"It's no joke," went on McQuade. "If he is nominated, he'll win. The people are wanting a change. If the Henderson people get into the City Hall, I stand to lose a fortune on contracts. You both know what that means. Warrington must never get a chance to accept."
Bolles looked at Martin. McQuade saw the look, and, interpreting it, laughed.
"These are no dime-novel days. We don't kill men to get 'em out of the way. We take a look into their past and use it as a club."
"I begin to see," said Martin. "Warrington must be side-tracked before the convention. Good. That'll be simple."
"Not very," McQuade admitted. "It's going to be a devilish hard job. You, Bolles, pack up and go to New York. I want some information regarding this young fellow's past in New York. It's up to you to get it. No faking, mind you; good substantial evidence that can be backed up by affidavits. Get the idea? Five hundred and expenses, if you succeed; your expenses anyhow. Five hundred is a lot of money these days. But if you go on a bat, I'll drop you like a hot brick, for good and all. Think it over. Pack up to-night, if you want to. Here's a hundred to start with. Remember this, now, there must be a woman."
"A woman?"
"Yes. A man has no past, if there isn't a woman in it."
"I can land that five hundred," Bolles declared confidently. "I can find the woman. I'll write you every other day."
"Well, then, that's all. Good luck. No boozing while you're on the job Afterward I don't care what you do. By-by."
Bolles took his dismissal smilingly. Five hundred. It was easy.