Late that afternoon Jim Neenan, the handy impersonator and general utility man, presented himself on private business at the offices of Thomas Forsythe, who rather distastefully granted the caller’s request for a confidential conference. “Look here,” Neenan opened, “I hear you and the boss are honin’ for a pre-convention campaign that’ll limit you an’ Hammond to radio speeches, figgerin’ it would give you a better break.” “That seems to be Mr. Quaid’s idea,” Forsythe admitted dryly. “I suppose you know Hammond has a different idea?” “I have heard as much.” “How much would it be worth to you to have it arranged so that Hammond would be glad of a chance to make it a radio campaign?” “It might be worth quite a little, but I fail to see what is the practical use of discussing it.” “Just this. For a price I might be able to bring it about.” Forsythe laughed. “Judging from such of your methods as I have seen I feel safe in saying I’d pay as high as a thousand dollars if my opponent is persuaded to such a course and you can convince me that you were instrumental in bringing it about.” “Is that a promise?” Neenan demanded. “It is,” Forsythe agreed again with another cynical laugh. “And if your machinations result in my nomination I’ll make it another thousand. And that’s a promise. Now I’ll bid you good day, as I have another appointment.” Neenan departed, a crafty smile on his narrow features. III That same evening Warren Hammond arose from a hurried dinner and gave his pretty young wife an affectionate goodnight kiss. “Don’t wait up for me, ladybird,” he warned her. “I’ve got to speak at two meetings, and I may be out till all hours.” “I wish I could go with you to your first meeting. I’ll be thinking of you. I’m so proud of my big boy.” “Even if he does traffic with the powers of darkness and employ black magic to make himself invisible,” he laughed. “I think you’re mean, Warren, not to tell me the truth about that mysterious radio speech. I think everybody there must have been drunk as one of the papers hinted, and you don’t want to let me know it.” Hammond laughed boyishly. “Why, it was so simple I’m ashamed to tell it. When I do tell you, you’ll be ashamed to think you didn’t guess it.” “But do you think it’s nice to fib to everybody about it?” “Nary a fib,” he denied. “I’ve told nothing but the truth, so help me. Now stop worrying and go to bed early.” He kissed her again and was off. But Warren Hammond did not get to his first meeting. In fact, he got no more than a scant hundred yards down the narrow country road that led from his suburban home into the capital city. He was just shifting his gears into first when he felt the front end of the car swaying violently back and forth. He threw out the clutch and jammed on the brakes, but it was too late.