"Armstrong's going to give up this fight," he said, mouthing his cigar and regarding Findlater with an air which appeared to cause that gentleman some uneasiness. "Our suits against Armstrong can be dismissed any time now. As for the suits against us, they can be postponed. All we want is delay. Armstrong will give up." Findlater grunted. "Maybe--and maybe not. I know Armstrong as well as you do." "Not quite as well. You don't know where he's vulnerable; I do." Macgowan chuckled. "He's the heart and soul of the crowd that's fighting us. If he quits, we'll have a clean sweep, eh?" "Yes," admitted Findlater. Macgowan smiled as he regarded his confederate. "D'you know what's happened? Armstrong's wife has left him--gone home." Findlater stared for a long moment, until gradual realization came to him. Something in the voice and eye of Macgowan wakened his comprehension, conveyed to his brain that these brief words not only constituted a statement of fact, but also held a note of triumphant boasting. Even Findlater was stupefied by this admission. Bad though he was, Findlater had certain bounds which he disliked to cross. "Lord!" he ejaculated. "You--Mac, you didn't do this?" "I?" Macgowan's brows went up. "Certainly not, certainly not! I've not spoken a word to Mrs. Armstrong in months." A momentary snarl lifted his lip, as the memory of that scene in the Waldorf smote into him. The snarl crept into his voice as he went on speaking. "But I'll not say that I knew nothing about it. When I go after a man, Findlater, he's gone! I went after Armstrong, and I'll finish him. You thought during the campaign that I was taking wild chances in my attacks; perhaps I was, but haven't we won? Libel suits don't worry me. We'll not press our own suits. That Illinois indictment against Armstrong came too late to do us any good; let it be dismissed. But wait--just wait!" He leaned back, deliberately checking himself, not wishing to reveal too much of his inner feeling to this confederate of his. His usual suave calmness returned to him. Findlater nervously cleared his throat. He had not missed that quick, vindictive snarl. During the past few weeks he had become much better acquainted with Macgowan than ever before; and in his heart he had grown terribly afraid of the man, having learned with what reckless and even criminal audacity Macgowan could act. He now realized that he himself had been drawn slowly but surely into the meshes of a net, the drawstrings of which lay in the powerful grip of Macgowan. Now, in his cowardice, he made an effort to change the subject--only to find that it drove back again upon him with new insistence. "Something else I wanted to ask you, Mac. There's a check on my desk to be counter-signed--five thousand dollars to a man named Slosson. I can't locate the record of any transaction--" Macgowan cut in blandly, with all his suave poise to the fore.