Carton had not only his work at the District Attorney’s office to direct, but some things to clear up at the Reform League headquarters, as well as a campaign speech to make.
“I’m afraid I shan’t be able to see much of you, to-day,” he apologized to Kennedy, “but you’re going to Miss Ashton’s suffrage evening and dance, aren’t you?”
“I should like to go,” temporized Kennedy.
Carton glanced about to see whether there was anyone in earshot. “I think you had better go,” he added. “She has secured a promise from Langhorne to be there, as well as several of the organization leaders. It is a thoroughly non-partisan affair—and she can get them all together. You know the organization is being educated. When people of the prominence of the Ashtons take up suffrage and make special requests to have certain persons come to a thing like that, they can hardly refuse. In fact, no one commits himself to anything by being present, whereas, absence might mean hostility, and there are lots of the women in the organization that believe in suffrage, now. Yes, we’d better go. It will be a chance to observe some people we want to watch.”
“We’ll go,” agreed Kennedy. “Can’t we all go together?”
“Surely,” replied Carton, gratified, I could see, by having succeeded in swelling the crowd that would be present and thus adding to the success of Miss Ashton’s affair. “Drop into the office here, and I’ll be ready. Good-bye—and thanks for your aid, both of you.”
We left the Criminal Courts Building with the crowd that was slowly dispersing, still talking over the unexpected and unprecedented end of the trial.
As we paused on the broad flight of steps that led down to the street on this side, Kennedy jogged my elbow, and, following his eyes, I saw a woman, apparently alone, just stepping into a town car at the curb.
There was something familiar about her, but her face was turned from me and I could not quite place her.
“Mrs. Ogleby,” Kennedy remarked. “I didn’t see her in the courtroom. She must have been there, though, or perhaps outside in the corridor. Evidently she felt some interest in the outcome of the case.”
He had caught just a glimpse of her face and now that he pronounced her name I recognized her, though I should not have otherwise.
The car drove off with the rattle of the changing gears into high speed, before we had a chance to determine whether it was otherwise empty or not.
“Why was she here?” I asked.
Kennedy shook his head, but did not venture a reply to the question that was in his own mind. I felt that it must have something to do with her fears regarding the Black Book. Had she, too, surmised that Murtha had employed his henchman, Dopey Jack, to recover the book from Langhorne? Had she feared that Dopey Jack might in some moment of heat, for revenge, drop some hint of the robbery—whether it had been really successful or not?