The trolley bribe funds had been carried in a shirt box to Ruef by the company’s attorney.  Other transactions had been more or less “covered.”  But all were plain enough for instant recognition.  San Francisco, which had suspected Ruef and his Supervisors with the easy tolerance of a people calloused to betrayal, was aroused by the insolent audacity of these transactions.  It demanded blood.

And Heney was prepared to furnish sanguine vengeance.  He was after the “higher-ups,” he stated.  Like a passionate evangel of Mosaic law, he set out to secure it.  Louis Glass, acting president of the telephone company, was indicted on a charge of felony, which made a great hallabaloo, for he was a personable man, a clubman, popular and generally esteemed.

A subtle change—­the primary index of that opposition which was to develop into a stupendous force—­was noted by the prosecution.  Heney and Langdon had been welcomed hitherto in San Francisco’s fashionable clubs.  Men of wealth and standing had been wont to greet them as they lunched there, commending their course, assuring them of cooperation.

But after the telephone indictment there came a cooling of the atmosphere.  Glass seemed more popular than ever.  Langdon and Heney were often ignored.  People failed to recognize them on the street.  Even Spreckels and Phelan, despite their wealth and long established standing, suffered certain social ostracisms.

Wealthy evildoers found themselves as definitely threatened by the law as were the Supervisors.  But wealth is made of sterner stuff.  It did not cringe nor huddle; could not seek immunity through the confessional.  Famous lawyers found themselves in high demand.  From New York, where he had fought a winning fight for Harry Thaw, came Delphin Delmas.  T.C.  Coogan, another famous pleader, entered the lists against Heney in defense of Glass.

Meanwhile the drawing of jurors for Ruef’s trial progressed, inexorably.

CHAPTER LXXXV

THE SEVEN PLAGUES

Several weeks passed.  Politics were in a hectic state, and people grumbled.  Frank discussed the situation with his Uncle Robert.  “Why don’t they oust these grafters from office?” he asked.

Windham smiled.  “Because they daren’t, Frank,” he answered.  “If the prosecution forced the Supervisors to resign, which would be easy enough, do you know what would happen?”

“Why, they’d fill their posts with better men, of course.”

“Not so fast, my boy.  The Mayor has the power to fill all vacancies due to resignations.  Don’t you see what would happen?  Schmitz could select another board over whom the prosecution would hold no power.  Then, if necessary, he’d resign and his new board would fill the Mayor’s chair with some one whom Ruef or the Mayor could trust.  Then the city government would once more be independent of the law.”