“I shall wait for you, John.”

John was not gone long.  When he returned he found Warrington by the bow-window that looked out upon the lawn.

“Now, Dick, the truth, and nothing but the truth.  Don’t be afraid of me; I am master of myself.”

“I’m not afraid of you.  There is half a truth in that letter,” began Warrington, facing about.  “Your wife did stay a night in my apartments.”

John made no sign.

“It was the first week of a new play.  I had to be at the theater every night.  There were many changes being made.  Near midnight we started out for a bite to eat.  She had been suffering with attacks of neuralgia of the heart.  As we entered the carriage, one of these attacks came on.  We drove to her apartments.  We could not get in.  Her maid was out, the janitor could not be found, and unfortunately she had left her keys at the theater.  In a moment like that I accepted the first thing that came into my head:  my own apartments.  She was not there a quarter of an hour before a trained nurse and her own physician were at her side.  I slept in a chair.  At six the following morning she left for her own apartments.  And that, John, is the truth, God’s truth.  I see now that I should have taken her to a hotel.  You know that there was a time when I was somewhat dissipated.  It was easy to take that incident and enlarge upon it.  Now, let me tell you where this base slander originated.  Compare the letter you have with the one I gave you.”

John complied.  He nodded.  These two letters had come from the same typewriter.

“Next?”

“Here is another document.”  It was the carbon sheet.

John spread the sheet against the window-pane.  The light behind brought out the letters distinctly.  He scarcely reached the final line when he spun round, his face mobile with eagerness.

“Where did this come from?”

“Indirectly, out of McQuade’s waste-basket.”

“Morrissy and McQuade; both of them!  Oh, you have done me a service, Dick.”

“But it can not be used, John.  That and the letters were written on McQuade’s typewriter.  So much for my political dreams!  With that carbon sheet I could pile up a big majority; without it I shall be defeated.  But don’t let that bother you.”

“McQuade!” John slowly extended his arms and closed his fingers so tightly that his whole body trembled.  An arm inside those fingers would have snapped like a pipe-stem.  “McQuade!  Damn him!”

“Take care!” warned the other.  “Don’t injure those letters.  When my name was suggested by Senator Henderson as a possible candidate, McQuade at once set about to see how he could injure my chances.  He was afraid of me.  An honest man, young, new in politics, and therefore unattached, was a menace to the success of his party, that is to say, his hold on the city government.  Among his henchmen was a man named Bolles.”

“Ah!” grimly.