destroy the successful party.

They began to look around them. They must purify themselves. They must
give the people some tangible evidence of their own yearnings after
purity. They looked around them for a sacrifice to lay upon the altar of
municipal reform. Their eyes fell upon Mr. Bingo. No, he was not big
enough. His blood was too scant to wash away the political stains. Then
they looked into each other's eyes and turned their gaze away to let it
fall upon Mr. Asbury. They really hated to do it. But there must be a
scapegoat. The god from the Machine commanded them to slay him.

Robinson Asbury was charged with many crimes--with all that he had
committed and some that he had not. When Mr. Bingo saw what was afoot he
threw himself heart and soul into the work of his old rival's enemies.
He was of incalculable use to them.

Judge Davis refused to have anything to do with the matter. But in spite
of his disapproval it went on. Asbury was indicted and tried. The
evidence was all against him, and no one gave more damaging testimony
than his friend, Mr. Bingo. The judge's charge was favourable to the
defendant, but the current of popular opinion could not be entirely
stemmed. The jury brought in a verdict of guilty.

"Before I am sentenced, judge, I have a statement to make to the court.
It will take less than ten minutes."

"Go on, Robinson," said the judge kindly.

Asbury started, in a monotonous tone, a recital that brought the
prosecuting attorney to his feet in a minute. The judge waved him down,
and sat transfixed by a sort of fascinated horror as the convicted man
went on. The before-mentioned attorney drew a knife and started for the
prisoner's dock. With difficulty he was restrained. A dozen faces in the
court-room were red and pale by turns.

"He ought to be killed," whispered Mr. Bingo audibly.

Robinson Asbury looked at him and smiled, and then he told a few things
of him. He gave the ins and outs of some of the misdemeanours of which
he stood accused. He showed who were the men behind the throne. And
still, pale and transfixed, Judge Davis waited for his own sentence.

Never were ten minutes so well taken up. It was a tale of rottenness and
corruption in high places told simply and with the stamp of truth upon
it.

He did not mention the judge's name. But he had torn the mask from the
face of every other man who had been concerned in his downfall. They had
shorn him of his strength, but they had