“He certainly is up against it good and hard. It’s less than a year since we pulled him out of that scrape in which he was suspected of having killed his stenographer--that double-dyed rascal, Mortimer Deland, who fooled him so completely in female attire.” “Yes, I remember,” Chick nodded. “But what is he now up against? What did he tell you?” “I did not wait to learn many of the details,” Nick replied. “He has just been arrested by a plain-clothes man and a policeman. The latter was sent to his house by Detective Phelan, who evidently had learned enough to warrant his arrest.” “Great guns! is it possible?” “Gordon yielded submissively, of course, and was allowed to telephone to me.” “Was he at his home in the Bronx?” “No. He has been living with his parents in Riverside Drive during his present political campaign. His wife and her uncle, Rudolph Strickland, are with them. It is more convenient for Gordon to be in town while making his political fight, than at his Bronx residence.” “By Jove, this comes at a bad time for him, Nick, if there really is any serious evidence against him,” Chick said gravely. “A bad time, indeed.” “We are almost on the eve of election. Gordon has put up a splendid fight against Madison, his Congressional opponent on the Democratic ticket. His election, though the possibility was ridiculed at first, now is conceded in many quarters, and it looks to me like a cinch--unless this affair turns the tide of public opinion,” Chick added, more seriously. “That suggests something,” Nick replied. “You mean?” “That this affair may be a frame-up, a dastardly scheme designed to have just the effect you mentioned. In other words, Chick, to throw Gordon down at the last moment and so insure Jack Madison’s election.” “But Madison would not do such a beastly trick as that, nor even connive at it.” “Don’t be so sure of it,” Nick said dryly. “Men with political ambitions, some men, at least, are capable of infernally wicked work. Madison is very anxious to carry this election, and so is the party machine. There is much depending on it.” “That’s very true,” Chick allowed. “But I cannot believe Madison capable of such knavery, to say nothing of murder. Who is the victim?” “Matilda Lancey.” “The deuce you say! Her reputation is infernally bad in circles where she is well known.” Both detectives had seen her occasionally and were aware of her shady reputation. She was a frequenter of the theaters, the best hotels and the fast restaurants, with a capacity for wine that made her, in one respect at least, a desirable patron, though in public she never went beyond certain discreet points.