veins in the back of the hand are peculiar to each individual--as
infallible, indestructible, and ineffaceable as finger prints or the
shape of the ear. It is a system invented and developed by Professor
Tamassia of the University of Padua, Italy. A superficial observer
would say that all vein patterns were essentially similar, and many
have said so, but Tamassia has found each to be characteristic and all
subject to almost incredible diversities. There are six general
classes--in this case before us, two large veins crossed by a few
secondary veins forming a V with its base near the wrist.
"Already my suspicions had been aroused. I sketched the arrangement of
the veins standing out on that hand. I noted the same thing just now on
the hand that manipulated the fake apparatus in the laboratory. Despite
the difference in make-up Scott and Prescott are the same.
"The invisible rays of the ultra-violet light may have blinded Mr.
Haswell, even to the recognition of his own daughter, but you can rest
assured, Prescott, that the very cleverness of your scheme will
penetrate the eyes of the blindfolded goddess of justice. Burnham, if
you will have the kindness to summon the police, I will take all the
responsibility for the arrest of these people."
XII
THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER
"What a relief it will be when this election is over and the newspapers
print news again," I growled as I turned the first page of the Star
with a mere glance at the headlines.
"Yes," observed Kennedy, who was puzzling over a note which he had
received in the morning mail. "This is the bitterest campaign in years.
Now, do you suppose that they are after me in a professional way or are
they trying to round me up as an independent voter?"
The letter which had called forth this remark was headed, "The Travis
Campaign Committee of the Reform League," and, as Kennedy evidently
intended me to pass an opinion on it, I picked it up. It was only a few
lines, requesting him to call during the morning, if convenient, on
Wesley Travis, the candidate for governor and the treasurer of his
campaign committee, Dean Bennett. It had evidently been written in
great haste in longhand the night before.
"Professional," I hazarded. "There must be some scandal in the campaign
for which they require your services."
"I suppose so," agreed Craig. "Well, if it is business instead of
politics it has at least this merit--it is current business. I suppose
you have no objection to going with me?"
Thus it came about that not very much later in the morning we found
ourselves at the campaign headquarters, in the presence of two nervous
and high-keyed gentlemen in frock coats and silk hats. It would have
taken no great astuteness, even without seeing the surroundings, to
deduce instantly that they were engaged in the annual struggle of
seeking the votes of their fellow-citizens for something or other, and
were nearly worn out by the arduous nature of that process.
Their headquarters were in a tower of a skyscraper, whence poured forth
a torrent of appeal to the moral sense of the electorate, both in
printed and oral form. Yet there was a different tone to the place from
that which I had ordinarily associated with political headquarters in
previous campaigns. There was an absence of the old-fashioned
politicians and of the air of intrigue laden with tobacco. Rather,
there was an air of earnestness and efficiency which was decidedly
prepossessing. Maps of the state were hanging on the walls, some stuck
full of various coloured pins denoting the condition of the canvass. A
map of the city in colours, divided into all sorts of districts, told
how fared the battle in the stronghold of the boss, Billy McLoughlin.
Huge systems of card indexes, loose leaf devices, labour-saving
appliances for getting out a vast mass of campaign "literature" in a
hurry, in short a perfect system, such as a great, well-managed
business might have been proud of, were in evidence everywhere.
Wesley Travis was a comparatively young man, a lawyer who had early
made a mark in politics and had been astute enough to shake off the
thraldom of the bosses before the popular uprising against them. Now he
was the candidate of the Reform League for governor and a good stiff
campaign he was putting up.
His campaign manager, Dean Bennett, was a business man whose financial
interests were opposed to those usually understood to be behind Billy
McLoughlin, of the regular party to which both Travis and Bennett might
naturally have been supposed to belong in the old days. Indeed the
Reform League owed its existence to a fortunate conjunction of both
moral and economic conditions demanding progress.
"Things have been going our way up to the present," began Travis
confidentially, when we were seated democratically with our campaign
cigars lighted. "Of course we haven't such a big 'barrel' as our
opponents, for we are not frying the fat out of the corporations. But
the people have supported us nobly, and I think the opposition of the
vested interests has been a great help. We seem to be winning, and I
say 'seem' only because one can never be certain how anything is going
in this political game nowadays.
"You recall, Mr. Kennedy, reading in the papers that my country house
out on Long Island was robbed the other day? Some of the reporters made
much of it. To tell the truth, I think they had become so satiated with
sensations that they were sure that the thing was put up by some
muckrakers and that there would be an expose of some kind. For the
thief, whoever he was, seems to have taken nothing from my library but
a sort of scrap-book or album of photographs. It was a peculiar
robbery, but as I had nothing to conceal it didn't worry me. Well, I
had all but forgotten it when a fellow came into Bennett's office here
yesterday and demanded--tell us what it was, Bennett. You saw him."
Bennett cleared his throat. "You see, it was this way. He gave his name
as Harris Hanford and described himself as a photographer. I think he
has done work for Billy McLoughlin. At any rate, his offer was to sell
us several photographs, and his story about them was very
circumstantial. He hinted that they had been evidently among those
stolen from Mr. Travis and that in a roundabout way they had come into
the possession of a friend of his without his knowing who the thief
was. He said that he had not made the photographs himself, but had an
idea by whom they were made, that the original plates had been
destroyed, but that the person who made them was ready to swear that
the pictures were taken after the nominating convention this fall which
had named Travis. At any rate the photographs were out and the price
for them was $25,000."
"What are they that he should set such a price on them?" asked Kennedy,
keenly looking from Bennett quickly to Travis.
Travis met his look without flinching. "They are supposed to be
photographs of myself," he replied slowly. "One purports to represent
me in a group on McLoughlin's porch at his farm on the south shore of
the island, about twenty miles from my place. As Hanford described it,
I am standing between McLoughlin and J. Cadwalader Brown, the trust
promoter who is backing McLoughlin to save his investments. Brown's
hand is on my shoulder and we are talking familiarly. Another is a
picture of Brown, McLoughlin, and myself riding in Brown's car, and in
it Brown and I are evidently on the best of terms. Oh, there are
several of them, all in the same vein. Now," he added, and his voice
rose with emotion as if he were addressing a cart-tail meeting which
must be convinced that there was nothing criminal in riding in a
motor-car, "I don't hesitate to admit that a year or so ago I was not
on terms of intimacy with these men, but at least acquainted with them.
At various times, even as late as last spring, I was present at
conferences over the presidential outlook in this state, and once I
think I did ride back to the city with them. But I know that there were
no pictures taken, and even if there had been I would not care if they
told the truth about them. I have frankly admitted in my speeches that
I knew these men, that my knowledge of them and breaking from them is
my chief qualification for waging an effective war on them if I am
elected. They hate me cordially. You know that. What I do care about is
the sworn allegation that now accompanies these--these fakes. They were
not, could not have been taken after the independent convention that
nominated me. If the photographs were true I would be a fine traitor.
But I haven't even seen McLoughlin or Brown since last spring. The
whole thing is a--"
"Lie from start to finish," put in Bennett emphatically. "Yes, Travis,
we all know that. I'd quit right now if I didn't believe in you. But
let us face the facts. Here is this story, sworn to as Hanford says and
apparently acquiesced in by Billy McLoughlin and Cad. Brown. What do
they care anyhow as long as it is against you? And there, too, are the
pictures themselves--at least they will be in print or suppressed,
according as we act. Now, you know that nothing could hurt the reform
ticket worse than to have an issue like this raised at this time. We
were supposed at least to be on the level, with nothing to explain
away. There may be just enough people to believe that there is some
basis for this suspicion to turn the tide against us. If it were
earlier in the campaign I'd say accept the issue, fight it out to a
finish, and in the turn of events we should really have the best
campaign material. But it is too late now to expose such a knavish
trick of theirs on the Friday before election. Frankly, I believe
discretion is the better part of valour in this case and without
abating a jot of my faith in you, Travis, well, I'd pay first and
expose the fraud afterward, after the election, at leisure."
"No, I won't," persisted Travis, shutting his square jaw doggedly. "I
won't be held up."
The door had opened and a young lady in a very stunning street dress,
with a huge hat and a tantalising veil, stood in it for a moment,
hesitated, and then was about to shut it with an apology for intruding
on a conference.
"I'll fight it if it takes my last dollar," declared Travis, "but I
won't be blackmailed out of a cent. Good-morning, Miss Ashton. I'll be
free in a moment. I'll see you in your office directly."
The girl, with a portfolio of papers in her hand, smiled, and Travis
quickly crossed the room and held the door deferentially open as he
whispered a word or two. When she had disappeared he returned and
remarked, "I suppose you have heard of Miss Margaret Ashton, the
suffragette leader, Mr. Kennedy? She is the head of our press bureau."
Then a heightened look of determination set his fine face in hard
lines, and he brought his fist down on the desk. "No, not a cent," he
thundered.
Bennett shrugged his shoulders hopelessly and looked at Kennedy in mock
resignation as if to say, "What can you do with such a fellow?" Travis
was excitedly pacing the floor and waving his arms as if he were
addressing a meeting in the enemy's country. "Hanford comes at us in
this way," he continued, growing more excited as he paced up and down.
"He says plainly that the pictures will of course be accepted as among
those stolen from me, and in that, I suppose, he is right. The public
will swallow it. When Bennett told him I would prosecute he laughed and
said, 'Go ahead. I didn't steal the pictures. That would be a great
joke for Travis to seek redress from the courts he is criticising. I
guess he'd want to recall the decision if it went against him--hey?'
Hanford says that a hundred copies have been made of each of the
photographs and that this person, whom we do not know, has them ready
to drop into the mail to the one hundred leading papers of the state in
time for them to appear in the Monday editions just before Election
Day. He says no amount of denying on our part can destroy the
effect--or at least he went further and said 'shake their validity.'
"But I repeat. They are false. For all I know, it is a plot of
McLoughlin's, the last fight of a boss for his life, driven into a
corner. And it is meaner than if he had attempted to forge a letter.
Pictures appeal to the eye and mind much more than letters. That's what
makes the thing so dangerous. Billy McLoughlin knows how to make the
best use of such a roorback on the eve of an election, and even if I
not only deny but prove that they are a fake, I'm afraid the harm will
be done. I can't reach all the voters in time. Ten see such a charge to
one who sees the denial."
"Just so," persisted Bennett coolly. "You admit that we are practically
helpless. That's what I have been saying all along. Get control of the
prints first, Travis, for God's sake. Then raise any kind of a howl you
want--before election or after. As I say, if we had a week or two it
might be all right to fight. But we can make no move without making
fools of ourselves until they are published Monday as the last big
thing of the campaign. The rest of Monday and the Tuesday morning
papers do NOT give us time to reply. Even if they were published to-day
we should hardly have time to expose the plot, hammer it in, and make
the issue an asset instead of a liability. No, you must admit it
yourself. There isn't time. We must carry out the work we have so
carefully planned to cap the campaign, and if we are diverted by this
it means a let-up in our final efforts, and that is as good as
McLoughlin wants anyhow. Now, Kennedy, don't you agree with me? Squelch
the pictures now at any cost, then follow the thing up and, if we can,
prosecute after election?"
Kennedy and I, who had been so far little more than interested
spectators, had not presumed to interrupt. Finally Craig asked, "You
have copies of the pictures?"
"No," replied Bennett. "This Hanford is a brazen fellow, but he was too
astute to leave them. I saw them for an instant. They look bad. And the
affidavits with them look worse."
"H'm," considered Kennedy, turning the crisis over in his mind. "We've
had alleged stolen and forged letters before, but alleged stolen and
forged photographs are new. I'm not surprised that you are alarmed,
Bennett,--nor that you want to fight, Travis."
"Then you will take up the case?" urged the latter eagerly, forgetting
both his campaign manager and his campaign manners, and leaning forward
almost like a prisoner in the dock to catch the words of the foreman of
the jury. "You will trace down the forger of those pictures before it
is too late?"
"I haven't said I'll do that--yet," answered Craig measuredly. "I
haven't even said I'd take up the case. Politics is a new game to me,
Mr. Travis. If I go into this thing I want to go into it and stay in
it--well, you know how you lawyers put it, with clean hands. On one
condition I'll take the matter up, and on only one."
"Name it," cried Travis anxiously,
"Of course, having been retained by you," continued Craig with
provoking slowness, "it is not reasonable to suppose that if I
find--how shall I put it--bluntly, yes?--if I find that the story of
Hanford has some--er--foundation, it is not reasonable to suppose that
I should desert you and go over to the other side. Neither is it to be
supposed that I will continue and carry such a thing through for you
regardless of truth. What I ask is to have a free hand, to be able to
drop the case the moment I cannot proceed further in justice to myself,
drop it, and keep my mouth shut. You understand? These are my
conditions and no less."
"And you think you can make good?" questioned Bennett rather
sceptically. "You are willing to risk it? You don't think it would be
better to wait until after the election is won?"
"You have heard my conditions," reiterated Craig.
"Done," broke in Travis. "I'm going to fight it out, Bennett. If we get
in wrong by dickering with them at the start it may be worse for us in
the end. Paying amounts to confession."
Bennett shook his head dubiously. "I'm afraid this will suit
McLoughlin's purpose just as well. Photographs are like statistics.
They don't lie unless the people who make them do. But it's hard to
tell what a liar can accomplish with either in an election."
"Say, Dean, you're not going to desert me?" reproached Travis. "You're
not offended at my kicking over the traces, are you?"
Bennett rose, placed a hand on Travis's shoulder, and grasped his
other. "Wesley," he said earnestly, "I wouldn't desert you even if the
pictures were true."
"I knew it," responded Travis heartily. "Then let Mr. Kennedy have one
day to see what he can do. Then if we make no progress we'll take your
advice, Dean. We'll pay, I suppose, and ask Mr. Kennedy to continue the
case after next Tuesday."
"With the proviso," put in Craig.
"With the proviso, Kennedy," repeated Travis. "Your hand on that. Say,
I think I've shaken hands with half the male population of this state
since I was nominated, but this means more to me than any of them. Call
on us, either Bennett or myself, the moment you need aid. Spare no
reasonable expense, and--and get the goods, no matter whom it hits
higher up, even if it is Cadwalader Brown himself. Good-bye and a
thousand thanks--oh, by the way, wait. Let me take you around and
introduce you to Miss Ashton. She may be able to help you."
The office of Bennett and Travis was in the centre of the suite. On one
side were the cashier and clerical force as well as the speakers'
bureau, where spellbinders of all degrees were getting instruction,
tours were being laid out, and reports received from meetings already
held.
On the other side was the press bureau with a large and active force in
charge of Miss Ashton, who was supporting Travis because he had most
emphatically declared for "Votes for Women" and had insisted that his
party put this plank in its platform. Miss Ashton was a clever girl, a
graduate of a famous woman's college, and had had several years of
newspaper experience before she became a leader in the suffrage cause.
I recalled having read and heard a great deal about her, though I had
never met her. The Ashtons were well known in New York society, and it
was a sore trial to some of her conservative friends that she should
reject what they considered the proper "sphere" for women. Among those
friends, I understood, was Cadwalader Brown himself.
Travis had scarcely more than introduced us, yet already I scented a
romance behind the ordinarily prosaic conduct of a campaign press
bureau. It is far from my intention to minimise the work or the ability
of the head of the press bureau, but it struck me, both then and later,
that the candidate had an extraordinary interest in the newspaper
campaign, much more than in the speakers' bureau, and I am sure that it
was not solely accounted for by the fact that publicity is playing a
more and more important part in political campaigning.
Nevertheless such innovations as her card index system by election
districts all over the state, showing the attitude of the various
newspaper editors, of local political leaders, and changes of
sentiment, were very full and valuable. Kennedy, who had a regular
pigeon-hole mind for facts, was visibly impressed by this huge
mechanical memory built up by Miss Ashton. Though he said nothing to me
I knew he had also observed the state of affairs between the reform
candidate and the suffrage leader.
It was at a moment when Travis had been called back to his office that
Kennedy, who had been eyeing Miss Ashton with marked approval, leaned
over and said in a low voice. "Miss Ashton, I think I can trust you. Do
you want to do a great favour for Mr. Travis?"
She did not betray even by a fleeting look on her face what the true
state of her feelings was, although I fancied that the readiness of her
assent had perhaps more meaning than she would have placed in a simple
"Yes" otherwise.
"I suppose you know that an attempt is being made to blackmail Mr.
Travis?" added Kennedy quickly.
"I know something about it," she replied in a tone which left it for
granted that Travis had told her before even we were called in. I felt
that not unlikely Travis's set determination to fight might be
traceable to her advice or at least to her opinion of him.
"I suppose in a large force like this it is not impossible that your
political enemies may have a spy or two," observed Kennedy, glancing
about at the score or more clerks busily engaged in getting out
"literature."
"I have sometimes thought that myself," she agreed. "But of course I
don't know. Still, I have to be pretty careful. Some one is always over
here by my desk or looking over here. There isn't much secrecy in a big
room like this. I never leave important stuff lying about where any of
them could see it."
"Yes," mused Kennedy. "What time does the office close?"
"We shall finish to-night about nine, I think. To-morrow it may be
later."
"Well, then, if I should call here to-night at, say, half-past nine,
Could you be here? I need hardly say that your doing so may be of
inestimable value to--to the campaign."
"I shall be here," she promised, giving her hand with a peculiar
straight arm shake and looking him frankly in the face with those eyes
which even the old guard in the legislature admitted were vote-winners.
Kennedy was not quite ready to leave yet, but sought out Travis and
obtained permission to glance over the financial end of the campaign.
There were few large contributors to Travis's fund, but a host of small
sums ranging from ten and twenty-five dollars down to dimes and
nickels. Truly it showed the depth of the popular uprising. Kennedy
also glanced hastily over the items of expense--rent, salaries,
stenographer and office force, advertising, printing and stationery,
postage, telephone, telegraph, automobile and travelling expenses, and
miscellaneous matters.
As Kennedy expressed it afterwards, as against the small driblets of
money coming in, large sums were going out for expenses in lumps.
Campaigning in these days costs money even when done honestly. The
miscellaneous account showed some large indefinite items, and after a
hasty calculation Kennedy made out that if all the obligations had to
be met immediately the committee would be in the hole for several
thousand dollars.
"In short," I argued as we were leaving, "this will either break Travis
privately or put his fund in hopeless shape. Or does it mean that he
foresees defeat and is taking this way to recoup himself under cover of
being held up?"
Kennedy said nothing in response to my suspicions, though I could see
that in his mind he was leaving no possible clue unnoted.
It was only a few blocks to the studio of Harris Hanford, whom Kennedy
was now bent on seeing. We found him in an old building on one of the
side streets in the thirties which business had captured. His was a
little place on the top floor, up three flights of stairs, and I
noticed as we climbed up that the room next to his was vacant.
Our interview with Hanford was short and unsatisfactory. He either was
or at least posed as representing a third party in the affair, and
absolutely refused to permit us to have even a glance at the
photographs.
"My dealings," he asserted airily, "must all be with Mr. Bennett, or
with Mr. Travis, direct, not with emissaries. I don't make any secret
about it. The prints are not here. They are safe and ready to be
produced at the right time, either to be handed over for the money or
to be published in the newspapers. We have found out all about them; we
are satisfied, although the negatives have been destroyed. As for their
having been stolen from Travis, you can put two and two together. They
are out and copies have been made of them, good copies. If Mr. Travis
wishes to repudiate them, let him start proceedings. I told Bennett all
about that. To-morrow is the last day, and I must have Bennett's answer
then, without any interlopers coming into it. If it is yes, well and
good; if not, then they know what to expect. Good-bye."
It was still early in the forenoon, and Kennedy's next move was to go
out on Long Island to examine the library at Travis's from which the
pictures were said to have been stolen. At the laboratory Kennedy and I
loaded ourselves with a large oblong black case containing a camera and
a tripod.