Phil gazed gravely at the girl's flushed, excited face; then at the pale, serious Jimmy Stiles. He could not smile at this startling statement as an out-and-out absurdity when it was so apparent that both of them were sincere in their belief that it was the truth.

"That is a pretty serious charge you are making, Miss Lawson," he said quietly. "You speak of undeniable proof that my uncle is in collusion with Nickleby. I think we may eliminate Rives as impossible in this connection. As you know, my uncle was the man who put Rives in jail, where he belonged. Just what do you mean by 'undeniable proof'?"

"It is true that Rives was jailed through your uncle's efforts, but that was twelve years ago, Mr. Kendrick. Twelve years is a long time—in office. Political brooms have an unfortunate tendency of late years to lose their splinters very rapidly once they are sure of a place inside the door and it isn't a great while before they no longer sweep clean."

"'Undeniable proof,' I believe you said," persisted Phil.

"Jimmy overheard Nickleby and Rives calmly discussing the meeting with the Honorable Milton Waring, which is to take place on the night of the twenty-seventh, and while he was unable to obtain the full details of the scheme which is being hatched with your uncle's co-operation, he learned enough to show that their plans are pretty near maturity.

"If that were all, I would be inclined to say that Jimmy must have been wool-gathering and have misunderstood what he heard; but, unfortunately it isn't all—not by any matter of means."

She paused and looked up at him bravely.

"Mr. Kendrick, several times in the past few days our conversation has wandered to political topics and once or twice you mentioned with some resentment the personal attacks which are made upon our public men by political opponents in the heat of electioneering. You said it was enough to drive all thought of taking part in the government of the country from the minds of decent citizens. You were pretty severe on the newspapers, the party organs anyway, for some of the things they have ventured to say about your uncle from time to time. I endeavored to change the subject whenever you got going along this line for fear I would say something which would hurt your feelings. I assure you it is not easy for me to do that now. I am a newspaper woman, as you know, and loyalty to my paper demands that I speak plainly. Also the situation in which we find ourselves requires me to give you facts in advance of publication—facts which have been very closely guarded by the Recorder—and I am trusting to your discretion under most difficult circumstances."

"I understand, Miss Lawson. It's scarcely necessary to assure you that your confidence will be respected."

"I told you the other night that my editor had grown suspicious of the Alderson Construction Company and that we had been gathering up evidence for a graft exposure that would shock the country. I regret very much that the Honorable Milton Waring is involved in these charges, along with Blatchford Ferguson and Nickleby. Alderson himself is merely a figurehead of Nickleby's; for, as I told you before, the Alderson concern is ninety per cent. J. C. Nickleby. It was immediately after a secret meeting between these four men that the campaign fund contribution of fifty thousand dollars was made by the Alderson Construction Company. You know what happened to it. Photographs of this money are now in the Recorder's possession.

"But before this meeting took place at all we had run down the proof of a real-estate transaction in connection with the proposed new Deaf and Dumb Institute that was traceable finally to your uncle and Nickleby and Ferguson. The three of them secretly formed a little syndicate. Nickleby advanced the wherewithal to purchase the land, Ferguson bought it up quietly and shrewdly through different agents at half its value, and the Honorable Milt's contribution was to engineer the Government's purchase of the site. In fact, we obtained the proof that it was he who proposed the whole deal to Nickleby in the first place. The site was purchased piecemeal, at sacrifice prices, from individual lot owners for a total of $50,000. Its market value was $100,000. It was sold to the Government for $200,000. The profit of $150,000 was split three ways between your uncle, Ferguson and Nickleby. These are facts, Mr. Kendrick, which have been established beyond question by my editor, Mr. McAllister, by personal investigation."

She paused and looked away from him to escape evidence of the pain which she knew her words were giving him. His face seemed haggard in the feeble flicker of the candle. Stiles had sat silent throughout, poking some dried pine-needles into a little heap with a stick. He continued carefully to poke them together and scatter them again, poke them together and scatter them again.

"You are quite sure—of the proof?"

"I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Kendrick," and he looked up at her sympathetic tones to find tears in her eyes. "There is no mistake. The Recorder has the sworn affidavits to prove its charges in connection with the real-estate deal and Mr. McAllister has shown me photos of the cheques."

Phil sat as if dazed. He could not trust himself to speak. He fought against belief in his uncle's dereliction, but there seemed no loophole of escape from such evidence and he knew that Cristy Lawson could have no object in attempting to deceive him. She was telling him the truth.

This, then, was the sort of thing Ben Wade had had in mind when he said there was nothing to be gained by shutting one's eyes to the fact that many a good man had found the political game as it was played these days too many for him. He knew what McAllister had up his sleeve perhaps. Was it part of the puzzle which the railroad president was trying to piece together? What had Wade done with the stolen money that Cristy had given him? He had had it photographed, for one thing, and turned the photos over to McAllister! He had been helping Cristy in her work! At the same time he had been trying to save Aunt Dolly from—what? The suffering she would undergo under the disgrace of the very exposure which Wade was helping to bring about?

It was a muddle which was hard to penetrate. What a beautiful line of talk Blatch Ferguson had handed him the other day! According to Blatch the Honorable Milton Waring was one of the hardest-working, most conscientious and high-principled men of the day and Blatch had had greater opportunity of knowing that than most, he had said. He could say that, knowing the facts, being one of the principals himself in the graft that was going on!—could say that and follow it up with a homily upon honesty in public life—say it with an exalted look upon his face! How completely a bit of unsuspected truth could alter an entire perspective! How easily he had been fooled when he became too inquisitive!

And his uncle? Had his uncle talked to him that foggy night only for the purpose of fooling him too? "Even one man against a pack of wolves can put up at least some kind of a fight, even though he knows that sooner or later he is doomed to go down." His uncle knew, then, that sooner or later discovery must come? He had talked about having tried to do his duty and wanted his nephew to believe it no matter what happened. But, as Cristy had pointed out, new brooms had time to become worn and inefficient in twelve years of use. His uncle had been talking in the past tense! He had tried to do what he thought was his duty—at first, when he swept into politics, inspired by the victory over the Rives crowd. Twelve years apparently was a long time to expect an inspiration to burn in the face of besetting temptations.

Phil looked up at last, aware that the girl was speaking, tense with eagerness.

"I wanted you to know the truth, Mr. Kendrick," she was saying, "if only that it will help you to understand how serious I consider the news which Jimmy brings—this new deal that is pending, I mean. The Recorder must act at once to stop it. It is better that your uncle face the charges as they now stand than to have this last and blackest mark against him. I hope you agree with me?"

"Decidedly," nodded Kendrick. "What you have told me, Miss Lawson, has—well, kind of knocked the wind out of me. I can scarcely credit it. Even yet, I am hoping against hope that it is not as bad as the evidence seems to indicate. But one thing is certain, there is no use in attempting to do anything but face the music. If my uncle is guilty, he will have to pay the price; there can be no compromise between right and wrong. On the other hand—well, false accusations never yet downed an honest man."

He was entirely unconscious that he was quoting Blatch Ferguson.
Impulsively Cristy held out her hand, her eyes glowing.

"I am glad to hear you say that," she said softly. "Somehow, I felt that you would take it—that way."

"There is one thing I cannot force myself to believe," he asserted confidently, "and that is that Uncle Milt would have any dealings with this man, Rives. That seems to discredit——"

"I think perhaps you have misunderstood part of it," interrupted Stiles. "Miss Lawson didn't mean that Rives was mixed up with your uncle. He's in with Nickleby, but I don't think Mr. Waring knows that for a minute. From what Rives and Nickleby said I think they're planning to give the deal away and get Mr. Waring into trouble—after they get away themselves to a safe place, y'understand. The deal's between Nickleby and your uncle, Mr. Kendrick. It was Rives who told Nickleby they'd leave Mr. Waring 'holding the sack.' That was the way he put it. I don't know whether Rives is going to be at this meeting or not; but't aint likely."

"And when did you say this meeting was?—the twenty-seventh?"

"About midnight—that was exactly what Nickleby said."

Phil turned quickly to the girl.

"And do you know what day this is?" he demanded.

"Wednesday—the twenty-seventh," she said calmly.

"Then, to-night—Listen, Miss Lawson. Do I understand that you believe an actual transfer of cash or negotiable securities will take place in connection with this thing—to-night?"

"Unless the date has been changed—yes. Jimmy overheard Nickleby say he had arranged it that way. It is not likely that the date has been changed, once Jimmy was safely out of the way; Nickleby and Rives would be only too keen to get it over with before some hitch occurred."

"Then we're too late!" cried Phil in excitement.

"I do not expect you to help me, Mr. Kendrick, but I do expect that your sense of fair play will prevent you from attempting to detain me."

"Detain you? I don't understand, Miss Lawson. I am ready to help you in every way I can to prevent this thing. I would be anyway, but with these two criminals planning deliberately to get my uncle—why, there's nothing we can do at this late date——"

"There's the telegraph wire. What time is it now?"

"Not quite ten o'clock," answered Phil, glancing at his watch.

"If I could get away from here immediately, I could make it—wire the story to the Recorder with instructions to communicate with the police—to-night, I mean. The paper doesn't go to press until after three-thirty. But there's no time to lose."

"Hey, 'bo!" called McCorquodale sharply. "Here comes the torchlight parade. Get a wiggle on. Looks like they was goin' to set the woods on fire!"

All three sprang to their feet in consternation. For the time being they had forgotten all about the McIvor gang.