“Give me your hand, Newt.  From the bottom of my soul I do respect a man who has no scruples.”

They shook hands heartily, and filling their glasses they drank “Success!” The General then wrote a check and a little series of instructions, which he gave to Abel, while Abel himself scribbled an I.O.U., which the General laid in his pocket-book.

“You’ll have an eye on, Ele,” said the General, as he buttoned his coat.

“Certainly—­two if you want,” answered Abel, lazily, repeating the joke.

“He’s a good fellow, Ele is,” said Belch; “but he’s largely interested, and he’ll probably try to chouse us out of something by affecting superior influence.  You must patronize him to the other men.  Keep him well under.  I have a high respect for cellar stairs, but they mustn’t try to lead up to the roof.  Good-by.  Hail Newt!  Senator that shall be!” laughed the General, as he shook hands and followed his fat nose out of the door.

Left to himself, Abel walked for some time up and down his room, with his hands buried in his pocket and a sneering smile upon his face.  He suddenly drew one hand out, raised it, clenched it, and brought it down heavily in the air, as he muttered, contemptuously,

“What a stupid fool!  I wonder if he never thinks, as he looks in the glass, that that fat nose of his is made to lead him by.”

For the sagacious and fat-nosed General had omitted to look at the little paper Newt handed to him, thinking it would be hardly polite to do so under the circumstances.  But if he had looked he would have seen that the exact sum they had spoken of had been forgotten, and a very inconsiderable amount was specified.

It had flashed across Abel’s mind in a moment that if the General subsequently discovered it and were disposed to make trouble, the disclosure of the paper of instructions which he had written, and which Abel had in his possession, would ruin his hopes of political financiering.  “And as for my election, why, I have my certificate in my pocket.”

CHAPTER LXXIV.

MIDNIGHT.

Gradually the sneer faded from Abel’s face, and he walked up and down the room, no longer carelessly, but fitfully; stopping sometimes—­again starting more rapidly—­then leaning against the mantle, on which the clock pointed to midnight—­then throwing himself into a chair or upon a sofa; and so, rising again, walked on.

His head bent forward—­his eyes grew rounder and harder, and seemed to be burnished with the black, bad light; his step imperceptibly grew stealthy—­he looked about him carefully—­he stood erect and breathless to listen—­bit his nails, and walked on.

The clock upon the mantle pointed to half an hour after midnight.  Abel Newt went into his chamber and put on his slippers.  He lighted a candle, and looked carefully under the bed and in the closet.  Then he drew the shades over the windows and went out into the other room, closing and locking the door behind him.