"With pleasure," returned Murgatroyd, "I say that you are the hitherto unknown owner of the most notorious gambling-house within the State."
There was another pause in which Thorne looked at Broderick and Broderick looked at Thorne.
"This is preposterous!" exclaimed Thorne.
Murgatroyd made no answer. Then he proceeded with assertions.
"And with the earnings of that gambling-house," he said evenly, "you have stopped the mouths, closed the eyes and ears, and paralysed the hands of the authorities. With the earnings of that gambling-house, you have bought the influence of Chairman Peter Broderick, who lives upon those earnings—grows fat upon them."
Broderick's eyes bulged; he, too, rose and started toward the prosecutor.
"Say," he yelled, "I'll open up my anatomy to you! Pick out any ounce o' fat and tell me Cradlebaugh's put it there! Come on—my fat is my own—I earned it by the sweat of my brow!"
With perfect coolness, Murgatroyd continued:—
"Thorne, ever since you sprang into prominence here, you have posed in this community as a self-made man—boasted of carving your success by industry, integrity and brains. And yet—" pointing a finger of accusation toward him—"you have bought every item of your reputation, every iota of your respectability!" He stopped for an instant, and then: "Every inch of your political progress, you've bought with this tainted money, and with the same kind of money you'd buy the United States Senatorship—if you could."
"Lies—all deliberate lies!" Thorne ejaculated.