Boss Coggswell raised his clenched fist above his head. “A rascal who deceives his fellow men is bad enough,” he yelled, “but I cannot find words, my friends, to express my contempt for a scoundrel who would dupe a woman--an innocent, trusting young girl. And that’s the kind of a man the Honorable Sugden Lawrence is.” He was interrupted at this point by a storm of groans and hisses, and one man with a brazen voice shouted: “That’s a lie!” “It’s the truth!” roared Boss Coggswell, shaking his fist frenziedly in the direction of this disturber. “It’s the truth, my friends, and I can prove it. This rascal Lawrence has just paid the sum of thirty thousand dollars to a young woman whom he promised to marry and then shamelessly jilted. He paid her the money, not out of a sense of shame, my friends, or a sense of justice, but because she had started a suit for breach of promise against him, and he was afraid of the scandal. He was afraid of being shown up to his fellow men in his true colors, so he paid her thirty thousand dollars hush money to call off the suit. The name of this young woman is Miss Marjorie Dorman. I challenge the _Honorable_ Sugden Lawrence to deny these facts.” The speaker placed withering emphasis upon the word honorable. “I challenge him to deny that he paid that money to prevent the breach-of-promise suit from going to court.” Amid the excitement which followed this sensational charge, a young man strode down the center aisle toward the platform. Boss Coggswell saw him coming, and stared at him in astonishment. He scarcely could believe that his eyes were not playing him a trick. The young man, a grim smile on his face, mounted the three stairs leading to the platform, and stood in the background, waiting patiently until Boss Coggswell was through with his speech. He did not have long to wait. Although the speaker had intended to say much more, his thoughts were so upset by the arrival of this visitor that he cut short his remarks. As he stepped to the rear of the platform, he was confronted by the newcomer. “Well, if it isn’t my young friend, Inspector Sheridan!” he exclaimed, with affected heartiness. “What are you doing here, my boy? I thought you were in San Francisco. I heard that you had been transferred there.” “Evidently your informant hasn’t kept you well posted,” Owen replied dryly. “I was ordered there, but I was called back. You see, Mr. Coggswell, you are not the only man who has a pull at Washington. My friend Judge Lawrence has a friend there who is quite influential in post-office affairs. He lives at the White House. When he heard that the judge needed me here, he was kind enough to countermand that transfer order.” “So the judge needed you here, did he?” remarked the boss uneasily. “Might I ask what for?”