“Explain, sir.”

“Do you know a Richard Dodd who is the nephew of Colonel Dodd?”

“I do, sir.  You aren’t asking me to assist him, are you?  I will have nothing to do with him—­no help from me!”

“Just a moment—­wait one moment!  Mr. Converse, do you know a man named Dennis Burke who has been in prison for ballot frauds?”

“I helped send him there, sir.  Are you reciting the rogues’ roster to me?”

“Richard Dodd has dressed Burke up as a parson and is trying to force a young woman into a marriage.  I haven’t time to tell you how I happened to know about this affair—­but it is in Rose Alley and there’s no time to waste.”

“A preposterous yarn.”

“I have just come from that house.”

“You’re a young man of muscle—­why didn’t you stop it?”

“The girl’s mother is there, backing Dodd.  Mr. Converse, the cause needs a man like you—­a man of law, of standing, of influence.  I appeal to you to follow me.”

“A moment—­a moment!  I scent a ruse.  I don’t know you.  Are you a decoy for blackmailers or robbers?” he inquired, bluntly.

Farr took off his hat and stood before the Honorable Archer Converse, his strange, slow, winning smile dawning on his face.

“I beg your pardon for interrupting your stroll,” he said, gently.  “I hope you’ll look at me!  You may see, perhaps, that you’re in error.  I’ll go back and kill Dodd—­and come to your office to-morrow—­on business—­engaging you as counsel for the defense.”

“Lead the way to that house,” snapped Mr. Converse.  The attitude of Farr, his forbearance, his refraining from further solicitation, his frank demeanor, won out for him.  “I’m sometimes a little hasty in my remarks,” acknowledged Mr. Converse in the tone of one who felt chastened.  “Are you a new-comer to our city?” he continued as they hurried away.  “You must be.  I should certainly have remembered you if I had ever seen you before.”  It was an indirect compliment—­a gentleman’s careful approach to an apology.

The young man did not reply.  He had conceived for this stately man a sudden hero-worship.  What Citizen Drew had told him was added to his own instinct in matters of the understanding of a personality.  He did not dare to stop and consider to what despicable extent he was lying to his victim.  He knew if he stopped to think he would quit.  Now the whole affair seemed a crazy thing.  Did even his proposed ends justify this procedure?

“There’s a short cut through Sanson Street,” stammered Farr, the sense of his own iniquity increasing in the same ratio in which his respect and admiration grew.  The honorable gentleman traveled along at a brisk jog, evidently desiring to show his apologetic mood by exhibiting confidence in his guide.