I promised; and a little later they got ready a cup of coffee and a glass of milk and some rolls and butter and fruit, and I had the job of taking up the tray and setting it in the prophet’s room.  When I came in, I tried to say cheerfully, “Here’s your breakfast,” and not to show any trace of my uneasiness.

Carpenter looked at me, and said:  “You had the door locked?”

I summoned my nerve, and answered, “Yes.”

Said he:  “What is the difference to me between being your prisoner and being the prisoner of your rulers?”

Said I:  “Mr. Carpenter, the difference is that we don’t intend to hang you.”

“And how long do you propose to keep me here?”

“For about four days,” I said; “until the convention disbands.  If you will only give me your word to wait that time, you may have the freedom of this beautiful place, and when the period is over, I pledge you every help I can give to make known your message to the people.”

I waited for an answer, but none came, so I set down the tray and went out, locking the door again.  And downstairs was one of T-S’s secretaries, with copies of the morning newspapers, and I picked up a “Times,” and there was a headline, all the way across the page: 

KU KLUX KLAN KIDNAPS KARPENTER RANTING RED PROPHET DISAPPEARS IN TOOTING AUTOS

I understood, of icourse, that the secret agency which had engineered the mobbing of the prophet would have had their stories all ready for our morning newspapers—­stories which played up to the full the finding of an infernal machine, and an unprovoked attack upon ex-service men by the armed followers of the “Red Prophet.”  But now all this was gone, and instead was a story glorifying the Klansmen as the saviors of the city’s good name.  It was evident that up to the hour of going to press, neither of the two newspapers had any idea but that the white robed figures were genuine followers of the “Grand Imperial Kleagle.”  The “Times” carried at the top of its editorial page a brief comment in large type, congratulating the people of Western City upon the promptness with which they had demonstrated their devotion to the cause of law and order.

But of course the truth about our made-to-order mob could not be kept very long.  When you have hired a hundred moving-picture actors to share in the greatest mystery of the age, it will not be many hours before your secret has got to the newspaper offices.  As a matter of fact, it wasn’t two hours before the “Evening Blare” was calling the home of the movie magnate to inquire where he had taken the kidnapped prophet; there was no use trying to deny anything, said the editor, diplomatically, because too many people had seen the prophet transferred to Mr. T-S’s automobile.  Of course T-S’s secretary, who answered the phone, lied valiantly; but here again, we knew the truth would leak.  There were servants and chauffeurs and gardeners, and all of them knew that the white robed mystery was somewhere on the place.  They would be offered endless bribes—­and some of them would accept!