The Tragedy of Z Read Free Page B

old. This was the admirable Quacey, his familiar, the Caliban of whom I had heard and read so many delightful stories.
    The peace of leaping flames and oak walls was relief after the clatter below. I was tired, and relaxed with thankfulness into a magnificent Tudor chair to listen. Burly father, gray, craggy, broad-shouldered; Governor Bruno with his fighter’s chin and slender aggressiveness; the old actor with his patrician face …
    It was good to be there.
    Mr. Lane was in high spirits; he plied the Governor and father with question, but of himself he refused to speak in detail.
    â€œI’ve come upon evil days,” he said lightly at one point. “Fallen into the sear and yellow leaf; and, as Shakespeare said, I should be patching up my old body for heaven. Well, my physicians are trying hard to send me to my Maker in one piece. I’m old.” Then he laughed and flicked a shadow off the wall. “But let’s not talk about a doddering gaffer. Didn’t you say a moment ago, Inspector, that you and Patience were bound for the hinterland?”
    â€œPatty and I are going upstate on a case.”
    â€œAh,” said Mr. Lane; and his nostrils quivered. “A case. I wish, I almost wish I could go with you. What’s it all about?”
    Father shrugged. “Don’t know much. It’s nothing in your line anyway. Ought to interest you, though, Bruno. I think your old pal Joel Fawcett of Tilden County is mixed up in it.”
    â€œDon’t be funny,” said the Governor sharply. “Joel Fawcett’s no friend of mine, and the fact that he belongs to my party only irritates me. He’s a crook, and he’s built up a mailed-fist organization in Tilden County.”
    â€œGlad to hear it,” grinned father. “Looks like action again. What do you know about Dr. Ira Fawcett, his brother?”
    I fancied Governor Bruno started. Then his eyes flickered and he stared into the fire. “Senator Fawcett is the worst kind of political crook, but his brother Ira is the real boss of the roost. He doesn’t hold office, but I don’t think I’m telling tales when I say that he’s the power behind his brother.”
    â€œThat explains it,” said father with a scowl. “You see, this Dr. Fawcett is silent partner to a big marble man in Leeds, and Clay—that’s the marble man—he wants me to investigate some smelly contracts he suspects his partner is hooking for the firm. It all looks cut-and-dried to me. But to prove it is a different story.”
    â€œI don’t envy you. Dr. Fawcett’s a slick article. Clay, eh? I know him. Seems to be quite all right.… I’m particularly interested because the Fawcetts face a battle this fall.”
    Mr. Lane was sitting with his eyes closed, smiling faintly; I realized with a shock that he heard nothing now. Father had often mentioned the old actor’s deafness, and his ability to read lips. But his eyelids shut off the world.
    I shook my head impatiently at the irrelevancies drifting through my thoughts and applied myself to listen. The Governor was outlining in his forceful way the situation in Leeds and Tilden County. It appeared that a bitter political campaign was anticipated during the coming months. The vigorous young district attorney of the county, John Hume, was already slated for the senatorial nomination on the opposing ticket. He was admired and liked by the local electorate, had achieved a clean, forthright reputation as public prosecutor, and was seriously challenging the power of the Fawcett ring. Backed by one of the most astute politicians in the state, Rufus Cotton, young John Hume was running on a reform platform—a particularly felicitous platform, I gathered, considering the fact that Senator Fawcett was so notoriously dishonest—“the chief hog in the upstate pork-barrel,” as Mr. Bruno expressed it—and that the county seat, Leeds,