Average Jones

by Samuel Hopkins Adams

  CHAPTER X. THE ONE BEST BET

  "Morrison has jammed the Personal Liberty bill through," said Waldemar,scrawling a head on his completed editorial, with one eye on the clock,which pointed to midnight.

  "That was to be expected, wasn't it?" asked Average Jones.

  "Oh, yes," replied the editor-owner of the Universal in his heavy bass."And now the governor announces he will veto it."

  "Thereby bringing the whole power of the gambling ring down on him likean avalanche."

  "Naturally. Morrison has declared open war against 'Pharisee Phil,' ashe calls Governor Arthur. Says he'll pass the bill over his veto. In hisheart he knows he can't do it. Still, he's a hard fighter."

  Average Jones tipped his chair back against the wall of the editorialsanctum. "What do you suppose," he inquired with an air of philosophicspeculation, "that the devil will do with Carroll Morrison's soul whenhe gets it? Deodorize it?"

  "Harsh words, young sir! Harsh words and treasonable against one ofour leading citizens; multimillionaire philanthropist, social leader,director of banks, insurance companies and railroads, and emperor of therace-track, the sport of kings."

  "The sport of kings-maintained on the spoils of clerks," retortedAverage Jones. "'To improve the breed of horses,' if you please! To makethieves of men and harlots of women, because Carroll Morrison musthave his gambling-game dividends! And now he has our 'representative'legislature working for him to that honorable end!"

  "Man to see you, Mr. Waldemar," said an office boy, appearing at thedoor.

  "Too late," grunted the editor.

  "He says it's very particular, sir, and to tell you it's something Mr.Morrison is interested in."

  "Morrison, eh? All right. Just step into the inner office, will you,Jones? Leave the door open. There might be something interesting."

  Hardly had Average Jones found a chair in the darkened office whenthe late caller appeared. He was middle-aged, pursy, and dressed withslap-dash ostentation. His face was bloated and seared with excesses.But it was not intoxication that sweated on his forehead and quiveredin his jaw. It was terror. He slumped into the waiting chair and mouthedmutely at the editor.

  "Well?" The bullet-like snap of the interrogation stung the man intobabbling speech.

  "'S like this, Misser Wald'mar. 'S like this. Y-y-yuh see, 's like this.Fer Gawsake, kill out an ad for me!"

  "What? In to-morrow's paper? Nonsense! You're too late, even if I wishedto do it."

  The visitor stood up and dug both hands into his side pockets. Heproduced, first a binocular, which, with a snarl, he flung upon thefloor. Before it had stopped bumping, there fluttered down upon the seatof his chair a handful of greenbacks. Another followed, and another,and another. The bills toppled and spread, and some of them slid to thefloor. Still the man delved.

  "There!" he panted at last. "Money talks. There's the stuff. Count it.Eighteen hundred if there's a dollar. More likely two thou. If thatain't enough, make your own price. I don't care what it is. Make it,Misser. Put a price on it."

  There was something loathsome and obscene in the creature's gibberingflux of words. The editor leaned forward.

  "Bribery, eh?" he inquired softly.

  The man flinched from the tone. "It ain't bribery, is it, to ast you torout out jus' one line from an ad an' pay you for the trouble. My ownad, too. If it runs, it's my finish. I was nutty when I wrote it. FerGawsake, Misser--"

  "Stop it! You say Morrison sent you here?"

  "No, sir. Not exac'ly. 'S like this, M' Wald'mar. I hadda get to yousome way. It's important to Misser Morrison, too. But he don't know Icome. He don't know nothing about it. Oh, Gaw! If he finds out--"

  "Put that money back in your pockets."

  With an ashen face of despair, the man obeyed. As he finished, he beganto sag at the joints. Slowly he slackened down until he was on hisknees, an abject spectacle of disgust.

  "Stand up," ordered Waldemar.

  "Liss'n; liss'n t' me," moaned the man. "I'll make it three thousand.Fi' thou--"

  "Stand up!"

  The editor's hearty grip on his coat collar heaved the creature tohis feet. For a moment he struggled, panting, then spun, helplessand headlong from the room, striking heavily against the passage walloutside. There was a half-choked groan; then his footsteps slumped awayinto silence.

  "Ugh!" grunted Waldemar. "Come back, Jones."

  Average Jones reentered. "Have you no curiosity in your composition?" heasked.

  "Not much--having been reared in the newspaper business."

  Stooping, Average Jones picked up the glasses which the man had thrownon the floor and examined them carefully. "Rather a fine instrument," heobserved. "Marked N. K. I think I'll follow up the owner."

  "You'll never find him now. He has too much start."

  "Not at all. When a man is in his state of abject funk, it's ten to onehe lands at the nearest bar. Wait for me."

  In fifteen minutes Average Jones was back. There was a curiousexpression on his face as he nodded an assent to his friend's inquiringeyebrows.

  "Where?" asked Waldemar.

  "On the floor of a Park Row saloon."

  "Dead drunk, eh?"

  "No--er; not--er--drunk. Dead."

  Waldemar stiffened in his chair. "Dead!" he repeated.

  "Poison, probably. The ad was his finish, as he said. The next thing isto find it."

  "The first edition will be down any minute now. But it'll take somefinding. Why, counting 'classified,' we're carrying fifteen hundred adsin every issue. With no clue to the character of this one--"'

  "Plenty of clue," said Average Jones suavely. "You'll find it on thesporting page, I think."

  "Judging from the man's appearance? Rather far-fetched, isn't it?"

  "Judging from a pair of very fine binoculars, a mention of CarrollMorrison's name, and, principally, some two thousand dollars in a hugeheap."

  "I don't quite see where that leads."

  "No? The bills must have been mostly ones and twos. Those are abook-maker's takings. The binocular is a racing-man's glass. Our latefriend used the language of the track. I think we'll find him on pagenine."

  "Try," said Waldemar, handing him a paper still spicy with the keen odorof printer's ink.

  Swiftly the Ad-Visor's practiced eye ran over the column. It checkedat the "offer" of a notorious firm of tipsters who advertised to sell"inside information" on the races to their patrons. As a special lure,they were, on this day, letting the public in on a few particularly"good things" free.

  "There you are," said Average Jones, pointing out the advertisement.

  To his astonishment, Waldemar noted that his friend's indicatoryfinger shook a little. Normally, Average Jones was the coolest and mostcontrolled of men.

  "Noble and Gale's form ad," he observed. "I see nothing unusual inthat."

  "Yet--er--I fancy it's quite important--er--in its way."

  The editor stared. "When you talk like a bored Britisher, Average," heremarked, "there's sure to be something in the air. What is it?"

  "Look at the last line."

  Again Waldemar turned to the paper. "'One Best Bet,"' he read. "'Thatthe Pharisee will never finish.' Well?"

  "That the Pharisee will never finish," repeated Average Jones. "If thePharisee is a horse, the line becomes absurd at once. How could anyone know that a horse would fail to finish in a race? But ifit--er--referred--er--to a man, an official known--er--as PhariseePhil--"

  "Wait!" Waldemar had jumped to his feet. A thrill, increasing andpulsating through the floor beneath them, shook the building. The editorjumped for the telephone.

  "Composing room; quick! Give me the foreman. Hello! That you, Corrigan?Stop the presses... I don't care if we miss every train in thecountry... Don't answer back. This is Mr. Waldemar. Stop the presses!"

  The thrill waned and ceased. At the telephone, Waldemar continued: "Lookup the Noble and Gale tip ad, page nine, column six. Kill the lastline, the One Best Bet... Don't ask me how. Chisel
it out. Burn it out.Dynamite it out. But kill it. After that's done, print.... Hello; Dan?Send the sporting editor in here in a hurry."

  "Good work," said Average Jones. "They'll never know how near their ideaof removing Governor Arthur came to being boasted of in plain print."

  Waldemar took his huge head in his hands and rocked it gently. "It'son," he said. "And right-side-before. Yet, it tries to tell me that aman, plotting to murder the governor, advertises the fact in my paper!I'll get a new head."

  "Keep that one for a while," advised Average Jones. "It may be betterthan you think. Anyway, here's the ad. And down yonder is the dead manwhom it killed when he failed to kill it. So much is real."

  "And here's Bendig," said the other, as the sporting editor entered."Any such horse as 'The Pharisee,' Bendig?"

  "No, sir. I suppose you mean that Noble and Gale ad. I saw it in proof.Some of Nick Karboe's funny work, I expect."

  "Nick Karboe; N. K.," murmured Average Jones, laying a hand on theabandoned field glass. "Who is this man Karboe, Mr. Bendig?"

  "Junior partner of Noble and Gale. He puts out their advertising."

  "Any connection whatever with Mr. Carroll Morrison?"

  "Why, yes. Before he went to pieces he used to be Mr. Morrison'sconfidential man, and lately he's been doing some lobbying for theassociation. I understood he'd quit it again."

  "Quit what?" asked Waldemar. "Drink?"

  "Worse. The white stuff. Coke."

  Average Jones whistled softly. "That explains it all," he said. "Acocaine fiend on a debauch becomes a mental and moral imbecile. It wouldbe perfectly in character that he should boast of a projected crime."

  "Very well," said Waldemar, after the sporting editor had left, "but youdon't really connect Morrison with this?"

  "Don't I! At least I propose to try. See here, Waldemar; two months agoat a private dinner, Morrison made a speech in which he said that menwho interfered with the rights of property, like Governor Arthur,were no better than anarchists and ought to be handled accordingly.Therefore, I don't think that a plan--a safe one, of course--to put'Pharisee Phil' away would greatly disturb our friend's distortedconscience. You see, the governor has laid impious hands on Morrison'sholy of holies, the dividend. By the way, where is Governor Arthur?"

  "On the train for this city. He's to review the parade at the HarrisoniaCentennial, and unveil the statute to-morrow night; that is, to-night,to be accurate."

  "A good opportunity," murmured Average Jones.

  "What! In the sight of a hundred thousand people?"

  "That might be the very core of the opportunity. And at night."

  "If you feel certain, it's a case for the police, isn't it?"

  "Hardly! The gambling gang control the police, wholly. They woulddestroy the trail at once."

  "Then why not warn the governor?"

  "I don't know him."

  "Suppose I make an appointment to take you to see him in the morning?"

  This was agreed upon. At ten o'clock Governor Arthur received them athis hotel, greeting Average Jones with flattering warmth.

  "You're the amateur detective who scared the Honorable William Linderout of the mayoralty nomination," said he, shaking hands. "What are yougoing to do to me?"

  "Give you some racing news to read, Governor."

  The governor took the advertisement proof and read it carefully.Characteristically, he then re-read it throughout.

  "You think this is meant for me?" he asked, handing it back.

  "I do. You're not exactly what one would call popular with the racingcrowd, you know, Governor."

  "Mr. Morrison, in the politest manner in the world, has allowed me tosurmise as much," said the other, smiling broadly. "A very polishedperson, Mr. Morrison. He can make threats of extinction--political, ofcourse--more delicately than any other subtle blackmailer I have evermet. And I have met several in my time."

  "If this were merely political extinction, which I fancy you can takecare of yourself, I shouldn't be taking up your time, sir."

  "My dear Jones--" a friendly hand fell on the visitor's shoulder--"Igravely fear that you lack the judicial mind. It's a great thing tolack--at times." Governor Arthur's eyes twinkled again, and his visitorwondered whence had come his reputation as a dry, unhumorous man. "As toassassination," he pursued, "I'm a sort of Christian Scientist. The bestprotection is a profound conviction that you're safe. That reacts on themind of any would-be assassin. To my mind, my best chance of safety liesin never thinking of danger."

  "Then," said Waldemar, "any attempt to persuade you against appearing atHarrisonia to-night would be time wasted."

  "Absolutely, my dear Waldemar. But don't think that I'm not appreciativeof your thoughtfulness and that of Mr. Jones."

  "What is the program of the day, Governor?" asked Average Jones.

  "Rather a theatrical one. I'm to ride along Harrison Avenue to thereviewing stand, in the old coach-of-state of the Harrison family, alofty old ark, high as a circus wagon, which has been patched up for theoccasion. Just before I reach the reviewing stand, a silk cord is to behanded to me and I am to pull the veil from the great civic statue withthat, as, I move on."

  "Then I think that Mr. Waldemar and I will look the ground over. Couldwe get you by telephone, sir, if necessary?"

  "Any time up to seven o'clock."

  "What do you think of the chance of their passing the bill over yourveto?" asked Waldemar.

  "They are spending money as it has never been spent before," repliedGovernor Arthur. "I'll admit to you, Waldemar, that if I could find anylegitimate method of calling Morrison off, I would not scruple to useit. It is, of course, Morrison's money that we are fighting."

  "Possibly--er--that, too--er--might be done," drawled Average Jones.

  The governor looked at him sharply. "After the Linder affair, Mr.Jones," said he, "I would follow you far. Call my secretary at any time,if you want me."

  "Now to look over the line of parade," said Average Jones as he andWaldemar emerged from the hotel.

  Half an hour's ride brought them to the lively suburban city ofHarrisonia, gay with flags and bunting. From the railroad station, wherethe guest of honor was to be met by the old coach, to the spot where thecivic statue awaited its unveiling at his hands, was about half a milealong Harrison Avenue, the principal street. The walk along this streetdeveloped nothing of interest to Average Jones until they reached thestatue. Here he paused to look curiously at a number of square platformsbuilt out from windows in the business blocks.

  "For flash-light outfits," explained Waldemar. "One of them is ourpaper's."

  "Flash-lights, eh?" said Average Jones. "And there'll be fireworks andthe air will be full of light and noise, under cover of which almostanything might be done. I don't like it! Hello! What's here?"

  He turned to the glass front of a prosperous-looking cigar store on thesouth side of the avenue and pointed to a shattered hole in the window.Behind it a bullet swung on a thread from the ceiling, and this agentof disaster the proprietor had ingeniously turned to account inadvertising, by the following placard:

  AIM LOWER If you expect to shoot holes in our prices. WE CHALLENGE OUR COMPETITION

  "Not bad," approved Average Jones. "I feel a great yearning to smoke--"

  They entered the store and were served by the proprietor. As he wasmaking change, Average Jones asked:

  "When was the bombardment?"

  "Night before last, some time," replied the man.

  "Done by a deflected bullet, wasn't it?"

  "Haven't any idea how it was done or why. I got here in the morning andthere she was. What makes you think it was a deflected bullet?"

  "Because it was whirling end-over. Normally, a bullet bores a prettyclean hole in plate glass."

  "That's so, too," agreed the man with some interest.

  Average Jones handed a cigar to Waldemar and lighted one himself.Puffing at it as he walked to the door, he gazed casuall
y around andfinally centered his attention on a telegraph pole standing on the edgeof the sidewalk. He even walked out and around the pole. Returning, heremarked to the tobacconist:

  "Very good cigars, these. Ever advertise 'em?"

  "Sure." The man displayed a tin square vaunting the virtues of his"Camarados."

  "Outside the shop, I meant. Why wouldn't one of those signs look good onthat telegraph pole?"

  "It would look good to me," said the vendor, "but it wouldn't look goodto the telegraph people. They'd have it down."

  "Oh, I don't know. Give me one, lend me a ladder, and I'll make theexperiment."

  The tobacconist stared. "All right," he said. "Go as far as you like."And he got the required articles for his customer.

  With silent curiosity Waldemar watched Average Jones place the ladderagainst the outside of the pole, mount, nail up the sign, drop aplumb-line, improvised from a key and a length of string, to the ground,set a careful knot in the string and return to earth.

  "What did you find?" asked the editor.

  "Four holes that you could cover with a silver dollar. Some gunnery,that!"

  "Then how did the other shot happen to go so far wrong."

  "Do you see that steel work over there?"

  Average Jones pointed across to the north side of the street, justopposite, where a number of buildings had been torn down to permitof the erection of a new one. The frame had risen three stories, andthrough the open spaces in the gaunt skeleton the rear of the housesfacing on the street next northward could be seen. Waldemar indicatedthat he did see the edifice pointed out by Average Jones.

  "The bullet came from back of that--perhaps from the next street. Theysighted by the telegraph pole. Suppose, now, a man riding in a highcoach passes along this avenue between the pole and the gun operator,over yonder to the northward. Every one of the bullets which hit thepole would have gone right through his body. Probably a fixed gun. Asfor the wide shot, we'll see."

  As he spoke, the Ad-Visor was leading the way across the street. Withupturned face he carefully studied the steel joists from end to end.Presently he pointed. Following the line of his finger, Waldemar saw araw scar on the under side of one of the joists.

  "There it is," said Average Jones. "The sights were a trifle off at thefirst shot, and the bullet ticked the steel and deflected."

  "So far, so good," approved Waldemar.

  "I can approximate the height of the steel beam from the ground, closeenough for a trial formula," continued Average Jones. "Now, Waldemar, Icall your attention to that restaurant on the opposite corner."

  Waldemar conned the designated building with attention. "Well," he saidfinally, "what of it? I don't see anything wrong with it."

  "Precisely my point," returned the Ad-Visor with a grin. "Neither do I.Therefore, suppose you go there and order luncheon for two, while Iwalk down to the next block and back again. I'll be with you in fourminutes."

  He was somewhat better than his word. Dropping into the chair oppositehis friend, he figured swiftly and briefly on the back of an envelope,which he returned to his pocket.

  "I suppose you've done a vast amount of investigating since you leftme," remarked the editor sardonically. "Meanwhile, the plot to murderthe governor goes merrily on."

  "I've done a fair amount of pacing over distance," retorted AverageJones imperturbably. "As for the governor, they can't kill him tillhe comes, can they? Besides, there's plenty of time for them to changetheir minds. As a result of my little constitutional just now, anda simple exercise in mathematics, you and I will call at a house onSpencer Street, the next street north, after luncheon."

  "What house?"

  "Ah! that I don't know, as yet. We'll see when we get there."

  Comfortably fed, the two strolled up to Spencer Street and turned intoit, Average Jones eying the upper windows of the houses. He stoppedin front of an old-fashioned frame structure, which was built on adifferent plan of floor level from its smaller neighbors of brick. Upthe low steps went Jones, followed by the editor. An aged lady, of thespecies commonly, conjectured as "maiden," opened the door.

  "Madam," said Average Jones, "could we rent your third floor rear forthis evening?"

  "No, sir," said she. "It's rented."

  "Perhaps I could buy the renters off," suggested Jones. "Could I seethem?"

  "Both out," she answered shortly. "And I don't believe you could getthe room from them, for they're all fixed up to take photographs of theparade."

  "Indee-ee-eed," drawled Average Jones, in accents so prolonged, even forhim, that Waldemar's interest flamed within him. "I--er--ra--ra-aatherhoped--er--when do you expect them back?"

  "About four o'clock."

  "Thank you. Please tell them that--er--Mr. Nick Karboe called."

  "For heaven's sake, Average," rumbled Waldemar, as they regained thepavement, "why did you use the dead man's name? It gave me a shiver."

  "It'll give them a worse one," replied the Ad-Visor grimly. "I want toprepare their nerves for a subsequent shock. If you'll meet me here thisevening at seven, I think I can promise you a queer spectacle."

  "And meantime?"

  "On that point I want your advice. Shall we make a sure catch of twohired assassins who don't amount to much, or take a chance at the biggergame?"

  "Meaning Morrison?"

  "Meaning Morrison. Incidentally, if we get him we'll be able to kill thePersonal Liberty bill so dead it will never raise its head again."

  "Then I'm for that course," decided the editor, after a littleconsideration, "though I can't yet make myself believe that CarrollMorrison is party to a deliberate murder plot."

  "How the normal mind does shrink from connecting crime with good clothesand a social position!" remarked the Ad-Visor. "Just give me a moment'stime."

  The moment he spent jotting down words on a bit of paper, which, aftersome emendation, he put away.

  "That'll do for a heading," he remarked. "Now, Waldemar, I want you toget the governor on the 'phone and tell him, if he'll follow directions,we'll put the personal liberty bill where the wicked cease fromtroubling. Morrison is to be in the reviewing stand, isn't he?"

  "Yes; there's a special place reserved for him, next the press seats."

  "Good! By the way, you'd better send for two press seats for you andmyself. Now, what I want: the governor to do is this: get a copy of theHarrisonia Evening Bell, fold it to an advertisement headed 'Offer toPhotographers,' and as he passes Carroll Morrison on the stand, holdit up and say to him just this: 'Better luck next time.' For anythingfurther, I'll see you in the reviewing stand. Do you think he'll do it?"

  "It sounds as foolish as a college initiation stunt. Still, you heardwhat Governor Arthur said about his confidence in you. But what is thisadvertisement?"

  "As yet, it isn't. But it will be, as soon as I can get to the office ofthe Bell. You'll meet me on this corner at seven o'clock, then?"

  "Yes. Meantime, to be safe, I'll look after the reviewing stand ticketsmyself."

  At the hour named, the editor arrived. Average Jones was already there,accompanied by a messenger boy. The boy wore the cheerful grin of onewho has met with an unexpected favor of fortune.

  "They've returned, both of 'em," said Average Jones as Waldemarapproached. "What about the governor?"

  "It took a mighty lot of persuasion, but he'll do it," replied theeditor.

  "Skip, son," said the Ad-Visor, handing the messenger boy a foldednewspaper. "The two gentlemen on the third floor rear. And be sure yousay that it's a personal, marked copy."

  The boy crossed the street and entered the house. In two minutes heemerged, nodded to Average Jones and walked away. Five minutes passed.Then the front door opened cautiously and a tall, evil-looking man slunkinto the vestibule. A second man followed him. They glanced eagerly fromleft to right. Average Jones stepped out to the curb-stone.

  "Here's the message from Karboe," he called.

  "My God!" gasped the tall man.

  For an inst
ant he made as if to turn back. Then, clearing the steps atone jump, he stumbled, sprawled, was up again instantly and speedingup the street, away from Average Jones, turned the corner neck and neckwith his companion who, running powerfully, had overtaken him.

  The door of the house stood ajar. Before Waldemar had recovered fromhis surprise, Average Jones was inside the house. Hesitation beset theeditor. Should he follow or wait? He paused, one foot on the step. Aloud crash within resolved his doubts. Up he started, when the voice ofAverage Jones in colloquy with the woman who had received them before,checked him. The colloquy seemed excited but peaceful. Presently AverageJones came down the steps.

  "They left the ad," said he. "Have you seen it?"

  "No; I hadn't time to get a paper," replied Waldemar, taking the copyextended to him and reading in large display:

  OFFER TO PHOTOGRAPHERS

  $1,000 Reward for Special, Flash-light Photo of Governor Arthur in To-night's Pageant. Must be Taken According to Plans and Specifications Designated by the Late Nick Karboe. Apply to A. JONES, Ad-Visor. Astor Court Temple, New York City.

  "No wonder they ran," said Waldemar with a grin, as he digested thisdocument.

  "And so must we if we're to get through the crowd and reach thereviewing stand," warned Average Jones, glancing at his watch.

  Their seats, which they attained with some difficulty, were within a fewfeet of the governor's box. Within reach of them sat Carroll Morrison,his long, pale, black-bearded face set in that immobility to whichhe had schooled it. But the cold eyes roved restlessly and the littlemuscles at the corners of the lips twitched.

  "Tell me that he isn't in on the game!" whispered Average Jones, andWaldemar nodded.

  The sound of music from down the street turned all faces in thatdirection. A roar of cheering swept toward them and was taken up in thestands. The governor, in his high coach, came in sight. And, at thatmoment, terror struck into the soul of Waldemar.

  "Suppose they came back!" he whispered to Average Jones. "We've left thehouse unguarded."

  "I've fixed that," replied the Ad-Visor in the same tone. "WatchMorrison!"

  Governor Arthur approached the civic statue. An official, running out tothe coach, handed him a silken cord, which he secured with a turnaround the wrist. The coach rolled on. The cord tautened; the swathingssundered and fell from the gleaming splendor of marble, and a blindingflash, followed by another, and a third, blotted out the scene inunbearable radiance.

  Involuntarily Morrison, like thousands of others, had screened hissight with his hands after the second flash. Now, as the kindlier lightreturned, he half rose, rubbing his eyes furiously. A half-groan escapedhim. He sank back, staring in amaze. For Governor Arthur was riding on,calm and smiling amid the shouts.

  Morrison shrank. Could it be that the governor's eyes were fixed on his?He strove to shake off the delusion. He felt, rather than saw, theguest of honor descend from the coach; felt rather than saw him makingstraight toward himself; and he winced and quivered at the sound of hisown name.

  "Mr. Morrison," the governor was saying, at his elbow, "Mr. Morrison,here is a paper that may interest you. Better luck next time."

  Morrison strove to reply. His voice clucked in his throat, and the handwith which he took the folded newspaper was as the hand of a paralytic.

  "He's broken," whispered Average Jones.

  He went straight to Governor Arthur, speaking in his ear. The governornodded. Average Jones returned to his seat to watch Carroll Morrisonwho, sat, with hell-fires of fear scorching him, until the last band hadblared its way into silence.

  Again the governor was speaking to him.

  "'Mr. Morrison, I want you to visit a house near here. Mr. Jones and Mr.Waldemar will come along; you know them, perhaps. Please don't protest.I positively will not take a refusal. We have a motor-car waiting."

  Furious, but not daring to refuse, Morrison found himself whirledswiftly away, and after a few turns to shake off the crowd, into SpencerStreet. With his captors, he mounted to the third floor of an old framehouse. The rear room door had been broken in. Inside stood a strangeinstrument, resembling a large camera, which had once stood upright ona steel tripod riveted to the floor. The legs of the tripod were twistedand bent. A half-demolished chair near by suggested the agency ofdestruction.

  "Just to render it harmless," explained Average Jones. "It formerlypointed through that window, so that a bullet from the barrel wouldstrike that pole way yonder in Harrison Street, after first passingthrough any intervening body. Yours, for instance, Governor."

  "Do I understand that this is a gun, Mr. Jones," asked that official.

  "Of a sort," replied the Ad-Visor, opening up the camera-box andshowing a large barrel superimposed on a smaller one. "This is asighting-glass," he explained, tapping the larger barrel. "And this,"tapping the smaller, "carries a small but efficient bullet. This curioussheath"--he pointed to a cylindrical jacket around part of the riflebarrel--"is a Coulomb silencer, which reduces a small-arm report almostto a whisper. Here is an electric button which was connected with yonderbattery before I operated on it with the chair, and distributed itsspark, part to the gun, part to the flash-light powder on this littleshelf. Do you see the plan now? The instant that the governor, ridingthrough the street yonder, is sighted through this glass, the operatorpresses the button, and flash-light and bullet go off instantaneously."

  "But why the flash-light?" asked the governor.

  "Merely a blind to fool the landlady and avert any possible suspicion.They had told her that they had a new invention to take flash-lightsat a distance. Amidst the other flashes, this one wouldn't be noticedparticularly. They had covered their trail well."

  "Well, indeed," said the governor. "May I congratulate you, Mr.Morrison, on this interesting achievement in ballistics?"

  "As there is no way of properly resenting an insult from a man in yourposition," said Morrison venomously, "I will reserve my answer to thatoutrageous suggestion."

  "Meantime," put in Average Jones, "let me direct your attention to asimple mathematical formula." He drew from his pocket an envelope onwhich were drawn some angles, subjoined by a formula. Morrison waved itaside.

  "Not interested in mathematics?" asked Average Jones solicitously. "Verywell, I'll elucidate informally. Given a bullet hole in a telegraphpole at a certain distance, a bullet scar on an iron girder at acertain lesser distance, and the length of a block from here to HarrisonAvenue--which I paced off while you were skillfully ordering luncheon,Waldemar--and an easy triangulation brings us direct to this room andto two fugitive gentlemen with whom I mention the hypothesis with alldeference, Mr. Morrison, you are probably acquainted."

  "And who may they have been?" retorted Morrison contemptuously.

  "I don't know," said Average Jones.

  "Then, sir," retorted the racing king, "your hypothesis is as impudentas your company is intolerable. Have you anything further to say to me?"

  "Yes. It would greatly please Mr. Waldemar to publish in to-morrow'spaper an authorized statement from you to the effect that the PersonalLiberty bill will be withdrawn permanently."

  "Mr. Waldemar may go to the devil. I have endured all the hectoringI propose to. Men in my position are targets for muckrakers andblackmailers--"

  "Wait a moment," Waldemar's heavy voice broke in. "You speak of menin your position. Do you understand just what position you are in atpresent?"

  Morrison rose. "Governor Arthur," he said with with stony dignity, "Ibid you good evening."

  Waldemar set his bulky back against the door. The lips drew back fromMorrison's strong teeth with the snarl of an animal in the fury andterror of approaching peril.

  "Do you know Nick Karboe?"

  Morrison whirled about to face Average Jones. But he did not answer thequestion. He only stared.

  "Carroll Morrison," continued Average Jones in his quiet drawl, "thehalf-hour before he--er--committed suicide--er--Nick Karboe spent in theoffi
ce of the--er--Universal with Mr. Waldemar and--er--myself. Catchhim, Waldemar!"

  For Morrison had wilted. They propped him against the wall and he, theman who had insolently defied the laws of a great commonwealth, whohad bribed legislatures and bossed judges and browbeaten the public,slobbered, denied and begged. For two disgustful minutes they extractedfrom him his solemn promise that henceforth he would keep his hands offthe laws. Then they turned him out.

  "Suppose you enlighten me with the story, gentlemen," suggested thegovernor.

  Average Jones told it, simply and modestly. At the conclusion, GovernorArthur looked from the wrecked camera-gun to the mathematical formulawhich had fallen to the floor.

  "Mr. Jones," he said, "you've done me the service of saving my life;you've done the public the service of killing a vicious bill. I wish Icould thank you more publicly than this."

  "Thank you, Governor," said Average' Jones modestly. "But I owed thepublic something, you know, on account of, my uncle, the late Mayor VanReypen."

  Governor Arthur nodded. "The debt is paid," he said. "That knowledgemust be your reward; that and the consciousness of having worked out aremarkable and original problem."

  "Original?" said Average Jones, eying the diagram on the envelope'sback, with his quaint smile. "Why, Governor, you're giving me too muchcredit. It was worked out by one of the greatest detectives of all time,some two thousand years ago. His name was Euclid."