"Heavens, no. The man has infinite self-confidence. And it's no fatuous egotism, either. A sort of suave, unshakable trust in himself. Abe Ruef's the cleverest politician San Francisco's known in many years--perhaps since Broderick. He makes such men as Burns and Buckley look like tyros--" Robert looked up quickly. "By the way, I've often wondered whether Buckley wasn't guilty of your disappearance. He meant you no good." "No," Francisco answered. "I've looked into that. Chris, himself, had no connection with it. Once he threatened me ... but I've since learned what he meant.... Just a little blackmail which concerned a woman. But--" he hesitated. Robert moved uneasily. "But--what?" "Oh, well, it didn't work. The girl he planned to use told him the truth." Francisco, too, seemed ill at ease. "It was so long ago ... it's all forgotten." "I trust so," said the other. Rather abruptly he rose. "Must be getting back to work." * * * * * Once a week Frank donned his evening clothes and was driven to a certain splendid home on Pacific Heights. Bertha Larned met him always with a smile--and a different gown. Each successive one seemed more splendid, becoming, costly. And ever the lady seemed more sweet as their intimacy grew. Once when Frank had stammered an enthusiastic appreciation of her latest gown--a wondrous thing of silk and lace that seemed to match the changing fires in her eyes--she said suddenly: "What a fright I must have looked that evening--in the Midway! And what you must have thought of me--in such a place!" "Do you wish to know just what I thought?" Frank asked her, reddening. "Yes." Her eyes, a little shamed, but brave, met his. "Well," he said, "you stood there with your hair all streaming and your--and that splendid fire in your eyes. The beauty of you struck me like a whip. You seemed an angel--after all the sordid sights I'd seen. And--" "Go on--please;" her eyes were shining. "Then--it's sort of odd--but I wanted to fight for you!" She came a little closer. "Some day, perhaps," she spoke with sudden gravity, "I may ask you to do that." "What? Fight for you?" Bertha nodded. * * * * * It was after the Olympia had been made over into a larger Tivoli Opera House that Frank met Aleta Boice. She was a member of the chorus. Their acquaintance blossomed from propinquity, for both had a fashion of supping on the edge of midnight at a little restaurant, better known by its sobriquet of "Dusty Doughnut," than by its real name, which long ago had been forgotten.