Bolles ordered. A job for McQuade that took him to New York meant money, money and a good time. There were no more contracts till September, so the junket to New York wouldn't interfere with his regular work. He had sublet his Italians. He was free. A few minutes later he joined McQuade, and the trio went up stairs in a cloud of tobacco smoke. McQuade nodded to the typewriter, who rose and left the private office. The three men sat down, in what might be described as a one-two-three attitude: domination, tacit acceptance of this domination, and servility. "Do you know Richard Warrington, the playwriter?" "That snob? Yes, I know who he is, and I'd like to punch his head for him, too." McQuade smiled. This manifest rancor on Bolles' part would make things easier than he thought. "Well, listen. I've just been tipped that big things are going to happen this fall. That fool Donnelly has queered himself, and is making a muddle of everything he touches. Senator Henderson is a shrewd man, but he wasn't shrewd enough this time. He should have conducted his little conspiracy in his own home and not at a club where servants often find profit in selling what they hear. Henderson is going to put Warrington up for mayor." "The hell he is!" said Bolles. Martin's jaw dropped, and the cigar ashes tumbled down his shirt bosom. "It's no joke," went on McQuade. "If he is nominated, he'll win. The people are wanting a change. If the Henderson people get into the City Hall, I stand to lose a fortune on contracts. You both know what that means. Warrington must never get a chance to accept." Bolles looked at Martin. McQuade saw the look, and, interpreting it, laughed. "These are no dime-novel days. We don't kill men to get 'em out of the way. We take a look into their past and use it as a club." "I begin to see," said Martin. "Warrington must be side-tracked before the convention. Good. That'll be simple." "Not very," McQuade admitted. "It's going to be a devilish hard job. You, Bolles, pack up and go to New York. I want some information regarding this young fellow's past in New York. It's up to you to get it. No faking, mind you; good substantial evidence that can be backed up by affidavits. Get the idea? Five hundred and expenses, if you succeed; your expenses anyhow. Five hundred is a lot of money these days. But if you go on a bat, I'll drop you like a hot brick, for good and all. Think it over. Pack up to-night, if you want to. Here's a hundred to start with. Remember this, now, there must be a woman." "A woman?" "Yes. A man has no past, if there isn't a woman in it." "I can land that five hundred," Bolles declared confidently. "I can find the woman. I'll write you every other day." "Well, then, that's all. Good luck. No boozing while you're on the job Afterward I don't care what you do. By-by." Bolles took his dismissal smilingly. Five hundred. It was easy. "If it's possible, he'll do it," said Martin. "But what's your campaign?"