“But listen, I can prove—”
Neenan got no further. Forsythe stood over him menacingly.
“Another word from you and I’ll ring for a cop and have you arrested for conspiracy. Remember I know who broke Hammond’s legs.”
Neenan stared back at him for a moment with eyes turned to steel gimlets, white hot at the points. Then without a word he left the room and the suite and hurried down the corridor to his own apartment.
A few minutes later the eloquent voice of Forsythe was being poured into the convention hall. He was surpassing himself in his flights of oratory.
He wound up, deprecating his opponent’s position on the water power question, and pledging himself to continue a safe and sane policy of watchful waiting until the time was ripe for the State to act.
Forsythe laid down his manuscript and turned to receive the plaudits of the group around him.
“Stop! Just a moment, Mr. Forsythe!” came an unfamiliar voice of thunder from the amplifier of the convention hall, and from the radio horn in the Forsythe suite. “You have something to confess, Mr. Forsythe. Do it now, before I’m compelled not only to confess it for you, but to make a further statement that will make you a fugitive from justice.”
The booming voice ceased, and for a moment there was absolute silence.
Then another voice came from the radio. Forsythe started, and turned deadly pale. He had not spoken a word, but the voice that he was hearing was seemingly his own.