The policeman bit his lip and his eyes flashed. The only answer that he made was given in a stern voice.
"I will do my duty, sir!"
The Mayor passed on, joining his companion. The ruddy face of the Alderman was many shades paler than usual, and his voice faltered as he addressed his friend.
"This is very shocking. If I had known that it would end so, I, for one, would have had nothing to do with it."
"I am sorry that you are dissatisfied," answered his honor, coldly. "The case you brought against the man seemed a very clear one—nothing could have been stronger than the evidence, otherwise, with all my disposition to serve you, I should not have acted as I did."
The Alderman paused in profound astonishment, his eyes wide open, and his heavy lips parted, gazing upon the impassive form of his friend.
"But, sir, but"—he could not go on, the profound composure of the Mayor paralyzed him. He really began to think that the whole guilt of this innocent man's death rested with himself, that he had altogether misunderstood his honor from the first.
Having deepened and settled this conviction upon his conscience-stricken dupe by a lengthened and grave silence, the Mayor added, consolingly:
"In political life these things must be expected; of course no one is responsible for the casualties that may occur; no doubt this man was consumptive long before you ever saw him!"
"I wish that he had never crossed my path, at any rate," replied the Alderman, almost sternly. "To my dying day I shall never forget that face! I do not know, I cannot think, how I was ever led into persecuting him. Smith wanted the appointment, true enough, and he had done something toward my election, but so had fifty others; how on earth did I ever come to take all this interest in his claim?"