“Very well, sir,” assented Hood, stepping back.
“Another thing,” continued Ames, “see Judge Hanson and have the calling of the Ketchim case held in abeyance until I am ready for it. I’ve got a scheme to involve that negro wench in the trial, and drag her through the gutters! So, she’s still in love with Rincón, eh? Well, we’ll put a crimp in that little affair, I guess! Has Willett heard from Wenceslas?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“I’ll lift the scalp from that blackguard Colombian prelate if he tries to trick me! Has Willett found Lafelle’s whereabouts?”
“No, sir. But the detectives report that he has been in Spain recently.”
“Spain! What’s he––up to there?” he exclaimed in a voice that began high and ended in a whisper.
He lapsed into a reflective mood, and for some moments his thoughts seemed to wander far. Then he pulled himself together and roused out of his meditations.
“You told Jayne that I would back the Budget to any extent, provided it would publish the stuff I sent it?”
“Yes, sir. He was very glad to accept your offer.”
“Very well. You and Willett set about at once getting up daily articles attacking the Express. I want you to dig up every move ever made by Hitt, Haynerd, that girl, Waite, Morton, and the whole miserable, sneaking outfit! Rake up every scandal, every fact, or rumor, that is in any way associated with any of them. I want them literally cannonaded by the Budget! Hitt’s a renegade preacher! Haynerd was a bum before he got the Social Era! Waite is an unfrocked priest! Miss Wall’s father was a distiller! That girl––that girl is a––Did you know that she used to be in a brothel down in the red-light district? Well, she did! Great record the publishers of the Express have, eh? Now, by God! I want you and Jayne to bury that whole outfit under a mountain of mud! I’m ready to spend ten millions to do it! Kill ’em! Kill ’em all!”