show your face here again."

Casey had lost his advantage. At the door he gathered himself together
again.

"I'll say in my paper what I please," he asserted with a show of
bravado.

King was again in control of himself.

"You have a perfect right to do so," he rejoined. "I shall never notice
your paper."

Casey struck himself on the breast.

"And if necessary I shall defend myself," he cried.

King bounded again from his seat, livid with anger.

"Go," he commanded sharply, and Casey went.

Outside in the street Casey found a crowd waiting. The news of his visit
to the _Bulletin_ office had spread. His personal friends crowded around
asking eager questions. Casey answered with vague generalities: he
wasn't a man to be trifled with, and some people had to find out!
Blackmailing was not a healthy occupation when it aimed at a gentleman!
He left the general impression that King had apologized. Bragging in
this manner, Casey led the way to the Bank Exchange, the fashionable bar
not far distant. Here he remained drinking and boasting for some time.

In the group that surrounded him was a certain Judge Edward McGowan, a
jolly, hard-drinking, noisy individual. He had been formerly a fugitive
from justice. However, through the attractions of a gay life, a
combination of bullying and intrigue, he had made himself a place in the
new city and had at last risen to the bench. He was apparently easy to
fathom, but the stream really ran deep. Some historians claim that he
had furnished King the document which proved Casey an ex-convict. It is
certain that now he had great influence with Casey, and that he drew him
aside from the bar and talked with him some time in a low voice. Some
people insist that he furnished the navy revolver with which a few
moments later Casey shot King. This may be so, but every man went armed
in those days, especially men of Casey's stamp.

It is certain, however, that after his interview with McGowan, Casey
took his place across the street from the Bank Exchange. There, wrapped
in his cloak, he awaited King's usual promenade home.

That for some time his intention was well known is proved by the group
that little by little gathered on the opposite side of the street. It is
a matter of record that a small boy passing by was commandeered and sent
with a message for Peter Wrightman, a deputy sheriff. Pete, out of
breath, soon joined the group. There he idled, also watching,--an
official charged