Madison placed a box of cigars on the desk while speaking, then resumed the swivel chair, from which he had arisen to admit his visitor. Nick had removed his hat and overcoat and left them in the side hall. He took a chair directly opposite the burly politician. He had, apparently, no aggressive intentions. The aroma of pinks and heliotrope was wafted from an alcove near by, from which a door led into the conservatory. The door was open a few inches, admitting the scent of the flowers. “You are not seriously ill, I hope,” Nick remarked, while he accepted a cigar and lit it. “Oh, no!” Madison shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s a touch of bronchitis, brought on by too much speaking in political rallies. That raises the deuce with one’s throat. A day or two of rest will restore me.” “I hope so,” said Nick. “You said, I think, that you wish to discuss some feature of the present campaign. To what did you refer?” Nick dropped his burned match into a cuspidor. “To the hard fight you and Gordon are making to carry your congressional district,” he remarked, hooking his thumbs through the armholes of his vest and blowing a wreath of smoke toward the ceiling. “It is a hard fight, Carter, no mistake.” “Do you expect to win out?” “I hope to, of course.” “You will leave no stone unturned, I suppose?” “No stone that can be legitimately turned. I shall disturb no other.” “That goes without saying.” “But why your interest in the fight?” Madison asked deliberately, in subdued yet sonorous tones. “I was not aware that you ever dipped into politics beyond casting your vote.” “Well, not often,” Nick admitted. “Occasionally, however, I make a play in politics. This happens to be one of the occasions.” There was an indescribably ominous intensity in the steady gaze with which the eyes of these two men were fixed upon each other. Not for an instant did either deviate or waver. Not for a moment, moreover, was the surrounding silence broken by any sound save their voices. Yet not once had either been raised above an ordinary pitch, or tinctured any betrayal of their true feelings. Invariable suavity and politeness, rather, seemed to imbue them. “Why this occasion, Mr. Carter?” Madison questioned. “Why your interest in this particular fight?” “Because of what befell your opponent this morning,” said Nick. “Befell Mr. Gordon?” “Yes.” “What was that?” “He was arrested on suspicion of having murdered a woman last night in a Columbus Avenue flat,” said Nick. Madison heard him without a change of countenance. “Gordon arrested on such a charge as that? Is it possible?” he replied. “It is more than possible. It is a fact.” “I have not seen to-day’s papers,” Madison said indifferently. “There is no report of it in the papers.” “No?” “None whatever.” “Why is that?” “Because I prevented it, Madison, and had Gordon liberated,” said Nick. “I knew publicity might ruin his chances of election.” “You are a Gordon man, then.”