Boland, alarmed, sent a boy in haste for the latest editions. The boy returned and spread them out on the desk before him.
Again the telephone rang. This time it was the clergyman who had participated in the conference.
“Do you know that Mary Randall is out in a statement that she knows full details of what she calls the plot that resulted in the liberation of Martin Druce?” he demanded. “She says she will give the whole thing to the newspapers later. They are calling it in the streets below my study window now. Can’t something be done to head off that statement?”
“What would you suggest? Why don’t you see some of the editors?” Boland returned.
“Oh, that’s impossible. My dear Boland, think of me. If my name should be published in this connection my reputation would be ruined.”
Boland laughed savagely into the telephone and hung up the receiver, only to lift it again and hear another appeal for help, this from the publisher. He also feared ruin.
Another call. The politician whose power in a great political party was a by-word was barking at the other end of the wire. He accused Boland of destroying him.
“You’ve destroyed us,” he yelped. “We’re ruined. You’ve blundered.”
Boland was beyond speech by this time. He seized his hat and rushed out into the street. Everywhere boys were shouting the extras. Several people who recognized him as he passed paused to look after him curiously. He walked directly to his club.
A few men gathered there reading newspapers paused to look after him curiously, bowed coldly and at once resumed reading. Others seemed to avoid him. Boland felt that the newspapers’ conspicuous comment on a certain financial magnate prominent in the electrical world in connection with the vice-scandal pointed at him too plainly for any one in Chicago to misunderstand.