"Possibly," he said. "But, Mr. Cargan, the blackness of the kettle always has annoyed the pot. Do not be afraid," he added to the girl. "Every gentleman in this room is to spend the evening with me. You will not be annoyed in any way." He looked around the menacing circle. "Go," he said, "and may the gods of the mountain take care of you."
The little professor of Comparative Literature stepped forward and stood pompously before Magee.
"One moment," he remarked. "Before you steal this money in front of our very eyes, I want to inform you who I am, and who I represent here."
"This is no time," replied Magee, "for light talk on the subject of blondes."
"This is the time," said the professor warmly, "for me to tell you that Mr. Kendrick here and myself represent at Baldpate Inn the prosecuting attorney of Reuton county. We—"
Cargan, big, red, volcanic, interrupted.
"Drayton," he bellowed. "Drayton sent you here? The rat! The pup! Why, I made that kid. I put him where he is. He won't dare touch me."
"Won't he?" returned Professor Bolton. "My dear sir, you are mistaken. Drayton fully intends to prosecute you on the ground that you arranged to pass Ordinance Number 45, granting the Suburban Railway the privilege of merging with the Civic, in exchange for this bribe of two hundred thousand dollars."
"He won't dare," cried Cargan. "I made him."
"Before election," said the professor, "I believe he often insisted to you that he would do his duty as he saw it."