"It may cost—"
"Of course it may. I don't expect you to square it with a bunch of double English violets, but it can be squared, and it MUST be, if only for the sake of Hammon's women folks. It won't serve any good purpose to air that old scandal."
The Senator nodded. "First we will have to eliminate the gang—clean them out." He made an expansive, eloquent gesture. "You don't object?"
"Kill 'em, if necessary," Merkle growled, vindictively.
"Very well; I'll do my best."
"Then it's done."
Merkle rose with relief, shook the Senator's limp and pudgy hand, then departed, knowing that the secret of Jarvis Hammon's death was quite as safe in Sabin's keeping as in his own. That plump, imperturbable politician had long been one of the triumvirate that ruled the city, and Merkle knew him to be the tomb of confessions far more startling than this; he knew also that although Sabin took toll of the public in the way of all powerful political rulers he put no price on his favors.
That evening Inspector Snell occupied the same chair in which Merkle had sat, and found himself the target of Sabin's veiled stare. Snell was a bulky, forceful, unimaginative man. He was vastly impressive in his uniform, but the Senator's questions appeared to bewilder him.
"What do you mean—Melcher?" the Inspector finally inquired.
"He claims you give him protection."