It took them a quarter of an hour to reach McQuade’s office.  Unfortunately for that gentleman, he was still in his office and alone.  The new typewriter and the two clerks had gone.  He was still wondering why Osborne’s niece had resigned so unexpectedly.  Probably she was going to get married.  They always did when they had saved a penny or two.  He laughed.  He had been careless now and then, but whatever she might have picked up in the way of business or political secrets could not profit her.  Boss McQuade felt secure.  Warrington was as good as beaten.  He had had his long-delayed revenge on the man who had turned him out of doors.

It was dark outside by this time, and he turned on the drop-light over his desk.  He heard the door open and shut, but this was not unusual; so he went on with his writing.

“Well, what’s wanted?” he called, folding his letter, but not yet turning his head.

As no one answered, he sent his chair around with a push of his foot.  He saw two men, but he did not recognize them at once.  By and by his eyes grew accustomed to the dark.  Instantly he was on his feet, pressing the button connecting the wall-lights.  There was no possible exit save by that door, and these two men stood between.  To do McQuade justice, he was not a physical coward.  His huge bulk and hardened muscles gave him a ready courage.  He forced a smile to his lips.  After all, he had expected one or the other of them sooner or later.

“Well, gentlemen, I am highly honored.  What can I do for you?” There was a pretense of amiability.

“For the present,” said Warrington, “you may sit down.  We propose to do so.”  He drew out a chair from under the office table and placed it close to the door.  “You sit there, John.”  For himself, he sat on the corner of the table.

McQuade did not hesitate, but reseated himself.  His thoughts were not particularly lucid, however.

“McQuade, you’re as fine a blackleg as ever graced a prison,” said Warrington.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” was the reply.  “But how is it that I see you and Mr. Bennington together?” evilly.

“We’ll come to that presently.  I had always given you credit for being as astute as you were underhanded and treacherous.”

“Thanks.”  McQuade took a cigar from his pocket and fumbled around in his vest for a match.

“But,” Warrington added, “I am pained to reverse my opinion.  You are a fool as well as a blackleg.”

“How do you make that out?” coolly.

“Do you know where your man Bolles can be found?”

“Bolles?  Ah, I begin to see.  What do you want of him?”

“We want the esteemed honor of his company at this reunion,” dryly.

Bolles?  McQuade smiled.  He was only too glad to accommodate them.  If they wanted Bolles they should have him.  Bolles would cut them in two.  He reached for the telephone and began to call up the familiar haunts of his henchman.  He located him at length in Martin’s saloon.  There was evidently some reluctance on the part of Bolles.