"Thorne, ever since you sprang into prominence here, you have posed in
this community as a self-made man--boasted of carving your success by
industry, integrity and brains. And yet--" pointing a finger of
accusation toward him--"you have bought every item of your reputation,
every iota of your respectability!" He stopped for an instant, and then:
"Every inch of your political progress, you've bought with this tainted
money, and with the same kind of money you'd buy the United States
Senatorship--if you could."
"Lies--all deliberate lies!" Thorne ejaculated.
"Worse than slanderin' my fat!" added Peter Broderick.
Before Murgatroyd could speak again, Thorne took another tack.
"What evidence have you, I should like to know?" he said; "you can't
prove these things, Murgatroyd."
"That," returned Murgatroyd, "is for me to worry about--not you. I'm
going on, and when I'm through, you can stake your last dollar that I'll
know all about this rotten system that you call your organisation--from
the most insignificant ward politician up to Peter Broderick!"
The accusing forefinger shifted from Thorne to the County Chairman;
under it the avoirdupois of that gentleman seemed to shrivel and grow
less. In all his career no man had ever honoured Broderick with this
kind of talk, and he wasn't used to it. All at once, he felt that his
courage was slipping from him.
"I've got to see a man--" he began, looking nervously at his watch; then
hunching his shoulders, he stole softly and almost on tiptoe to the
door.
"_Broderick!_" sung out the prosecutor sharply.
Broderick stopped, but did not look back.
"Broderick!" thundered Murgatroyd, "I want you in this office to-morrow
afternoon at four o'clock--I want to have a talk with you--alone. If you
don't come, I'll--send for you. Do you understand?"
Broderick did not answer; he opened the door, and slipping through it,
disappeared.