They had luncheon together in a cozy booth of a sweet shop in Broadway.
Consuello accepted his invitation to luncheon when she telephoned to him
that she was downtown and wished to see him. Her first question over the
phone was whether John had learned anything concerning Gibson's
disappearance.
"I'm downtown for an hour or so and thought you might have heard
something about Mr. Gibson," she said.
To P. Q. he explained that he might be away from the office for lunch
longer than usual.
"An angle concerning Gibson's disappearance that may develop something,"
he said, hoping it would be sufficient.
"What is it?" demanded the city editor.
"Well, Miss Carrillo--you remember--Gibson's friend--called me and I
invited her to have lunch with me," John answered.
"Hop to it," said P. Q.
Consuello was in sport costume, silk knit jacket, saucy white hat, white
skirt, shoes and hose; a trim, dainty figure, cool and refreshing. He
had a curious feeling that their meeting was somewhat clandestine.
"I thought you knew where Gibson went, but I refrained from calling you
to ask," John said after they were seated in the booth.
"Why didn't you?"
"I didn't want you to become involved in this--business." He almost
said, "This mess."
"And why not?"
"If I had called you and you had told me where Gibson was, the other
reporters would not rest until they found out my source of information
and you would be brought into the whole affair," he explained.
"I understand," she said. "Truly, though, I am beginning to worry. He
gave me no hint that he even intended leaving the city and that is what
puzzles me. Tell me, do you think there is any reason to fear that
anything has happened to him?"
"It's very improbable," he assured her. His conviction that Gibson and
"Gink" Cummings were allied caused him to have no apprehension
concerning the commissioner's safety. "He'll be back in a few days."
"I do hope so," she said. "He is making such a success, isn't he?"
"Yes." He was reluctant to give the affirmation. He conquered an impulse
to tell her, to warn her, that it was more than probable Gibson was not
the man she believed him to be. He wondered what she would say if he
told her what had caused him to turn against Gibson.
"I am very, very proud and happy," she said. "If anything should happen
to him I don't know what I would do."
The potentiality of the words, "If anything should happen to him,"
struck home hard on John.
"It would be--terrible," he said, avoiding her eyes.
"He has been so considerate, so good," she said. "I feel that I owe him
so much I can never repay."
A decision flashed into his brain as she spoke. If the time ever came
when enough evidence was obtained to expose Gibson, he would go to the
commissioner and plead with him to renounce Cummings, for her sake.
There might yet be a chance to save Consuello from the disillusionment
that was approaching. The fearfulness of Gibson's perfidy was almost
incomprehensible.
"I'm certain he does not think so," he said.
"Do you know what he is planning for me now?" she asked, and then,
before he attempted to reply, she added, "He plans to restore the wealth
of the Carrillos."
Her eyes sparkled as she spoke and she looked to him for his approval.
"Oil has been struck within a mile or so of our ranch," she explained.
"They have asked father to sell or lease and Reggie has taken charge of
it for us. Father has placed the whole business in his hands; he has so
much confidence in him. He gave him an option on the ranch property and
Reggie hopes to dispose of it for enough to bring back our lost fortune
to us. Isn't it wonderful?"
"It certainly is," he agreed. "The discovery of oil is the only
get-rich-quick proposition that is above reproach. A person can be
poverty stricken one day and a millionaire the next and no one suffers
by his quick acquisition of wealth. Oil is a treasure of nature bestowed
by fate and it is needless for me to add that I hope that fate is good
to you."
"It's all so complicated and technical that I cannot grasp it and father
never was a business man. That is why Reggie is handling it for us," she
said. "A new well is being bored only a few hundred yards from the ranch
and everything depends upon whether oil is struck there. If they find
oil it is almost certain that there is oil on our place. If no oil is
found, then, of course, the value of the ranch diminishes."
"Oil, like gold, they say, is where you find it," John said.
"And so is happiness--where you find it," Consuello said. "That is what
comforts me. Money does not necessarily bring happiness. Even if it
turns out that no oil is found I can still be happy. I am happy now and
why should I let anything like the loss of wealth, that never came to
me, disappoint me?"
Their luncheon finished, they walked to the street, where John found
that the automobile placed at Consuello's disposal by Gibson--he was
certain of that now--was waiting for her.
"Back to the studio and work again," she said. "I'm so glad we were able
to meet, today. I have enjoyed it more than you know. When Reggie
returns we must arrange a dinner party--the three of us. And before long
you and your mother must come out to the ranch. I haven't forgotten
that."
Her parting words brought back to John the bitter thought of his
mother's intolerant prejudice against Consuello as he returned to the
office.
He stopped at the city editor's desk to tell P. Q. that his meeting with
Consuello had failed to develop a single clew to Gibson's whereabouts.
"Nothing doing," he reported.
"What do you mean, nothing doing?" asked P. Q. Then he added:
"Gibson showed up about an hour ago."
"He's back?" asked John.
"Back again," confirmed the city editor. "Says he only went away to
rest up. Claims he went some place where he received no word from Los
Angeles and didn't know crime had opened up again."
"What's he going to do about it?"
"Oh, he came through with just about what was expected," said P. Q.
"Said he'd get right to work and put a stop to it. Blamed it all on the
mayor and Sweeney. Says it's further proof that the police department is
rotten."
The last edition that night carried the banner-line, "Gibson Returns to
Stop Crime Wave."
Brennan and John sought Murphy, but being unable to locate him, had
dinner downtown and continued their search during the evening. An hour
before midnight they met him as he was returning to his room.
"Well, what's the word?" asked Brennan.
"I got what you're lookin' for," Murphy said. "Da 'Gink' has called off
da boys again. He passes out da word dat dere's to be nuttin' doin'
tonight, tomorrow night or until he says 'go.'"
"When did he give these orders, before or after Gibson came back?" asked
Brennan.
"After," replied Murphy. "And there'll be nuthin' doin', see?"
"All right, Murphy. Keep on the lookout and drop in tomorrow and we'll
fix you up for this."
"I gotcha," said Murphy.
"Three and three make six," said Brennan to John as they left Murphy at
the door of his rooming house. "Gibson goes away and the 'Gink' opens
things up, Gibson comes back and he shuts down again. That's how they
make it appear that they are enemies and that Gibson is the only man who
can keep the town closed."
That night the crime wave stopped as suddenly as it began. There was not
a robbery, holdup or ordinary theft reported to the police. The same
order that prevailed when the "Gink" first decreed a "lay-off" prevailed
and Gibson issued a triumphant statement to the reporters for the first
editions in the morning.
"It demonstrates what little fear bandits and crooks have for the police
under Chief Sweeney," a part of the statement read. "It shows that the
administration is so inefficient and corrupt that law and order must be
enforced by citizens instead of by the officials whose duty it is to
keep the lid down in Los Angeles."
Another avalanche of resolutions praising Gibson followed the
publication of this statement. The mayor was hotly condemned for his
failure to remove Chief Sweeney at Gibson's request and the
commissioner was hailed as a man whose very name was enough to
intimidate criminals and whose presence in the city was enough to keep
outlawry and banditry at a minimum. One prominent citizen demanded that
the mayor resign and that Gibson be appointed in his place by
acclamation.
Brennan, John and P. Q. held another conference with the publisher. It
was decided that while the evidence before them--John's experience in
the Spring street raid and Murphy's information concerning "Gink"
Cummings' moves in opening and closing the city while Gibson was in and
out of it--was enough to convince them all that there was an alliance
between Cummings and the commissioner, they lacked sufficient ammunition
to "break" the story and expose the perfidious plot.
"Just a little more information, boys, something to show meetings
between Gibson and Cummings or communications between them and we'll be
ready to open fire," said the publisher.
A week later Gibson summoned Brennan and John to his office.
"How are you, boys?" he asked smiling. "I called you up here because I
have something to give you."
He handed them a slip of paper. It was a check--his personal check--for
$1,000. The space where the name of the recipient should appear was
blank.
"This means----" began Brennan.
"It means that I'm a candidate for mayor," said Gibson. "Remember, I
promised you I'd donate $1,000 to charity the minute I became a
candidate for any public office. What shall it be?"
"The Children's hospital," said Brennan.
Gibson seated himself at his desk and wrote in the name, blotted it
carefully and tossed it toward them on the table.
* * * * *
The formal announcement of Gibson's candidacy, which he gave to Brennan
and John immediately after turning over to them the check for $1,000,
made out to the Children's hospital, followed the lines foretold by
Brennan when he predicted the commissioner's entry in the mayoralty
race.
He declared he became a candidate at the persistent urging of
organizations and individuals who had convinced him that he would
deliberately evade a duty and service he owed the city if he refused. He
reiterated his charges against the mayor and the administration,
asserting that conditions as he found them in the city government were
an intolerable disgrace.
His campaign committee, chosen a few days after he announced his
candidacy, included the names of seventy-five per cent of the prominent
and respected men and women of the city, as well as clubs and
organizations representing the churches, civic improvement associations,
manufacturers, business men and thousands of citizens. The Church
Federation and the Ministerial Union, those two great bodies working
always for the welfare of the city, gave him unqualified indorsements.
The best people of the city advocated his election.
Gibson's nominating petition was completed in less than a week. The
rapidity of the completion of the petition was viewed as a criterion of
the respective strength of the commissioner and of the mayor, whose
supporters encountered considerable difficulty in obtaining signatures.
It was three weeks before the mayor's petition could be got ready for
filing.
With the primary election two months away the candidates began their
campaigns at once. Gibson was everywhere, addressing meetings night and
day. The enthusiasm with which he was received surpassed that ever given
to any candidate in Los Angeles. Daily he was paraded through the
downtown section of the city by cheering admirers. "Gibson for Mayor"
banners and cards decorated the entire city. From their pulpits the
ministers urged his election and took up his attack upon the
administration. He was given credit unanimously for having clamped the
lid down in Los Angeles tighter than it had ever been and he was
acclaimed as a "fighting man" because of his duel with "Red Mike" and
his personal leadership of the officers who raided the Spring street
handbook makers.
The mayor was without ammunition to return Gibson's crossfire of charges
against the administration. He was deserted, except for a few loyal
supporters, who struggled vainly to stem the tide of popular favor as it
swung to Gibson's side.
Gibson scored heavily three weeks after his campaign was opened by
hurling charges that "Gink" Cummings was contributing to the mayor's
campaign fund and placing his sinister strength at his disposal to aid
him to be re-elected. Astounded by his opponent's audacity, the mayor
sent for Brennan and John. His mild blue eyes were blazing and he chewed
vigorously at his cigar.
"I'm licked, boys, unless I do something soon," he said. "I have to play
a waiting game, but I can't afford to wait too long. I can't come out
with the charge that Cummings and Gibson are plotting to steal the city.
I haven't enough evidence. People would think I am crazy. As it is, he's
getting away with everything. If the primary was tomorrow he'd snow me
under."
"He's pulling all the tricks in the bag," admitted Brennan.
"And I have nothing to come back at him with," the mayor complained.
"Why don't you fire him from his position as police commissioner?"
suggested Brennan.
The mayor stopped short on the invisible path he had been pacing back
and forth across his office.
"Brennan," he said, "I thought you had more sense than to suggest a
thing like that. What reason could I give for firing him?"
"Say it's for the good of the service, that's all."
"And give him a chance to wail that I fired him because I am afraid of
him, that I did it in desperation to save myself. Why, it would give him
10,000 votes of sympathy. No, Brennan, I must get something real to show
that Gibson and 'Gink' Cummings are partners."
He turned and walked to the window, placing his hands on both sides of
it, and leaned forward, his arms supporting him as he looked down into
the busy traffic on Broadway. It was a position similar to that he had
taken when John first met him, when he vowed to expose Gibson's alliance
with Cummings, but the shoulders drooped and the outlines of his
figure, silhouetted against the light streaming in the window suggested
great bodily and mental weariness.
"Is it possible that I'm to go down to defeat, to disgrace, to ignominy,
at the hands of such a despicable rascal?" he said, without turning, as
though he was speaking to himself. "Is this to be my reward--my end? Are
the people of my city to be led like blind sheep into a carnage of crime
and graft?"
Above the roar of the traffic in the street below the strident voice of
a newsboy, shouting his immature conception of the most important news
in the latest editions of the afternoon papers, came up to them.
"Gibson says de mayor's de bunk?" he shrieked. "Just out--pa--p--er!"
The voice from the street broke the tense silence that had followed the
mayor's soliloquy. He turned from the window quickly and strode back to
his desk and the suggestion of weariness dropped from him like a cloak
and he emerged, alert, taut, energetic, in fighting trim.
"This won't do," he snapped, "this standing around and feeling sorry for
myself. If I'm going down to defeat I'm going down fighting and when the
day comes that the people discover what a hypocrite and crook this man
Gibson is, they'll remember, at least, that I fought him to the last.
"And I'm not licked yet, not by a damn sight. I'm going to plug right
along and before another month passes I'm going to show this crook up if
it's the last thing I do on earth."
"That's more like it," approved Brennan. "I've been in a few forlorn
hope fights before and have seen the impossible happen, in fact, helped
it happen."
"I'm depending on you more than anyone else," said the mayor. Turning to
John he added: "And you, too, Gallant."
"The fault of crooks--and we're dealing with crooks--is that they can't
think straight, all the time," said Brennan. "They always make a slip,
some time. I've never known it to fail. No matter how smart a crook is,
he always makes one mistake. He can't help it. It's because he's a crook
and can't think straight. It's up to us to see that we don't overlook
the mistake that Gibson and the 'Gink' will make."
"Let's hope they make it soon enough," said the mayor. "The primary is
only five weeks away and if Gibson is to be exposed it must be within
the next four weeks at the latest."
"I don't agree with you fully in that," said Brennan. "It might be a
good idea, if we get what we're looking for, to hold off until a few
days before the election so that Gibson won't have enough time to reach
the entire city with the story he'll frame up to come back with."
"We won't worry about that until we find enough to blast Gibson and
Cummings once and for all," the mayor said. "I have men working night
and day trying to link the two together. I have tried fairly and
honestly to discover where Gibson obtained the money he has. He was
broke, flat broke, about the time I was elected and suddenly he had all
the money he required. Where it came from I can't find out. There is
only one conclusion that I can see and that is that Cummings gave it to
him; just as I have contended from the start."
Brennan and John saw Murphy regularly, meeting him at least once a day,
hoping each time that he would bring them the information they sought.
But he had little to tell them except that Cummings was enforcing his
order that there should be no crime in the city. One night he brought
them a story of how a rebellious gangster becoming restless, had planned
to commit a robbery despite the "Gink's" prohibitory order and had been
promptly "beaten up" by Cummings' thugs.
A week after their last conference with the mayor, Brennan and John
received a telephone message from Gibson's secretary, who told them
that the commissioner wanted them to see him at his office immediately.
"Another grandstand stunt, I'll bet," Brennan speculated as they hurried
to Gibson's office. "It's about time for one."
Gibson greeted them as affably as ever. As they entered his office he
closed and locked the door behind them.
"Well, boys," he said, "how do you think my campaign is coming?"
"You're going strong," replied Brennan, truthfully.
"And how is my friend, the mayor?"
"He isn't ready to concede defeat yet," Brennan said. "He realizes,
though, that you're gaining ground on him every day, or rather
increasing the lead you had at the start."
Gibson laughed.
"He had his chance," he said. "I gave him warning, although I believe I
don't have to tell you again, that I had no idea of ever running against
him when he appointed me a commissioner. By the way, why doesn't he fire
me?"
"What for?" asked Brennan.
"Oh, I see, he figures it would hurt him more than do him good,"
concluded Gibson. "Well, perhaps he's right. But I didn't send for you
boys to talk politics. I have something I think will develop into a
story for you, a real story, not the stuff my publicity man hands out."
"What is it?"
Gibson smiled and shook his head.
"I can't tell you now," he said. "Be here tomorrow morning at 10 o'clock
and you can be in on the whole business. I don't expect there'll be any
shooting, but you might as well bring guns if you have them."
"Another 'Red Mike'?" asked Brennan.
Gibson smiled again.
"Be here and see," he said, inexplicitly.