Representative Wales was serving his first term in Congress. His election had been a matter of surprise to everybody, himself included, excepting Ames. Wales knew not that his detailed personal history had been for many months carefully filed in the vaults of the Ames tower. Nor did he ever suspect that his candidacy and election had been matters of most careful 51 thought on the part of the great financier and his political associates. But when he, a stranger to congressional halls, was made a member of the Ways and Means Committee, his astonishment overleaped all bounds. Then Ames had smiled his own gratification, and arranged that the new member should attend the formal opening of the great Ames palace later in the year. Meantime, the financier and the new congressman had met on several occasions, and the latter had felt no little pride in the attention which the great man had shown him.
And so the path to fame had unrolled steadily before the guileless Wales until this night, when the first suspicions of his thraldom had penetrated and darkened his thought. Then, like a crash from a clear sky, had come the announcement of the Mercantile Trust failure. And as he stood there now, clutching the marble railing, his thought busy with the woman and the two fair children who would be rendered penniless by this blow, the fell presence of the monster Ames seemed to bend over him as the epitome of ruthless, brutal, inhuman cunning.
“How much are you likely to lose by this failure?” the giant asked.
Wales collected his scattered senses. “Not less than fifty thousand dollars,” he replied in a husky voice.
“H’m!” commented Ames. “Too bad! too bad! Well, let’s go below. Ha! what’s this?” stooping and apparently taking up an object that had been lying on the floor back of the congressman. “Well! well! your bank book, Wales. Must have slipped from your pocket.”
Wales took the book in a dazed, mechanical way. “Why––I have no––this is not mine,” he murmured, gazing alternately at the pass book and at Ames.
“Your name’s on it, at least,” commented Ames laconically. “And the book’s been issued by our bank, Ames and Company. Guess you’ve forgotten opening an account there, let me see, yes, a week ago.” He took the book and opened it. “Ah, yes, I recall the incident now. There’s your deposit, made last Friday.”
Wales choked. What did it mean? The book, made out in his name on Ames and Company, showed a deposit to his credit of fifty thousand dollars!
Ames slipped his arm through the confused congressman’s, and started with him down the balcony. “You see,” he said, as they moved away, “the Mercantile failure will not hit you as hard as you thought. Now, about that cotton schedule, when you cast your vote for it, be sure that––” The voice died away 52 as the men disappeared in the distance, leaving Carmen and Haynerd staring blankly at each other.
“Well!” ejaculated Haynerd at length. “What now?”