Mr. Oscar Fischer and his friend, Senator Theodore Hastings, stood side
by side, a week later, in the bar of one of the most fashionable of New
York hotels. They were passing away the few minutes before Pamela and
her aunt would be ready to join them in the dining room above.
"Very little news, I fancy," Hastings remarked, glancing at the tape
which was passing through his companion's fingers.
"Nothing--of any importance," Fischer replied. "Nothing."
The older man glanced searchingly at his companion, the change in whose
tone was ominous. Fischer was standing with the tape in his hand, his
eyes glued upon a certain paragraph. The Senator took out his
eyeglasses and looked over his friend's shoulder.
"What's this?" he demanded. "Eh?"
Fischer was fighting a great battle and fighting it well.
"Something wrong, apparently, with Frank Roughton," he observed; "an
old college friend of mine. They made him Governor of----only last
year."
Hastings read the item thoughtfully.
Governor Roughton this morning tendered his resignation as Governor of
the State of----. We understand that it was at once accepted. Numerous
arrests have taken place with reference to the great explosion at the
Bembridge powder factory.
"Looks rather fishy, that," Hastings observed thoughtfully.
"I'm sorry for Roughton," Fischer declared. "He was a perfectly
straight man, and I am sure he has done his best."
"Great friend of yours?" the other asked curiously.
"We were intimately acquainted," was the brief answer.
The two men finished their cocktails in silence. On their way upstairs
the Senator took his companion's arm.
"Fischer," he said, "you'll forgive me if I put a certain matter to you
plainly?"
"Naturally!"
"Within the last few days," Hastings proceeded, "there have been seven
explosions or fires at various factories throughout the States. It is a
somewhat significant circumstance," he added, after a slight pause,
"that every one of these misfortunes has occurred at a factory where
munitions of some sort for the Allies have been in process of
manufacture. Shrewd men have naturally come to the conclusion that
there is some organisation at work."
"I should doubt it," Fischer replied. "You must remember that there is
always a great risk of disasters in factories where explosives are
being handled. It is a new thing to many of the manufacturers here,
and it is obvious that they are not making use of all the necessary
precautions."
"I see," Hastings observed, reflectively. "So that is how you would
explain this epidemic of disasters, eh?"
"Certainly!"
"At the same time, Fischer, to set my mind entirely at rest," Hastings
continued, "I should like your assurance that you have nothing whatever
to do with any organisation, should there be such a thing, including in
its object the destruction of American property."
"I will do more than answer your question in the direct negative," was
the firm reply. "I will assure you that no such organisation exists."
"I am relieved to hear it," Hastings confessed. "This resignation of
Roughton, however, seems a strange thing. Most of these fires have
occurred in his State.... Ah! there is Senator Joyce waiting for us,
and Pamela and Mrs. Hastings."
Mr. Hastings as a host was in his element. His manners and tact, which
his enemies declared were far too perfect, were both admirably
displayed in the smaller ways of life. He guided the conversation into
light yet opportune subjects, and he utterly ignored the fact that
Senator Joyce, one of the great politicians of the day, whose support
of his nomination was already more than half promised, seemed distrait
and a little cold. It was Pamela who quite inadvertently steered the
conversation into a dangerous channel.
"What has Governor Roughton been doing, Mr. Fischer?" she asked.
There was a moment's silence. Pamela's question had fallen something
like a bombshell amongst the little party. It was their guest who
replied.
"The matter is occupying the attention of the country very largely at
the moment, Miss Van Teyl," he said. "It is perhaps unfortunate that
Governor Roughton seems to have allowed his sympathies to be so clearly
known."
"He is a German by birth, is he not?" Pamela inquired.
"Most decidedly not," Fischer asserted. "I was at Harvard with him."
"All the same," Pamela murmured under her breath, "I think that he was
born at Stuttgart."
"He is an American citizen," Senator Joyce observed, "and has reached a
high position here. We of the Administration may be wrong," he
continued, "but we believe, and we think that we have a right to
believe, that when any man of conscience and ideals takes the oath, he
is free from all previous prejudices. He is an American citizen--
nothing more and nothing less."
"Of course, that is magnificent," Pamela declared, "but it isn't common
sense, is it, and you haven't answered my original question yet."
"I am not in a position to do so, Miss Van Teyl," Joyce replied. "The
trouble probably is that Governor Roughton has been considered
incompetent as so many of these disasters have taken place unhindered
in his State."
"There was a rumour," Pamela persisted, "that he was under arrest."
"Quite untrue, I am sure," Fischer muttered.
There was a general diversion of the conversation, but the sense of
uneasiness remained. Pamela and Mrs. Hastings, at the conclusion of the
little banquet, acting upon a hint from their host, made their way to
one of the small drawing-rooms for their coffee. Left alone, the three
men drew their chairs closer together. Joyce's fine face seemed somehow
to have become a little harder and more unsympathetic. He sipped the
water, which was his only beverage, and pushed away the cigars in which
he generally indulged.
"Mr. Hastings," he pronounced, "I have given the subject of supporting
your nomination my deepest consideration. I was at one time, I must
confess, favourably disposed towards the idea. I have changed my mind.
I have decided to give my support to the present Administration."
Fischer's face was dark with anger. He even allowed an expletive to
escape from his lips. Hastings, however, remained master of himself.
"I will not conceal from you, Mr. Joyce," he confessed, "that I am
exceedingly disappointed. You have fully considered everything, I
presume--our pledge, for instance, to nominate you as my successor?"
"I have considered everything," Joyce replied. "The drawback in my
mind, to be frank with you, is that I doubt whether you would receive
sufficient support throughout the country. It is my idea," he went on,
"although I may be wrong, of course, that the support of the
German-Americans who, you must allow me to maintain, are an exceedingly
unneutral part of America, will place you in an unpopular position.
Should you succeed in getting yourself elected, which I very much
doubt, you will be an unpopular President. I would rather wait my
time."
"You have changed your views," Fischer muttered.
"To be perfectly frank with you, I have," Joyce acknowledged. "These
outrages throughout the States are, to my mind, blatant and criminal.
Directly or indirectly, the German-American public is responsible for
them--indirectly, by inflammatory speeches, reckless journalism, and
point-blank laudation of illegal acts; directly--well, here I can speak
only from my own suspicions, so I will remain silent. But my mind is
made up. A man in this country, as you know," he added, "need make only
one mistake and his political future is blasted. I am not inclined to
risk making that one mistake."
Hastings sighed. He was making a brave effort to conceal a great
disappointment.
"One cannot argue with you, Mr. Joyce," he regretted. "You have come to
a certain conclusion, and words are not likely to alter it. There is no
one I would so dearly have loved to number amongst my supporters, but I
see that it is a privilege for which I may not hope.... We will, if you
are ready, Fischer, join the ladies."
They rose from the table a few minutes later.
Fischer, who had been eagerly watching his opportunity, drew Senator
Joyce on one side for a moment as they passed down the crowded
corridor.
"Mr. Joyce," he said, "I have heard your decision to-night with deeper
regret than I can express, yet more than ever it has brought home one
truth to me. Our position towards you was a wrong one. We offered you a
reversion when we should have offered you the thing itself."
Senator Joyce swung around.
"Say, Mr. Fischer, what are you getting at?" he asked bluntly.
"I mean that it is Hastings and I who should have been your supporters,
and you who should have been our candidate," Fischer suggested boldly.
"What about it? It isn't too late."
"Nothing doing, sir," was the firm reply. "Theodore Hastings may not be
exactly my type of man, but I am not out to see him cornered like that,
and besides, to tell you the honest truth, Mr. Fischer," he added,
pausing at the door, "when I stand for the Presidency, I want to do so
not on the nomination of you or your friends, or any underground
schemers. I want the support of the real American citizen. I want to be
free from, all outside ties and obligations. I want to stand for
America, and America only, I not only want to be President, you see,
but I want to be the chosen President of the right sort of people.... I
am going to ask you to excuse me to the ladies and our host, Mr.
Fischer," he concluded, holding out his hand. "I had a note asking me
to visit the Attorney General, which I only received on my way here. I
have an idea that it is about this Roughton business."
Fischer returned to the others alone. Hastings was clearly disturbed at
his guest's departure. His friend and supporter, however, affected to
treat it lightly.
"Joyce is like all these lawyers," he declared. "He is simply waiting
to see which way the wind blows. I have come across them many times.
They like to wait till parties are evenly balanced, till their support
makes all the difference, and clinch their bargain then."
"I should have said," Pamela remarked, "that Mr. Joyce was a man above
that sort of thing."
"Every man has his price and his weak spot," her uncle observed
didactically. "Joyce's price is the Presidency. His weak spot is
popular adulation. I agree with Fischer. He will probably join us
later."
Mr. Hastings was summoned to the telephone, a moment or two later. Mrs.
Hastings sat down to write a note, and Pamela moved her place over to
Fischer's side. His face brightened at her spontaneous movement. She
shook her head, however, at the little compliment with which he
welcomed her.
"This afternoon," she said softly, "I met Mr. Lutchester."
"Is he back in New York?" Fischer asked, frowning.
Pamela nodded.
"He told me something which I feel inclined to tell you," she
continued, glancing into her companion's haggard face with a gleam of
sympathy in her eyes. "You'll probably see it in the newspapers
to-morrow morning. Governor Roughton's resignation was compulsory. He
is under arrest."
"For negligence?"
"For participation," was the grave reply. "Mr. Lutchester has been down
to--the city where these things took place. He only got back late this
afternoon."
"Lutchester again!" Fischer muttered.
"You see, it's rather in his line," Pamela reminded him. "He is over
here to superintend the production of munitions from the factories
which are working for the British Government."
"He is over here as a sort of general mischief-maker!" Fischer
exclaimed fiercely. "Do I understand that he has been down in----?"
Pamela nodded.
"He went down with one of the heads of the New York police."
She turned away, but Fischer caught at her wrist.
"You know more than this!" he cried hoarsely.
The agony in the man's face and tone touched her. After all, he was
fighting for the great things. There was nothing mean about Fischer,
nothing selfish about his lying and his crimes.
"I have told you all that I can," she whispered, "but if you hurried,
you could catch the _New York_ to-night--and I think I should advise
you to go."