Caine laughed, mirthlessly. “Parkman’s as rich a man as you are,” he said, “And he’s so upright that he bends backward. He would like nothing better than to prove attempted bribery against you. No, the adage about ‘every man having his price’ won’t apply in Parkman’s case.” “Rot!” growled Conover. “There ain’t a case on earth where it won’t apply. The price ain’t always money; but it’s always dead sure to be _somethin’_. Only, I ain’t got time, I s’pose, to find out what Parkman’s partic’lar rates are. I wish I had. If I’d had wind of this a week earlier I’d have been able by now to lay my finger on his pet weakness or fav’rite sin or cash price an’ say ‘Shut up!’ An’ he’d a’ done it, quicker’n greased lightning.” “You’re mistaken,” averred Caine. “But that has nothing to do--” “I know it has nothin’ to do with this muddle we’re in now,” snapped Conover, “I ain’t sayin’ it has. But Parkman has his price just the same, if only we could find out what it is. There never was but one Man that hadn’t. An’ that was why they put Him to death. What do you want for keepin’ the story out of the _Star_?” he ended, abruptly. Caine’s handsome face contracted in sudden wrath. Then, in spite of himself, he broke into a laugh. “If only you _knew_ better,” he sighed in comic resignation, “you’d be horsewhipped three times a week. What a mighty, impregnable armor is profound ignorance! Unfortunately,” he went on, more gravely, “I couldn’t avail myself of your very tactfully veiled offer even if I chose. The _Star_ is but one of Granite’s four daily newspapers. If I refuse to print the story, the three others remain to--” “H’m,” mused Conover. “I s’pose so. I s’pose so. In another five years there won’t be a paper in Granite that’ll dare print a word I tell ’em not to. I wish now I’d bought up their stock already; instead of waitin’ until I get some more important deals off my hands. A noospaper is a good weapon for a big man to keep for emergencies. If ’twasn’t for the papers I could a’ pulled off lots of dandy schemes. What a cinch the old-time business men must a’ had before printin’ was invented!” His voice trailed away. His head once more sank. His eyes were shut; his forehead contracted. “I thought it only fair--” began Caine. “Shut up!” grunted Conover, “I’m thinkin’. Leave me be.” Caine, in no wise offended, held his peace, and watched the big concentrated figure that sprawled so motionless in the desk chair. For several minutes the two sat in silence. Then Caleb opened his eyes. The frown had cleared; the light of battle flickered beneath his shrewd lids. “Caine,” he said solemnly, “I got a confession to make. You’re the first to hear it. So be flattered. Caine, Ol’ Man Shevlin had nothin’ to do with the Shevlin Contractin’ Company, at the time the City Hall an’ the County Courthouse was started. Six months before then, he’d sold out the whole business to me.” “What are--?”