The Red Mouse Part 38

But to-morrow night never came for Challoner. The game of graft had sickened him.

"I have got to tell somebody about this," he a.s.sured himself. And then an inspiration came to him. "I know, I'll go to Murgatroyd!"

"Murgatroyd!" He shuddered as he repeated the name, for the prosecutor had been connected with the thing that had become to Challoner and his wife a subject forbidden and unmentioned.

But, nevertheless, he went to Murgatroyd.

XIV

It is, of course, not given us to know what dreams of fame were in Murgatroyd's heart when he determined to throw down the gage at the feet of Cradlebaugh's; but, at all events, it took the best kind of courage and mettle; and certainly from the hour that he had sent for Pemmican and placed him on the rack in a vain attempt to get evidence, not to speak of the time when Mrs. Challoner exposed him in the court-room, he had never ceased his investigations of the secrets of the big gambling-house. But no sooner had he come to the conclusion that he had penetrated the mystery than he found himself in the centre of a vast maelstrom of his own creation: Cradlebaugh's was but a patch in a wilderness of riot and corruption, an incident in a series of big events; and Murgatroyd discovered that he was battling not only with a single inst.i.tution, but with a huge political principle--he was at war with a big city.

Another man might have been discouraged, for millionaires, large property owners, reputable tax-payers, statesmen of the highest order, and even his best friends came to him and begged him to call off his crusade; but he only shook his head. As he proceeded, he made the discovery that a political organisation is not an organisation--it is a man; that crime is personified; and that corruption is concrete. And as the battle waged, he found himself constantly seeking his old stamping-ground--Cradlebaugh's. That, somehow, seemed to be the keystone of the edifice that he a.s.saulted.

Then, one day, agitated, breathless but triumphant, Mixley and McGrath burst into the prosecutor's office.

"Chief," spoke out Mixley joyously, "we followed your instructions to the letter." And beckoning to his partner, "McGrath and me has got the goods!" McGrath pulled from his pocket a bulky doc.u.ment made up of depositions, and said:--

"This here is the report, sir."

While Murgatroyd read the doc.u.ment, his subordinates stood watching him with anxious eyes. Long before he had concluded they saw in his face the expression that they had waited for.

"By George, you don't mean it!" exclaimed Murgatroyd, suddenly rising to his feet and smiting his desk with terrific force.

"You can bet your bottom dollar that we do!" returned Mixley.

Murgatroyd clenched his teeth with inward satisfaction. Presently he said:--

"I've waited for this for many months."

After re-reading the report he ordered his men to go to Broderick and Thorne with the request that they come to him immediately.

An hour later Graham Thorne made his appearance, Broderick waddling in after him. Murgatroyd pa.s.sed over a box of cigars.

Broderick lighted, and after puffing contentedly for a time, commented:--

"Good cigars, these. Strikes me that they're your first contribution to the campaign fund, eh?" And helping himself to three more out of the box, he tucked them away in his pocket with a wink at Murgatroyd, and asked:--

"Any Challoner money in these?"

Murgatroyd smiled grimly.

"You seem ready enough to burn it, anyhow," he answered. And puffing also on his cigar he said, "I wanted to have a little confidential talk with you gentlemen."

Broderick nudged Thorne and remarked:--

"Perhaps the prosecutor's goin' to divvy with us, Thorne!"

Murgatroyd smiled and laughed; but somehow the smile and laugh did not include Thorne.

"I'm not going to divvy up, as you call it, just yet--not _just_ yet,"

he replied, pointedly.

Broderick shut his eyes and digested the glance and the reply. Both seemed to satisfy him, for he nodded genially.

Rising now, and sitting lazily across one corner of his desk, Murgatroyd turned his attention to Thorne.

"I wanted to have a talk," he said casually, "with the man who owns Cradlebaugh's."

Thorne looked about the room, then he inquired innocently:--

"He doesn't seem to have arrived as yet--where is he?"

Murgatroyd blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling, and answered:--

"Oh, yes he has--his name is Graham Thorne." Murgatroyd could see the pallor of Thorne's face turn to a deeper white; he could feel that the ruddiness upon the countenance of Broderick had deepened into scarlet.

There was a pause. After a moment, Thorne rose and said indignantly:--

"Say that again!"

"With pleasure," returned Murgatroyd, "I say that you are the hitherto unknown owner of the most notorious gambling-house within the State."

There was another pause in which Thorne looked at Broderick and Broderick looked at Thorne.

"This is preposterous!" exclaimed Thorne.

Murgatroyd made no answer. Then he proceeded with a.s.sertions.

"And with the earnings of that gambling-house," he said evenly, "you have stopped the mouths, closed the eyes and ears, and paralysed the hands of the authorities. With the earnings of that gambling-house, you have bought the influence of Chairman Peter Broderick, who lives upon those earnings--grows fat upon them."

Broderick's eyes bulged; he, too, rose and started toward the prosecutor.

"Say," he yelled, "I'll open up my anatomy to you! Pick out any ounce o'

fat and tell me Cradlebaugh's put it there! Come on--my fat is my own--I earned it by the sweat of my brow!"

With perfect coolness, Murgatroyd continued:--

"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 e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

"Worse than slanderin' my fat!" added Peter Broderick.

Before Murgatroyd could speak again, Thorne took another tack.