Larkin decided that the state convention should be held at Saint X
because his machine was most perfect there. The National Woolens
Company, the Consolidated Pipe and Wire Company and the Indiana Oil and
Gas Corporation--the three principal political corporations in the
state--had their main plants there and were in complete political
control. While Larkin had no fear of the Scarborough movement,
regarding it as a sentimental outburst in the rank and file of the
party that would die away when its fomenter had been "read out of the
party" at the convention by the regular organization, still he had been
in the game too long to take unnecessary chances. He felt that it
would be wise to have the delegates assemble where all the surroundings
would be favorable and where his ablest and confidential men could do
their work in peace and quiet.
The convention was to, meet on the last Thursday in September. On the
preceding Monday morning, Culver--Dumont's small, thin, stealthy
private secretary--arrived at Saint X and, after making an appointment
with Merriweather for half-past twelve, went out to the Eyrie to go
through a lot of accumulated domestic business with Mrs. Dumont. When
she in a most formal and unencouraging manner invited him to stop
there, he eagerly accepted. "Thank you so much," he said effusively.
"To be perfectly frank, I've been tempted to invite myself. I have
some valuables with me that I don't feel at all easy about. If I
should be robbed, it would be a very serious matter. Would it be
asking too much of you to ask you to put a package in your jewel safe?"
"I'll be glad to do it for you," replied Pauline. "There's plenty of
room--the safe's almost empty and it's ridiculously large."
"My package isn't small," said Culver. "And on my mind it weighs
tons." He reached into his large bag--at sight of it Pauline had
wondered why he had brought such a bag up from the hotel when his
papers for her inspection were so few. He lifted out an oblong, bulky
package.
"If you'll just touch that button," said she, "James will come and show
you how to get to the safe."
Culver hesitated nervously. Finally he said: "I'm making a nuisance
of myself, Mrs. Dumont, but would you mind going to the safe with me?
I'd much rather none of the servants knew about this."
Pauline smiled and bade him follow her. They went to her private
sitting-room and she showed him the safe, in a small closet built into
the lower part of the book-case. "You have the combination?" asked
Culver, as he put the package away.
"I see that you don't lock this door often."
"How fortunate you spoke of it!" said she.
"The combination is on a bit of paper in one of the little drawers."
Culver found it in the first drawer he opened, and handed it to her
without looking at it.
"You mustn't let me know it," said he. "I'll just fix the time lock so
that it won't interfere." And when he had done so, he closed the safe.
As he left, he said, "I shall only bother you to let me sleep in the
house. I'll be very busy all day each day I'm here." When she thought
he had gone he returned to add: "Perhaps I'd better explain to you that
there's forty-five thousand dollars in cash in the package. That's why
I was so anxious for no one to know."
"I'll say nothing about it," Pauline assured him.
Larkin came down from Indianapolis the next day and registered at the
Palace Hotel. As soon as he could escape from the politicians and
newspaper correspondents in the hotel office, he went by a devious
route to a room on the floor below his own and, knocking, was admitted
to Culver and Merriweather. He nodded to Dumont's political agent,
then said to Culver: "You've got the dough?"
"Yes," Culver answered, in his best imitation of the tone of the man of
large affairs. "In twenties, fifties and hundreds."
"I hope, mighty few hundreds," said Larkin. "The boys are kind o' shy
about changing hundred-dollar bills. It seems to attract attention to
them." He had large, dreamy, almost sentimental, brown eyes that
absurdly misrepresented his character, or, at least, his dominant
characteristics. His long, slightly bent nose and sharp chin and thin,
tight mouth were more truthful.
"How do things look, Joe?" asked Merriweather.
"Yes, Mr. Dumont asked me to telegraph him after I'd talked with you,"
said Culver. "Has Scarborough made much headway?"
"I must say, he's raised a darn sight more hell than I thought he
would," Larkin answered.
"The people seem to be in a nasty mood about corruption. Darn their
fool souls, as if they wouldn't be in the rottenest kind of a fix, with
no property and no jobs, if we didn't keep the ignorant vote under
control and head off such firebrands as this fellow Scarborough."
"Got any figgers?" demanded Merriweather, who had listened to this
tirade with an expression suggesting cynicism. He thought, and he knew
Joe Larkin thought, politics a mere game of chance--you won or you
didn't win; and principles and oratory and likes and dislikes and
resentments were so much "hot air." If the "oil can" had been with
Scarborough, Merriweather would have served him as cheerfully and as
loyally as--well, as would Joe Larkin in those circumstances.
Larkin wrenched a big bunch of letters and papers from the sagged
inside pocket of his slouchy sack coat; after some fumbling and
sorting, he paused upon the back of a dirty envelope.
"Here's how the convention stands, to a man," he said. "Sure, two
hundred and sixty-seven-by 'sure' I mean the fellows we own outright.
Safe, two hundred and forty-five-by 'safe' I mean those that'll stand
by the organization, thick and thin. Insurgents, two hundred and
ninety-five--those are the chaps that've gone clean crazy with
Scarborough. Doubtful, three hundred and eighty-six-some of 'em can be
bought; most of 'em are waiting to see which way the cat jumps, so as
to jump with her."
"Then we've got five hundred and twelve, and it takes five hundred and
ninety-seven to elect," said Merriweather, the instant the last word
was out of Larkin's mouth. Merriweather was a mite of a man, could
hardly have weighed more than a hundred pounds, had a bulging forehead,
was bald and gray at the temples, eyes brown as walnut juice and quick
and keen as a rat-terrier's. His expression was the gambler's--calm,
watchful, indifferent, pallid, as from years of nights under the
gas-light in close, hot rooms, with the cards sliding from the faro box
hour after hour.
"Eighty-five short--that's right," assented Larkin. Then, with a look
at Culver: "And some of 'em'll come mighty high."
"Where are you going to do business with them?" inquired Merriweather.
"Here?"
"Right here in this room, where I've done it many's the time before,"
replied Larkin. "To-morrow night Conkey Sedgwick and my boy Tom'll
begin steerin' 'em in one at a time about eight o'clock."
"Then I'll turn the money over to you at seven to-morrow night," said
Culver. "I've got it in a safe place."
"Not one of the banks, I hope," said Merriweather.
"We noted your suggestions on that point, and on all the others,"
Culver answered with gracious condescension. "That's why I brought
cash in small denominations and didn't go near anybody with it."
Larkin rose. "I've got to get to work. See you here to-morrow night
at seven, Mr. Culver--seven sharp. I guess it'll be Judge Graney on
the third ballot. On the first ballot the organization'll vote solid
for Graney, and my fellows'll vote for John Frankfort. On the second
ballot half my Frankfort crowd'll switch over to Graney. On the third
I'll put the rest of 'em over, and that'll be enough to elect--probably
the Scarborough crowd'll see it's no use and let us make it unanimous.
The losers are always hot for harmony."
"That sounds well," said Merriweather--his was a voice that left his
hearers doubtful whether he meant what his words said or the reverse.
Culver looked with secret admiration from one man to the other, and
continued to think of them and to admire, after they had gone. He felt
important, sitting in and by proxy directing the councils of these
powerful men, these holders and manipulators of the secret strings
whereto were attached puppet peoples and puppet politicians. Seven
years behind the scenes with Dumont's most private affairs had given
him a thoroughgoing contempt for the mass of mankind. Did he not sit
beside the master, at the innermost wheels, deep at the very heart of
the intricate mechanism? Did not that position make him a sort of
master, at any rate far superior to the princeliest puppet?
At five the next afternoon--the afternoon of the day before the
convention--he was at the Eyrie, and sent a servant to say to Mrs.
Dumont that he would like to see her. She came down to him in the
library.
"I'm only troubling you for a moment," he said.
"I'll relieve you of my package."
"Very well," said Pauline. "I haven't thought of it since day before
yesterday. I'll bring it down to you."
She left him in the library and went up the stairs--she had been
reading everything that was published about the coming convention, and
the evident surprise of all the politicians at the strength Scarborough
was mustering for ex-Governor Bowen had put her in high good humor.
She cautioned herself that he could not carry the convention; but his
showing was a moral victory--and what a superb personal triumph! With
everything against him--money and the machine and the skilful confusing
of the issues by his crafty opponents--he had rallied about him almost
all that was really intelligent in his party; and he had demonstrated
that he had on his side a mass of the voters large out of all
proportion to the number of delegates he had wrested away from the
machine--nearly three hundred, when everybody had supposed the machine
would retain all but a handful.
Money! Her lips curled scornfully--out here, in her own home, among
these simple people, the brutal power of money was master just as in
New York, among a people crazed by the passion for luxury and display.
She was kneeling before the safe, was working the combination, paper in
hand. The knob clicked as the rings fell into place; she turned the
bolt and swung the door open. She reached into the safe. Suddenly she
drew her hand back and sat up on the floor, looking at the package.
"Why, it's for use in the convention!" she exclaimed.
She did not move for several minutes; when she did, it was to examine
the time lock, to reset it, to close the door and bolt it and throw the
lock off the combination. Then she rose and slowly descended to the
library. As she reappeared, empty-handed, Culver started violently and
scrutinized her face. Its expression put him in a panic. "Mrs.
Dumont!" he exclaimed wildly.
"Has it been stolen?"