gallagher; think he’ll turn State’s evidence, or whatever you call it.  ‘Squeal,’ was what he said.”

“Burns and Heney must be putting on the screws,” commented Frank.

“Frank,” Aleta laid a hand impulsively upon his arm, “I don’t suppose there’s any way to save this man ...  I—­oh, Frank, it would be awful if he went to prison.”

He stared at her.  “What do you mean, Aleta?”

“I mean,” she answered, “that he’s done things for me ... because he loves me ... hopes to win me.  He’s sincere in that....  Oh, can’t you see how it would hurt if—­”

“If he gets caught—­stealing,” Frank spoke harshly.  “Well, you should have thought of that before, my dear.”

A touch of anger tinctured the appeal with which her eyes met his.  “One doesn’t always reason when the heart is sore.  When one is bitter with—­well—­yearning.”

He did not answer.  He was rather startled by that look.  Finally she said, more gently:  “Frank, you’ll help him if you can—­I know.”  He nodded.

It was late.  Aleta had to hurry to the theatre.  Frank left her there and walked down Sutter street.

He turned south toward Heney’s office.  It was in a little house between Geary and O’Farrell, up a short flight of stairs.  Above were the living quarters of Heney and his companion, half clerk, half bodyguard.

There was a light in the office, but the shades of the bay-window were tightly drawn.  Frank rang the bell, which was not immediately answered.  Finally the bodyguard came to the door.  “Mr. Heney’s very busy, very busy.”  He seemed tremendously excited.