“That may require an explanation to a judge and jury, which would be a trifle inconvenient. I’d prefer to risk my life in a fight. Then, if it came to court, our reputation is good, while theirs is in the rogues’ gallery.”
“Where would you imprison them?” asked Macloud, dubiously.
“That is the difficulty, I admit. Think over it, while we’re going to Washington and back; see if you can’t find a way out. Either we must jug them, securely, for a week or two, or we must arrest them. On the whole, it might be wiser to let them go free—let them make a try for the treasure, unmolested. When they fail and retire, we can begin.”
“Your last alternative doesn’t sound particularly attractive to me—or to you, either, I fancy.”
“This isn’t going to be a particularly attractive quest, if we want to succeed,” said Croyden. “Pirate’s gold breeds pirate’s ways, I reckon—blood and violence and sudden death. We’ll try to play it without death, however, if our opponents will permit. Such title, as exists to Parmenter’s hoard, is in me, and I am not minded to relinquish it without a struggle. I wasn’t especially keen at the start, but I’m keen enough, now—and I don’t 143 propose to be blocked by two rogues, if there is a way out.”
“And the way out, according to your notion, is to be our own jailers, think you?” said Macloud. “Well, we can chew on it—the manner of procedure is apt to keep us occupied a few hours.”
They took the next train, on the Electric Line, to Washington, Macloud having telephoned ahead and made an appointment with Senator Rickrose—whom, luckily, they found at the Capital—to meet them at the Metropolitan Club for luncheon. At Fourteenth Street, they changed to a Connecticut Avenue car, and, dismounting at Seventeenth and dodging a couple of automobiles, entered the Pompeian brick and granite building, the home of the Club which has the most representative membership in the country.
Macloud was on the non-resident list, and the door-man, with the memory for faces which comes from long practice, greeted him, instantly, by name, though he had not seen him for months.
“Yes, Mr. Macloud, Senator Rickrose just came in,” he said.
They met the Senator in the Red Room. He was very tall, with a tendency to corpulency, which, however, was lost in his great height; very dignified, and, for one of his service, very young—of immense influence in the councils of his party, and the absolute dictator in his own State. Inheriting a superb machine from a “matchless leader,”—who 144 died in the harness—he had developed it into a well nigh perfect organization for political control. All power was in his hands, from the lowest to the highest, he ruled with a sway as absolute as a despot. His word was the ultimate law—from it an appeal did not lie.