“What about a half dozen similar movements in the state at the same time? Or rioting in other places, carefully planned to draw the troops and constabulary away?”
In the end old Anthony was impressed, if not entirely convinced. But he had no faith in the plain people, and said so. “They'll see property destroyed and never lift a hand,” he said. “Didn't I stand by in Pittsburgh during the railroad riots, and watch them smile while the yards burned? Because the railroads meant capital to them, and they hate capital.”
“Precisely,” said Howard, “but after twenty-four hours they were fighting like demons to restore law and order. It is”—he fingered the card—“to save that twenty-four hours that this organization is being formed. It is secret. Did I tell you that? And the idea originated with the young man you spoke about as supporting Hendricks—you met him here once, a friend of Lily's. His name is Cameron—William Wallace Cameron.”
Old Anthony remained silent, but the small jagged vein on his forehead swelled with anger. After a time:
“I suppose Doyle is behind this?” he asked. “It sounds like him.”
“That is the supposition. But they have nothing on him yet; he is too shrewd for that. And that leads to something else. Lily cannot continue to stay there.”
“I didn't send her there.”
“Actually, no. In effect—but we needn't go into that now. The situation is very serious. I can imagine that nothing could fit better into his plans than to have her there. She gives him a cachet of respectability. Do you want that?”
“She is probably one of them now. God knows how much of his rotten doctrine she has absorbed.”
Howard flushed, but he kept his temper.