“Already my suspicions had been aroused.  I sketched the arrangement of the veins standing out on that hand.  I noted the same thing just now on the hand that manipulated the fake apparatus in the laboratory.  Despite the difference in make-up Scott and Prescott are the same.

“The invisible rays of the ultra-violet light may have blinded Mr. Haswell, even to the recognition of his own daughter, but you can rest assured, Prescott, that the very cleverness of your scheme will penetrate the eyes of the blindfolded goddess of justice.  Burnham, if you will have the kindness to summon the police, I will take all the responsibility for the arrest of these people.”

XII

THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER

“What a relief it will be when this election is over and the newspapers print news again,” I growled as I turned the first page of the Star with a mere glance at the headlines.

“Yes,” observed Kennedy, who was puzzling over a note which he had received in the morning mail.  “This is the bitterest campaign in years.  Now, do you suppose that they are after me in a professional way or are they trying to round me up as an independent voter?”

The letter which had called forth this remark was headed, “The Travis Campaign Committee of the Reform League,” and, as Kennedy evidently intended me to pass an opinion on it, I picked it up.  It was only a few lines, requesting him to call during the morning, if convenient, on Wesley Travis, the candidate for governor and the treasurer of his campaign committee, Dean Bennett.  It had evidently been written in great haste in longhand the night before.

“Professional,” I hazarded.  “There must be some scandal in the campaign for which they require your services.”

“I suppose so,” agreed Craig.  “Well, if it is business instead of politics it has at least this merit—­it is current business.  I suppose you have no objection to going with me?”

Thus it came about that not very much later in the morning we found ourselves at the campaign headquarters, in the presence of two nervous and high-keyed gentlemen in frock coats and silk hats.  It would have taken no great astuteness, even without seeing the surroundings, to deduce instantly that they were engaged in the annual struggle of seeking the votes of their fellow-citizens for something or other, and were nearly worn out by the arduous nature of that process.

Their headquarters were in a tower of a skyscraper, whence poured forth a torrent of appeal to the moral sense of the electorate, both in printed and oral form.  Yet there was a different tone to the place from that which I had ordinarily associated with political headquarters in previous campaigns.  There was an absence of the old-fashioned politicians and of the air of intrigue laden with tobacco.  Rather, there was an air of earnestness and efficiency which was decidedly prepossessing.  Maps of the state