They shook hands. Forbes started away. Luke gave his chauffeur that address in Wall Street at which he had issued his orders to the men who were now fighting him.
He was disappointed; the person whom he sought was not there. Luke doubted the statement of the doorkeeper, but could get no other. He went to the offices of Hallett and to those of Rivington, but with no better luck. At each descent from his taxi, he caught sight of the detective and knew that the detective meant to be seen. Then he sought the quarters of Stein, Falconridge, Falconridge & Perry, and was immediately admitted to the presence of the head of that firm.
The Judge sat at his handsome desk, a telephone at one elbow and a vase of Abel Chatney roses at the other. His plentiful white hair and his smooth frock-coat still potent, still spread around him the aura of dignity. He rose slowly as Luke came in and bowed with magisterial calm.
"How do you do, Mr. Huber?" he said pleasantly. "I am glad to see you—very glad, indeed."
He resumed his chair. Luke took a chair close by.
"The papers," pursued the Judge, "tell me that you are open to congratulations. You have mine."
"Thank you," said Luke. He stretched his legs. "Yes, I got the nomination. There was a little opposition, but I got it."
"Opposition?" The Judge raised his white eyebrows. "Hum! Well, of course, Mr. Huber, you had to expect that in the circumstances."
"What were the circumstances, Judge?"
Stein shook his head and smiled benignantly.