It was the fifth day after the next day when, with no warning whatsoever, Jerome Bracken got smashed all to flinders. He was in his office at the rear of the bank going over the morning mail--it mostly was letters written by friendly partisans over the state, including one from the powerful national committeeman for the state--when without knocking, his lawyer, Mr. Richard Griffin, opened the door and walked in followed by his local political manager, who also happened to be the local political boss. The faces of both wore looks of a grave uneasiness, the manners of both were concerned and unhappy. "Morning, gentlemen," said Mr. Bracken. "What is pressing down on your minds this fine day?" Yankee-fashion, Mr. Griffin answered the question by putting another. "Bracken," he said, "how long have you been knowing this woman, Queenie Sears?" "What do you mean?" demanded Mr. Bracken sharply. "What I say. How long have you known her? And how well?" "I don't understand you, Dick." The other's tone was angry. "And by what right do you assume--" "Bracken," snapped Griffin sharply, "I'm here as a man who's been your lifelong friend--you must know that. And Dorgan here has come with me in the same capacity--as a friend of yours. This thing is serious. It's damned serious. It's likely to be about the most serious thing that ever happened to you. I'll repeat the question and I'm entitled to a fair, frank answer: How long have you been acquainted with Queenie Sears?" In his irate bewilderment Mr. Bracken could think of but one plausible explanation for this incredible inquiry. He started up from his chair, his hands gripping into fists. He almost shouted it. "Has that dirty, libelous, scandal-mongering rag of an afternoon paper down the street had the effrontery this early in the campaign to attempt to besmirch my character? If it has I'll--" "Not yet!" For the first time the politician was taking a hand in the talk. "But it will--before sundown tonight. Catch a Democrat outfit passing up a bet like this! Sweet chance!" He looked toward the lawyer. "You better tell him, Griffin," he said with a certain gloomy decision. "Then when you're through I'll have my little say-so." "Probably that would be best," agreed Griffin resignedly. "Sit down, won't you, Bracken? I'm going to hand you a pretty hard blow right in the face." His amazement growing, Mr. Bracken sat down. Through what painfully followed, the other two continued to stand. "Bracken," stated Griffin, "I'll start at the beginning. Something like a week ago Queenie Sears was taken from her dive down on the river shore to the municipal infirmary. She had delirium tremens--was raving crazy. She'd had them before, it appears, but this attack was the last one she'll ever have. Because it killed her--that and a weak heart and bad kidneys and a few other complications, so the doctors say. Anyhow, she's dead. She died about an hour ago.