The reporter shrugged his shoulders.
“They had him, and he must have known it. That railroad crowd would have taken the hide off him, and put what was left in the penitentiary.”
“Perhaps they made away with him,” Brainard suggested meaningly.
“You think so? My, that would be a fat scoop! What makes you think so?”
Brainard raised his eyebrows mysteriously, and the reporter nimbly filled in a reasonable outline of the story.
“You mean he got the money down East that he needed to stop this receivership, and they knew it, and put him out of the way, so that he shouldn’t interrupt the game?”
“Possibly,” Brainard admitted.
The reporter jumped from his seat briskly. “Well, I must get busy—they’re holding the paper for me. Who’s in charge here?”
“I am,” Brainard replied promptly.
“And what’s your name?”