“If only you knew better,” he sighed in comic resignation, “you’d be horsewhipped three times a week. What a mighty, impregnable armor is profound ignorance! Unfortunately,” he went on, more gravely, “I couldn’t avail myself of your very tactfully veiled offer even if I chose. The Star is but one of Granite’s four daily newspapers. If I refuse to print the story, the three others remain to—”
“H’m,” mused Conover. “I s’pose so. I s’pose so. In another five years there won’t be a paper in Granite that’ll dare print a word I tell ’em not to. I wish now I’d bought up their stock already; instead of waitin’ until I get some more important deals off my hands. A noospaper is a good weapon for a big man to keep for emergencies. If ’twasn’t for the papers I could a’ pulled off lots of dandy schemes. What a cinch the old-time business men must a’ had before printin’ was invented!”
His voice trailed away. His head once more sank. His eyes were shut; his forehead contracted.
“I thought it only fair—” began Caine.
“Shut up!” grunted Conover, “I’m thinkin’. Leave me be.”
Caine, in no wise offended, held his peace, and watched the big concentrated figure that sprawled so motionless in the desk chair. For several minutes the two sat in silence. Then Caleb opened his eyes. The frown had cleared; the light of battle flickered beneath his shrewd lids.
“Caine,” he said solemnly, “I got a confession to make. You’re the first to hear it. So be flattered. Caine, Ol’ Man Shevlin had nothin’ to do with the Shevlin Contractin’ Company, at the time the City Hall an’ the County Courthouse was started. Six months before then, he’d sold out the whole business to me.”
“What are—?”
“Hold on a second,” ordered Caleb. “Hear all the sad, sad secret before you fly up in the air. I bought out the Shevlin Contractin’ Com’pany, lock, stock an’ bar’l; good will an’ fixtures. I still ran it under Shevlin’s name, so’s to get the good of his old trade. That’s why I worked through agents. I didn’t appear in it at all. I built the Court House an’ the noo City Hall, an’ made close onto a million out of the deal. It was crooked work if you like. But the statoot of limitations’ll keep me from bein’ indicted for it, I guess. An’ if I am indicted, I’ll bet fifty dollars to fifty doughnuts the case’ll never come to trial. Yessir, I’m the guilty man, all right. An’ I can prove it.”
“Are you quite through?” asked Caine with exaggerated politeness, as the Fighter paused.