"Won't do," negatived the more astute Ware. "The thing will be traced back to us--not legally, of course, but to a moral certainty, and while they won't be able to prove anything on us, the state of the public mind is such that hell would pop." "He says he won't fight another duel," said Black doubtfully. "No." "We've got to kill him in a street quarrel, then." "He's got to be killed in a street quarrel," amended Ware, "that's certain; but nobody even remotely connected with this Cora trial must seem to have anything to do with it. It must have the appearance of a private quarrel from away outside. Otherwise----" "Got anybody in mind?" asked the practical Black. "Yes, and he ought to be here at any moment." As though Jimmy Ware's words had been the cue for which he waited, Morrell here entered the room. L At three o'clock in the afternoon of May 14, 1856, the current issue of the _Bulletin_ was placed on sale. A very few minutes later a copy found its way into the hands of James Casey. Casey at that time, in addition to his political cares, was editor of a small sheet he called the _Sunday Times_. With this he had strenuously supported the extreme wing of the Law party, which, as has been explained, comprised also the gambling and lawless element. It was suspected by some that his paper was more or less subsidized for the purpose, though the probability is that Casey found his reward merely in political support. This Casey it was who, to his own vast surprise, had at a previous election been returned as elected supervisor; although he was not a candidate, his name was not on the ticket, and no man could be found who had voted for him. Indeed, he was not even a resident of the district. However, Yankee Sullivan, who ran the election, said officially the votes had been cast for him; so elected he was proclaimed. Undoubtedly he proved useful; he had always proved useful at elections elsewhere, seldom appearing in person, but adept at selecting suitable agents. His methods were devious, dishonest, and rough. He was head of the Crescent Fire Engine Company, and was personally popular. In appearance he was a short, slight man, with a bright, keen face, a good forehead, a thin but florid countenance, dark curly hair, and light blue eyes, a type of unscrupulous Irish adventurer with a dash of romantic ideals. Like all the gentlemen rovers of his time, he was exceedingly touchy on the subject of "honour." In the _Bulletin_ of the date mentioned James Casey read these words, apropos of the threat of one Bagby to shoot Casey on sight: