Nothing was being said tonight. The children were in bed. Herbert Carpenter was slowly puffing a cigarette, as he sat in the living room of his home. An ash tray, piled with stubs, accounted for the smoke-filled room.
Carpenter’s wife, seated in another chair, watched her husband with tear-filled eyes. To her, this man’s arrest had meant the end of the world. It had been a blow that had left her stunned. Bravely, she had received him with no mention of what had occurred. Still, the future loomed as black as a bottomless pit.
Carpenter knew his wife’s thoughts, and he had nothing to say. He felt a misery that he had never before known. The stain upon his own career seemed nothing compared to the distress and misfortune that he knew these innocent ones must face.
There was a knock at the door. Carpenter started suddenly and glanced toward the door. His wife looked at him and nodded listlessly. She answered the door and admitted a well-dressed, hard-faced man who looked across the hallway and caught Carpenter’s glance.
THE blackmailer arose and stepped into the hall. He spoke to his wife in a low, hushed tone.
“Madge,” he said, “I–I must talk to this visitor — alone. You — you understand?”
The woman nodded and turned to walk slowly upstairs. Carpenter turned questioningly toward the visitor.
“What is it, Hooks?” he asked quietly. “Going to get me off?”
Hooks Borglund motioned the blackmail king into the other room.
“Listen, Carpenter,” he stated, “you’ve got to take the rap. We can’t get you out of it.”