not afraid of the Old Nick himself. I'll
give this man McQuade the biggest fight he has ever had. Bolles will
have his pains for nothing. Any scandal he can rake up about my past
will be pure blackmail; and I know how to deal with that breed."

"McQuade will try something else, then. He's sworn to stop you. I'm
glad you aren't afraid of him."

"I can't thank you enough."

"I wander about town a good deal; nobody pays much attention to me; so
lots of things fall under my notice. I'll let you know what I hear.
You'll find all the decent people on your side, surprise or no
surprise. They're tired of McQuade and Donnelly; Some of these paving
deals smell. Well, I'm keeping you from your work." Bill rose.

"Help yourself to these cigars," said Warrington gratefully, passing
the box.

Bill took three.

"Good night, Richard."

"Good night, Mr. Osborne. If by any good luck I become mayor of
Herculaneum, I'll not forget your service to-night."

"That's all that's necessary for me;" and Bill bowed himself out. He
layed his course for his familiar haunts.

Warrington turned to his work again. But the news he had just received
disturbed all connected thought, so he put the manuscript away. So the
first gun had been fired! They had sent a man to hunt up his past in
New York. He looked back, searching this corner and that, but he could
not recall anything that would serve McQuade's purpose. No man is
totally free from folly. True, there was a time when he drank, but he
had stopped that idiocy nearly two years before. This could not be
tallied against him with effect. And, thank God, there had been no
women. His gambling had been of the innocuous kind. Well, let them
hunt; much good it would do them.

He picked up the letter which Osborne had so fortunately come upon. He
was often amused at the fascination it held for him. He would never
meet the writer, and yet not a day passed that he did not strive to
conjure up an imaginative likeness. And he had nearly lost it. The
creases were beginning to show. He studied it thoroughly. He held it
toward the light. Ah, here was something that had hitherto escaped his
notice. It was a peculiar water-mark. He examined the folds. The sheet
had not been folded originally, letter-wise, but had been fiat, as if
torn from a tablet. He scrutinized the edges and found signs of
mucilage. Here was something, but it led him to no solution. The
post-office mark had been made in New York. To tr