Hillman grinned again as the boss folded the letter, replaced it in the envelope, and carefully gummed down the flap. It had been opened by holding it over a steaming kettle, and was necessary for Coggswell to resort to the mucilage bottle on his desk in order to close it again. He performed the task with a dexterity which showed that he was a master craftsman at that sort of thing, taking great care not to invite suspicion by applying too much mucilage.
“Bless me!” he exclaimed, suddenly drawing back with affected astonishment after he had completed this opera[Pg 50]tion. “There’s a postage stamp on this envelope, Bill—an uncanceled stamp. Queer that I didn’t notice it before. It looked as if this letter must have somehow dropped out of the mail. You’d better take it right away and hand it to a letter carrier. As good citizens, Bill, it is our duty to see that the United States mails are not delayed any longer than is absolutely necessary.”
As Hillman hurried out to restore the letter to the unscrupulous carrier from whom he had “borrowed” it, Coggswell reached for his desk telephone, and called up a certain newspaper man with whom he was on very friendly terms.
“Can you come around to the club right away?” he inquired. “There’s a chance for you to make twenty dollars and get a good story for your paper, besides.”
Half an hour later he was explaining to the reporter what was required of him. The latter was to earn the twenty dollars by interviewing a firm of lawyers named Hodginson & Lehman, and a young woman named Miss Marjorie Dorman, if he could find her. He was to ask them about a breach-of-promise suit which the Honorable Sugden Lawrence had settled out of court by the payment of thirty thousand dollars.
“It is probable that you won’t find either the lawyers or the young lady willing to talk,” he remarked. “They don’t wish any publicity. But a reporter of your experience ought to be able to wring some information out of either one or the other. Do the best you can, and let me know as soon as possible what you find out.”
The reporter was not successful. At the law offices of Hodginson & Lehman he was told curtly that the firm never discussed its clients’ affairs with representatives of the press. A search through city directories and telephone books failed to locate Miss Marjorie Dorman.
Boss Coggswell was disappointed, but not dismayed. “I scarcely expected that you’d be able to make them talk,” he told his newspaper friend; “but I thought it was worth trying. Of course, the more details I could get about the case the better. However, I have enough information for my purpose. Come around to Colfax Hall to-night, and you’ll see some fun. I’m going to address a big meeting there—the biggest of the whole campaign—and I’m going to hand a big jolt to my dear friend the judge. I don’t imagine that he’ll be as popular with the voters of this district after I get through with him. If you can’t come yourself, you’d better see that your paper sends another man to cover the meeting. I’m going to notify all the other papers. I want every sheet in town to print my speech.”
CHAPTER XXVII.
A BOOMERANG.
At nine o’clock that evening Coggswell proceeded to hand his opponent the big jolt, as planned. Standing on the platform at Colfax Hall, which was filled with some two thousand voters of the district, he began earnestly: