For weeks Woslosky had known of the growing strength of the Vigilance Committee, and that it was arming steadily.
It threatened absolutely the success of his plans. Even the election of Akers and the changes he would make in the city police; even the ruse of other strikes and machine-made riotings to call away the state troops,—none of these, or all of them, would be effectual against an organized body of citizens, duly called to the emergency.
And such an organization was already effected. Within a week, when the first card reached his hands, it had grown to respectable proportions. Woslosky went to Doyle, and they made their counter-moves quickly. No more violence. A seemingly real but deceptive orderliness. They were dealing with inflammatory material, however, and now and then it got out of hand. Unlike Doyle the calculating, who made each move slowly and watched its results with infinite zest, the Pole chafed under delay.
“We can't hold them much longer,” he complained, bitterly. “This thing of holding them off until after the election—and until Akers takes office—it's got too many ifs in it.”
“It was haste lost Seattle,” said Doyle, as unmoved as Woslosky was excited.
Woslosky did not like Louis Akers. What was more important, he distrusted him. When he heard of his engagement to Lily Cardew he warned Doyle about him.
“He's in this thing for what he can get out of it,” he said. “He'll go as far as he can, with safety, to be accepted by the Cardews.”
“Exactly,” was Doyle's dry comment, “with safety, you said. Well, he knows you and he knows me, and he'll he straight because he's afraid not to be.”
“When there's a woman in it!” said the Pole, skeptically.