He rushed from the room as abruptly as he had entered. The Interpreter heard him plunging down the stairs. The roar of his automobile died away in the distance.
In an early morning extra edition, the Millsburgh Clarion announced the death of two of the most prominent citizens.
James McIver was killed in the explosion that burned his factory.
Adam Ward's body was found in a secluded corner of his beautiful estate. He died by his own hand.
The cigar-store philosopher put his paper down and reached into the show case for the box that the judge wanted. "It looks like McIver played the wrong cards in his little game with Jake Vodell," he remarked, as the judge made a careful selection.
"I am afraid so," returned the judge.
The postmaster took a handful from the same box and said, as he dropped a dollar on the top of the show case, "I see Sam Whaley has confessed that the blowing up of the factory was all set as part of their program. Their plan was to wreck the Mill first then McIver's place. Where do you suppose Jake Vodell got away to?"
"Hard to guess," said the judge.
The philosopher put the proper change before them. "There's one thing sure—the people of these here United States had better get good and busy findin' out where he is."
It was significant that neither the philosopher nor his customers mentioned the passing of Adam Ward.