She quieted Nelly into a canter, made her way through the soundly sleeping back streets, and at length emerged from the city and descended into the River Road, which was slightly shorter than Grayson’s Pike which led over the high back country to The Sycamores. She knew what Nelly could do, and she settled the mare down into the fastest pace she could hold for the eleven miles before her.

Katherine was aquiver with suspense, one moment with hopeful expectation, the next with fear that her deductions were all awry. Perhaps Blake had not gone out to meet a confederate. And if he had, perhaps The Sycamores was not the rendezvous. But if her deductions were correct, who was this secret ally? Would she be able to approach them near enough to discover his identity? And would she be able to learn the exact outlines of the plot that was afoot? If so, what would it all prove to be?

Such questions and doubts galloped madly through her mind. The storm grew momently in fierceness. The water and fury of three months of withheld storms were spending themselves upon the earth in one violent outburst. The wind cracked her skirt like a whip-lash, and whined and snarled and roared among the trees. The rain drove at her in maddened sheets, found every opening in her raincoat, and soon she was as wet as though dropped in the river yonder. The night was as black as the interior of a camera, save when—as by the opening of a snapshot shutter—an instantaneous view of the valley was fixed on Katherine’s startled brain by the lightning ripping in fiery fissures down the sky. Then she saw the willows bending and whipping in the wind, saw the gnarled old sycamores wrestling with knotted muscles, saw the broad river writhing and tossing its swollen and yellow waters. Then, blackness again—and, like the closing click of this world-wide camera, there followed a world-shaking crash of thunder.

Katherine would have been terrified but for the stimulant within. She crouched low upon her horse, held a close rein, petted Nelly, talked to her and kept her going at her best—onward—onward—onward—through the covered wooden bridge that spanned Buck Creek—through the little old village of Sleepy Eye—up Red Man’s Ridge—and at last, battered, buffeted, half-drowned, she and Nelly drew up at the familiar stone gateway of The Sycamores.

She dismounted, led Nelly in and tied her among the beeches away from the drive. Then cautiously, palpitantly, she groped her way in the direction of the Blake cabin, avoiding the open lest the lightning should betray her presence. At length she came to the edge of a cleared space in which she knew the cabin stood. But she could see nothing. The cabin was just a cube of blackness imbedded in this great blackness which was the night. She peered intently for a lighted window; she listened for the lesser thunder of a waiting automobile. But she could see nothing but the dark, hear nothing but the dash of the rain, the rumble of the thunder, the lashing and shrieking of the wind.

Her heart sank. No one was here. Her guesses all were wrong.

But she crept toward the house, following the drive. Suddenly, she almost collided with a big, low object. She reached forth a hand. It fell upon the tire of an automobile. She peered forward and seemed to see another low shape. She went toward it and felt. It was a second car.

She dashed back among the trees, and thus sheltered from the revealing glare of the lightning, almost choking with excitement, she began to circle the house for signs which would locate in what room were the men within. She paused before each side and peered closely at it, but each side in turn presented only blackness, till she came to the lee of the house.

This, too, was dark for the first moment. Then in a lower window, which she knew to be the window of Blake’s den, two dull red points of light appeared—glowed—subsided—glowed again—then vanished. A minute later one reappeared, then the other; and after the slow rise and fall and rise of the glow, once more went out. She stood rigid, wondering at the phenomenon. Then suddenly she realized that within were two lighted cigars.

Bending low, she scurried across the open space and crouched beside the window. Luckily it had been opened to let some fresh air into the long-closed room. And luckily this was the lee of the house and the beat of the storm sounded less loudly here, so that their voices floated dimly out to her. This lee was also a minor blessing, for Katherine’s poor, wet, shivering body now had its first protection from the storm.

Tense, hardly breathing, with all five senses converged into hearing, she stood flattened against the wall and strained to catch their every word. One voice was plainly Blake’s. The other had a faintly familiar quality, though she could not place it. This second man had evidently come late, for their conversation was of a preliminary, beating-around-the-bush character—about the fierceness of the storm, and the additional security it lent their meeting.

Katherine searched her memory for the owner of this second voice. She had thought at first of Doctor Sherman, but this voice had not a tone in common with the young clergyman’s clear, well-modulated baritone. This was a peculiar, bland, good-natured drawl. She had not heard it often, but she had unmistakably heard it. As she ransacked her memory it grew increasingly familiar, yet still eluded her. Then, all of a sudden, she knew it, and she stood amazed.

The second voice was the voice of Blind Charlie Peck.

Katherine was well acquainted with the secret bi-partisan arrangement common in so many American cities, by which the righteous voter is deluded into believing that there are two parties contending for the privilege of giving him their best service, whereas in reality the two are one, secretly allied because as a political trust they can most economically and profitably despoil the people. Her first thought was that these ancient enemies, who for ten years had belaboured one another with such a realistic show of bitterness upon the political stage of Westville, had all along been friends and partners behind the scenes. But of this idea she was presently disillusioned.

“Well, Mr. Blake, let’s get down to business,” Blind Charlie’s voice floated out to her. “You’ve had a day to think over my proposition. Now what have you got to say to it?”

There was a brief silence. When Blake did speak, Katherine could discern in his repressed tone a keen aversion for his companion.

“My position is the same as last night. What you say is all guesswork. There is nothing in it.”

Blind Charlie’s voice was soft—purringly soft.

“Then why didn’t you ask me to go to hell, and stay at home instead of coming out here?”

There was again a short silence.

“Come now,” the soft voice persuaded, “let’s don’t go over what we did last night. I know I’m right.”

“I tell you you’re only guessing,” Blake doggedly returned. “You haven’t a scrap of proof.”

“I don’t need proof, when I’m certain about a thing,” gently returned the voice of Blind Charlie. “I’ve been in politics for forty-eight years—ever since I was nineteen, when I cast my first vote. I’ve got sharpened up considerable in that time, and while I haven’t been in on much in the last ten years, I can still smell a fat deal clean across the state. For the last three months I’ve been smelling, and smelling it keener every day, that you’ve got a rich game going.”

“And so”—rather sarcastically—“you set Bruce on, to try to run the game down!”

“Well, I would use a little different figure of speech,” returned Blind Charlie smoothly. “When I’ve got a coon up a hollow tree I build a fire in the hollow to bring him down. Bruce is my fire.”

“And you think your coon is coming down?”

“I rather think he is. Don’t you?”

“Well, I tell you he’s not! For there’s no coon up the tree!”

“I see I’ve got to state the thing to you again,” said Blind Charlie patiently, and so softly that Katherine had to strain her utmost to get his words. “When I grew sure you had a big deal on about the water-works, I saw that the only way to force you to let me in was to put you in a fix where you would either have to split up or be in danger of losing the whole thing. So I nominated Bruce. He’s one of the easiest I ever took in; but, I tell you, he is certainly one hell of a fighter! That’s what I nominated him for. You know as well as I do the way he’s swinging the voters round. It beats anything I’ve ever seen. If he keeps this up till election, and if I pull off a couple of good tricks I’ve got all ready, he’ll be a winner, sure! And now”—Blind Charlie’s purring voice thrust out its claws—“either I put Bruce in and smash your deal till it’s not worth a damn, or else you come across!”

“There’s nothing in it, I tell you!” declared Blake.

“There’s no use keeping up that pretence,” continued Blind Charlie. “You’ve had a day to think over my proposition. You know perfectly well what your choice is between: a sure thing if you divide with me, the risk of nothing if you refuse. So let’s waste no more time. Come, which is it?”

There was a long silence.

“I understand,” commented Blind Charlie, with a soft sympathy that Katherine knew was meant to bite like acid. “It’s hard for a respectable man like you to mix up with Charlie Peck. But political business makes strange bed-fellows, and unless you’re willing to sleep with almost anybody you’d better keep out of this kind of business altogether. But after all,” he added, “I guess it’s better to share a good bed than to have no bed at all.”

“What do you want?” Blake asked huskily.

“Only my share of the bed,” blandly returned Blind Charlie.

“What’s that, in plain words?”

“Not much. Only half of what you’re going to make.”

Blake exploded.

“Damn you, Peck, you’re nothing but a damned blackmailer!”

“All right, I agree to that,” said Blind Charlie. Then he added in his soft voice: “But if I’m a blackmailer in this affair, then please, Mr. Blake, what do you call yourself?”

“You—you——” To the crouching figure outside the window Blake seemed to be half-choking. But suddenly he exploded again. “I’ll not do it, Peck! I’ll not do it—never while God’s earth stands!”

“I guess you will, Blake!” Blind Charlie’s voice was no longer soft; it had a slow, grating, crunching sound. “Damn your soul, you’ve been acting toward me with your holier-than-thou reformer’s attitude for ten years. D’you think I’m a man to swallow that quietly? D’you think I haven’t had it in for you all those ten years? Why, there hasn’t been a minute that I haven’t been looking for my chance. And at last I’ve got it! I’ve not only got a line on this water-works business, but I’ve found out all about your pretty little deal with Adamson during the last months you were Lieutenant-Governor!”

“Adamson!” ejaculated Blake.

“Yes, Adamson!” went on the harsh voice of Blind Charlie. “That hits you where you live, eh! You didn’t know I had it, did you? Well, I didn’t till to-day—but I’ve got it now all right! There, my cards are all on the table. Look ’em over. I don’t want Bruce elected any more than you do; but either you do what I say, or by God I turn over to Bruce all I know about the Adamson affair and all I know about this water-works deal! Now I give you just one minute to decide!”

Katherine breathlessly awaited the answer. A space passed. She heard Blind Charlie stand up.

“Time’s up! Good night—and to hell with you!”

“Wait! Wait!” Blake cried.

“Then you accept?”

Blake’s voice shook. “Before I answer, what do you want?”

“I’ve already told you. Half of what you get.”

“But I’m to get very little.”

“Very little!” Blind Charlie’s voice was ironical; it had dropped its tone of crushing menace. “Very little! Now I figure that you’ll get the water-works for a third, or less, of their value. That’ll give you something like half a million at the start-off, not to speak of the regular profits later on. Now as for me,” he concluded drily, “I wouldn’t call that such a very little sum that I’d kick it out of my way if I saw it lying in the road.”

“But no such sum is lying there.”

“No? Then what do you get?”

Blake did not answer.

“Come, speak out!”

Blake’s voice came with an effort.

“I’m not doing this for myself.”

“Then who for?”

Blake hesitated, then again spoke with an effort.

“The National Electric & Water Company.”

Blind Charlie swore in his surprise.

“But I reckon you’re not doing it for them for charity?”

“No.”

“Well, what for?”

Blake again remained silent.

“Come, what for?” impatiently demanded Charlie.

“For a seat in the Senate.”

“That’s no good to me. What else?”

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

“The devil! Is that all?” ejaculated Blind Charlie.

“Everything.”

Blind Charlie swore to himself for a moment. Then he fell into a deep silence.

“Well, what’s the matter?” Blake presently inquired.

“I was just wondering,” replied Blind Charlie, slowly, “if it wouldn’t be better to call this business off between you and me.”

“Call it off?”

“Yes. I never imagined you were playing for such a little pile as fifty thousand. Since there’s only fifty thousand in it”—his voice suddenly rang out with vindictive triumph—“I was wondering if it wouldn’t pay me better to use what I know to help elect Bruce.”

“Elect Bruce?” cried Blake in consternation.

“Exactly. Show you up, and elect Bruce,” said Blind Charlie coolly. “To elect my mayor—there’s more than fifty thousand for me in that.”

There was a dismayed silence on Blake’s part. But after a moment he recovered himself, and this time it was his voice that had the note of ascendency.

“You are forgetting one point, Mr. Peck,” said he.

“Yes?”

“Bruce’s election will not mean a cent to you. You will get no offices. Moreover, the control of your party machinery will be sure to pass from you to him.”

“You’re right,” said the old man promptly. “See how quick I am to acknowledge the corn. However, after all,” he added philosophically, “what you’re getting is really enough for two. You take the senatorship, and I’ll take the fifty thousand. What do you say to that?”

“What about Bruce—if I accept?”

“Bruce? Bruce is just a fire to smoke the coon out. When the coon comes down, I put out the fire.”

“You mean?”

“I mean that I’ll see that Bruce don’t get elected.”

“You’ll make sure about that?”

“Oh, you just leave Bruce to me!” said Blind Charlie with grim confidence. “And now, do you accept?”

Blake was silent. He still shrunk from this undesirable alliance. Outside, Katherine again breathlessly hung upon his answer.

“What do you say?” demanded the old man sharply. “Do you accept? Or do I smash you?”

“I accept—of course.”

“And we’ll see this thing through together?”

“Yes.”

“Then here you are. Let’s shake on it.”

They talked on, dwelling on details of their partnership, Katherine missing never a word.

At length, their agreement completed, they left the room, and Katherine slipped from the window across into the trees and made such haste as she could through the night and the storm to where she had left her horse. She heard one car go slowly out the entrance of the grove, its lamps dark that its visit might not be betrayed, and she heard it turn cautiously into the back-country road. After a little while she saw a glare shoot out before the car—its lamps had been lighted—and she saw it skim rapidly away. Soon the second car crept out, took the high back-country pike, and repeated the same tactics.

Then Katherine untied Nelly, mounted, and started slowly homeward along the River Road.