Two soiled Italians had crawled out from beneath the porch and were making off with their coats and dinner-pails in the direction of the barn.
“I have put it up to County Headquarters, Malone,” said Oliver, in an emotionless tone, “as to whether I should stay in the race or withdraw.”
“What do you mean withdraw?” asked the detective sharply.
“Well, it’s only fair to give them a chance to put some one else on the ticket in my place if they feel—”
“Come off! In the first place, they can’t put anybody in your place now. It’s too late. And in the second place, you’ve got old Gooch licked to a standstill, so what the devil’s got into you? You must be off your nut. We’re not going to find your father’s body, my boy. Why? Because it isn’t—”
“How do you know you are not going to find it?” was Oliver’s surprising question.
Malone stared. “What has caused you to change your tone like this, Baxter?”
“It’s getting on my nerves, Malone—I don’t mind saying so,” said the younger man, frowning. “At first I laughed at all this fuss, but lately I’ve been lying awake thinking that maybe we’ve been wrong all the time and that he is out there—My God, Malone, it—it turns the blood cold in my veins.”
“I get you,” said Malone, sympathetically. “It does give a fellow the shivers. But now about this getting off the ticket. Don’t you do anything of the sort, Baxter. Don’t lay down. You’ve got this election sewed up—and say, what if we do accidentally find your old man—what’s that got to do with it? Haven’t you been looking for him for over a year? Supposing he did wander off into the swamp that night—”
“Malone, I can feel it in the air that a great many people believe I know what became of him. It’s in the air, I say. There may be people who believe that I had something to do with putting him out of the way. People like to believe the worst. The Democratic speakers are mighty decent and so are the newspapers. They haven’t uttered a word or printed one that isn’t fair and square. But back in the minds of a lot of people is the thought that perhaps, after all, I did murder my father. You can’t blame—”