In the meantime Cowperwood, from what he could see and hear, was becoming more and more certain that the politicians would try to make a scapegoat of him, and that shortly. For one thing, Stires had called only a few days after he closed his doors and imparted a significant bit of information. Albert was still connected with the city treasury, as was Stener, and engaged with Sengstack and another personal appointee of Mollenhauer’s in going over the treasurer’s books and explaining their financial significance. Stires had come to Cowperwood primarily to get additional advice in regard to the sixty-thousand-dollar check and his personal connection with it. Stener, it seemed, was now threatening to have his chief clerk prosecuted, saying that he was responsible for the loss of the money and that his bondsmen could be held responsible. Cowperwood had merely laughed and assured Stires that there was nothing to this. “Albert,” he had said, smilingly, “I tell you positively, there’s nothing in it. You’re not responsible for delivering that check to me. I’ll tell you what you do, now. Go and consult my lawyer—Steger. It won’t cost you a cent, and he’ll tell you exactly what to do. Now go on back and don’t worry any more about it. I am sorry this move of mine has caused you so much trouble, but it’s a hundred to one you couldn’t have kept your place with a new city treasurer, anyhow, and if I see any place where you can possibly fit in later, I’ll let you know.” Another thing that made Cowperwood pause and consider at this time was a letter from Aileen, detailing a conversation which had taken place at the Butler dinner table one evening when Butler, the elder, was not at home. She related how her brother Owen in effect had stated that they—the politicians—her father, Mollenhauer, and Simpson, were going to “get him yet” (meaning Cowperwood), for some criminal financial manipulation of something—she could not explain what—a check or something. Aileen was frantic with worry. Could they mean the penitentiary, she asked in her letter? Her dear lover! Her beloved Frank! Could anything like this really happen to him? His brow clouded, and he set his teeth with rage when he read her letter. He would have to do something about this—see Mollenhauer or Simpson, or both, and make some offer to the city. He could not promise them money for the present—only notes—but they might take them. Surely they could not be intending to make a scapegoat of him over such a trivial and uncertain matter as this check transaction! When there was the five hundred thousand advanced by Stener, to say nothing of all the past shady transactions of former city treasurers! How rotten! How political, but how real and dangerous.