"You killed Arthur," he concluded, white to the lips, "as surely as if you used a stiletto! So that was what Arthur meant." For a few moments Danvers could not speak as the recollection of that look of love and trust came surging back. "No one must ever know the truth," he went on, huskily. "Let it be buried with poor Arthur. There will be more or less gossip; but we will stand by you for the judge's sake—and for Miss Blair's as well. She, of all persons, must know nothing of what you have told me."
Mrs. Latimer's sobs only roused his wrath at all the misery she had wrought. He knew her tears were for herself, not for her husband. As he turned to leave the room she caught at his hand.
"I did not mean——" she began in weak defense. "You are too hard," she protested, feeling him recoil.
"Hard!" Philip laughed harshly in his pain. "You did not expect me to condole with you on the outcome of your folly? All that I can say is, may God forgive you!" and he was gone.
So resolutely did Latimer's friends ignore all previous conditions that the ready tongue of rumor was silenced immediately. Surely if Senator Danvers and the doctor from Fort Benton, as well as Miss Blair, were ever at Mrs. Latimer's side, there could have been no breath of wrong in her sudden cultivation of Senator Blair.
Only three persons—Danvers, the doctor and Moore—knew of the hidden octopus of Burroughs' insatiable vindictiveness, whose tentacles, first fastening on Eva, had finally crushed Latimer. Moore knew, if the others did not, that Blair was doomed if he once again came within its radius. Then for the others! But he made no immediate move, and decorously gave regard to the proprieties, both for himself and as a substitute for Mr. Burroughs. His chief was almost as hysterical as Eva herself over the judge's untimely death, for he thought his prospects endangered thereby. His panic made him hasten to leave Helena for a few days.
Moore had tried to secure some other man to change to Burroughs, someone who did not hold himself as high as Blair had done on the night of the club dinner; but he had finally been obliged to report his non-success. He suggested to Burroughs that he approach Senator Blair once more, offering twenty thousand dollars. He felt sure that Charlie would take less—now!
Just before Burroughs ordered a special train to hurry him away from the prevailing gloom, the two conspirators had their final word on the subject of Senator Blair.
"We've got to get this thing over," said Burroughs, savagely. "There's too much talk. We'll be hung as high as Haman or sent to the pen for twenty years if we don't get a move on. And there are but six days more of the session. Give Charlie Blair his price—and be damned to him!"
"That's all right, Bob," retorted Moore, angrily. "I'll give him the money if you say so. But I don't think the whole business of being a United States senator is worth thirty thousand dollars. And if I do get it to him (and the Lord knows how I can)—what then? He is sick in bed, and who can tell when he can get to the capitol?"