Barode Baruche was excited. He had sure hope of defeating Carnac with the help of Luzanne Larue. The woman had remained hidden since her coming, and the game was now in his hands. On the night before the poll he could declare the thing, not easy to be forgiven by the French-Canadian public, which has a strong sense of domestic duty. Carnac Grier was a Protestant, and that was bad, and if there was added an offence against domestic morality, he would be beaten at the polls as sure as the river ran. He had seen Luzanne several times, and though he did not believe in her, he knew the marriage certificate was real. He had no credence in Carnac’s lack of honour, yet it was strange he had not fought his wife, if his case was a good one.

Day by day he had felt Carnac’s power growing, and he feared his triumph unless some sensation stopped it. Well, he had at hand the sufficient sensation. He would produce both the certificate of marriage and the French girl who was the legal wife of Carnac Grier. That Luzanne was French helped greatly, for it would be used by Carnac’s foes as an insult to French Canada, and his pulses throbbed as he thought of the possible turmoil in the constituency.

Fortunately the girl was handsome, had ability, and spoke English with a French accent, and she was powerful for his purposes. He was out to prevent his own son from driving himself into private life, and he would lose no trick in the game, if he could help it.

Sentimental feeling—yes, he had it, but it did not prevent him from saving his own skin. Carnac had come out against him, and he must hit as hard as he could. It was not as though Carnac had been guilty of a real crime and was within the peril of the law. His offence was a personal one, but it would need impossible defence at the moment of election. In any case, if Carnac was legally married, he should assume the responsibilities of married life; and if he had honest reason for not recognizing the marriage, he should stop the woman from pursuing him. If the case kept Carnac out of public life and himself in, then justice would be done; for it was monstrous that a veteran should be driven into obscurity by a boy. In making his announcement he would be fighting his son as though he was a stranger and not of his own blood and bones. He had no personal connection with Carnac in the people’s minds.

On the afternoon of the day that Junia had had her hour with Luzanne, he started for the house where Luzanne was lodging. He could not travel the streets without being recognized, but it did not matter, for the house where the girl lodged was that of his sub agent, and he was safe in going to it. He did not know, however, that Denzil had been told by Junia to watch the place and learn what he meant to do.

Denzil had a popular respect of Barode Barouche as a Minister of the Crown; but he had a far greater love of Carnac. He remained vigilant until after Junia and Luzanne had started in a cab for the railway-station. They left near three-quarters of an hour before the train was to start for New York; and for the first quarter of an hour after they left, Denzil was in apprehension.

Then he saw Barouche enter the street and go to the house of his sub-agent. The house stood by itself, with windows open, and Denzil did not scruple to walk near it, and, if possible, listen. Marmette, the subagent, would know of the incident between Junia and Luzanne; and he feared. Barouche might start for the station, overtake Luzanne and prevent her leaving. He drew close and kept his ears open.

He was fortunate, he heard voices; Marmette was explaining to Barouche that Junia and Luzanne had gone to the station, as “Ma’m’selle” was bound for New York. Marmette had sent word to M. Barouche by messenger, but the messenger had missed him. Then he heard Barouche in anger say:

“You fool—why did you let her leave! It’s my bread and butter—and yours too—that’s at stake. I wanted to use her against Grier. She was my final weapon of attack. How long ago did she leave?” Marmette told him.

Denzil saw Barode Barouche leave the house with grim concern and talking hard to Paul Marmette. He knew the way they would go, so he fell behind a tree, and saw them start for the place where they could order a cab. Then he followed them. Looking at his watch he saw that, if they got a cab, they would get to the station before the train started, and he wondered how he could retard Barouche. A delay of three minutes would be enough, for it was a long way, and the distance could only be covered with good luck in the time. Yet Denzil had hope, for his faith in Junia was great, and he felt sure she would do what she planned. He had to trot along fast, because Barouche and Marmette were going hard, and he could not see his way to be of use yet. He would give his right hand to help Carnac win against the danger Junia had suggested. It could not be aught to Carnac’s discredit, or Junia would not have tried to get the danger out of Montreal; he had seen Luzanne, and she might be deadly, if she had a good weapon!

Presently, he saw Barouche and his agent stop at the door of a livery-stable, and were told that no cabs were available. There were none in the street, and time was pressing. Not far away, however, was a street with a tram-line, and this tram would take Barouche near the station from which Luzanne would start. So Barouche made hard for this street and had reached it when a phaeton came along, and in it was one whom Barouche knew. Barouche spoke to the occupant, and presently both men were admitted to the phaeton just as a tram-car came near.

As the phaeton would make the distance to the station in less time than the car, this seemed the sensible thing to do, and Denzil’s spirits fell. There remained enough time for Barouche to reach the station before the New York train started! He got aboard the tram himself, and watched the phaeton moving quickly on ahead. He saw the driver of the phaeton strike his horse with a whip, and the horse, suddenly breaking into a gallop, slipped and fell to the ground on the tramtrack. A moment later the tram came to a stop behind the fallen horse, and Denzil saw the disturbed face of Barode Barouche looking for another trap—in any case, it would take three or four minutes to get the horse up and clear the track for the tram. There was no carriage in sight—only a loaded butcher’s cart, a road-cleaner, and a heavily loaded van. These could be of no use to Barouche.

In his corner, Denzil saw the play with anxious eyes.

It was presently found that the horse had injured a leg in falling and could not be got to its feet, but had presently to be dragged from the tram-lines. It had all taken near five minutes of the time before the train went, and, with despair, Barouche mounted the steps of the tram. He saw Denzil, and shrewdly suspected he was working in the interests of Carnac. He came forward to Denzil.

“You’re a long way from home, little man,” he said in a voice with an acid note.

“About the same as you from home, m’sieu’,” said Denzil.

“I’ve got business everywhere in this town,” remarked Barouche with sarcasm—“and you haven’t, have you? You’re travelling privately, eh?”

“I travel as m’sieu’ travels, and on the same business,” answered Denzil with a challenging smile.

The look Barouche gave him then Denzil never forgot. “I didn’t know you were in politics, mon vieux! What are you standing for? When are you going to the polls—who are you fighting, eh?”

“I’m fighting you, m’sieu’, though I ain’t in politics, and I’m going to the polls now,” Denzil answered. Denzil had gained in confidence as he saw the arrogance of Barode Barouche. He spoke with more vigour than usual, and he felt his gorge rising, for here was a man trying to injure his political foe through a woman; and Denzil resented it. He did not know the secret of Luzanne Larue, but he did realize there was conflict between Junia Shale and Barouche, and between Barouche and Carnac Grier, and that enlisted his cooperation. By nature he was respectful; but the politician now was playing a dirty game, and he himself might fight without gloves, if needed. That was why his eyes showed defiance at Barouche now. He had said the thing which roused sharp anger in Barouche. It told Barouche that Denzil knew where he was going and why. Anger shook him as he saw Denzil take out his watch.

“The poll closes in three minutes, m’sieu’,” Denzil added with a dry smile, for it was clear Barouche could not reach the station in time, if the train left promptly. The swiftest horses could not get him there, and these were not the days of motor-cars. Yet it was plain Barouche meant to stick to it, and he promptly said:

“You haven’t the right time, beetle. The poll closes only when the train leaves, and your watch doesn’t show that, so don’t put on airs yet.”

“I’ll put on airs if I’ve won, m’sieu’,” Denzil answered quietly, for he saw people in the tram were trying to hear.

Barouche had been recognized, and a murmur of cheering began, followed by a hum of disapproval, for Barouche had lost many friends since Carnac had come into the fray. A few folk tried to engage Barouche in talk, but he responded casually; yet he smiled the smile which had done so much for him in public life, and the distance lessened to the station. The tram did not go quite to the station, and as it stopped, the two men hurried to the doors. As they did so, an engine gave a scream, and presently, as they reached the inside of the station, they saw passing out at the far end, the New York train.

“She started five minutes late, but she did start,” said Denzil, and there was malice in his smile.

As he looked at his watch, he saw Junia passing out of a door into the street, but Barode Barouche did not see her—his eyes were fixed on the departing train.

For a moment Barouche stood indecisive as to whether he should hire a locomotive and send some one after the train, and so get in touch with Luzanne in that way, or send her a telegram to the first station where the train would stop in its schedule; but presently he gave up both ideas. As he turned towards the exit of the station, he saw Denzil, and he came forward.

“I think you’ve won, mon petit chien,” he said with vindictiveness, “but my poll comes to-morrow night, and I shall win.”

“No game is won till it’s all played, m’sieu’, and this innings is mine!”

“I am fighting a bigger man than you, wasp,” snarled Barouche.

“As big as yourself and bigger, m’sieu’,” said Denzil with a smile.

There was that in his tone which made Barouche regard him closely. He saw there was no real knowledge of the relationship of Carnac and himself in Denzil’s eyes; but he held out his hand with imitation courtesy, as though to say good-bye.

“Give me a love-clasp, spider,” he said with a kind of sneer. “I’d like your love as I travel to triumph.” A light of hatred came into Denzil’s eyes. “Beetledog—wasp—spider” he had been called by this big man—well, he should see that the wasp could give as good as it got. His big gnarled hand enclosed the hand of Barode Barouche, then he suddenly closed on it tight. He closed on it till he felt it crunching in his own and saw that the face of Barode Barouche was like that of one in a chair of torture. He squeezed, till from Barouche’s lips came a gasp of agony, and then he let go.

“You’ve had my love-clasp, m’sieu’,” Denzil said with meaning, “and when you want it again let me know. It’s what M’sieu’ Carnac will do with you to-morrow night. Only he’ll not let go, as I did, before the blood comes. Don’t be hard on those under you, m’sieu’. Remember wasps and spiders can sting in their own way, and that dogs can bite.”

“Little black beast,” was the short reply, “I’ll strip your hide for Hell’s gridiron in good time.”

“Bien, m’sieu’, but you’ll be in hell waiting, for I’m going to bury you here where you call better men than yourself dogs and wasps and spiders and beetles. And I’ll not strip your ‘hide,’ either. That’s for lower men than me.”

A moment later they parted, Denzil to find Junia, and Barouche to prepare his speech for the evening. Barouche pondered. What should he do—should he challenge Carnac with his marriage with Luzanne Larue? His heart was beating hard.