“Well — possibly. I—”
Kells interrupted, spoke rapidly. “I’ve talked to the lady. She’s got enough on Bellmann to run him out of politics — out of the state, by God! You’re getting first crack at it because I have a hunch he isn’t sitting so pretty financially. It’s the keys to the city for you — it’s in black and white— an’ it’s a bargain.”
“You seem to have a more than casual interest in this...”
Kells nodded. “Uh, huh,” he said, smiled. “I’m the fiscal agent.”
Fenner stood up and walked up and down the room, his hands clasped behind him, a lecture-platform expression on his face.
“You forget, Kells, that the Common People — the voters — are not fully informed of Mister Bellmann’s connections, his power in the present administration.”
“That’s what your Coast Guardian’s for.” Fenner stopped in front of Kells. “Just what form does this, uh — incriminating information take?”
Kells shook his head, slowly. “You’ll have to take my word for that,” he said. He leaned forward and put his empty glass on the table.
The doorbell rang. Fenner went out into the hall, followed Granquist back into the room. Kells got up and introduced her to Fenner, and Fenner took her coat into the bedroom and then came back and poured drinks for all of them.
“Mister Kells has raised the ante to twenty-five thousand,” he said. He smiled boyishly at Granquist.