“Snell!” he exclaimed, sharply.  “Are you sure?”

“So the woman says.”

Sabin nodded; he carefully matched his fingers, tip to tip, and then relapsed into silence.  Merkle went on with his story, feeling the while as if he were addressing an audience of two men, one a sympathetic, convivial soul, the other a baffling, sinister person behind a mask.  But when Sabin finally spoke it was as neither; his voice was friendly and matter-of-fact.

“This is a bad business, John.”

The banker broke out, irritably:  “Now don’t begin that!  I have a pastor who keeps me in spiritual uncertainty, and a doctor who torments me physically, and a business that’s hell in both directions.  I didn’t come here to swap tears; I want help.”

“It may cost—­”

“Of course it may.  I don’t expect you to square it with a bunch of double English violets, but it can be squared, and it must be, if only for the sake of Hammon’s women folks.  It won’t serve any good purpose to air that old scandal.”

The Senator nodded.  “First we will have to eliminate the gang—­ clean them out.”  He made an expansive, eloquent gesture.  “You don’t object?”

“Kill ’em, if necessary,” Merkle growled, vindictively.

“Very well; I’ll do my best.”

“Then it’s done.”

Merkle rose with relief, shook the Senator’s limp and pudgy hand, then departed, knowing that the secret of Jarvis Hammon’s death was quite as safe in Sabin’s keeping as in his own.  That plump, imperturbable politician had long been one of the triumvirate that ruled the city, and Merkle knew him to be the tomb of confessions far more startling than this; he knew also that although Sabin took toll of the public in the way of all powerful political rulers he put no price on his favors.

That evening Inspector Snell occupied the same chair in which Merkle had sat, and found himself the target of Sabin’s veiled stare.  Snell was a bulky, forceful, unimaginative man.  He was vastly impressive in his uniform, but the Senator’s questions appeared to bewilder him.

“What do you mean—­Melcher?” the Inspector finally inquired.

“He claims you give him protection.”

The officer’s face purpled.  “Oh! he does, does he?  Well, you’d know if I did, wouldn’t you?  That’s how them fellows get along, by selling something they can’t deliver.”

“Ever take any of his money?”

“Not a cent.”

“What do you know about the killing of Jarvis Hammon?”

“Hammon, the steel man?  Why, he wasn’t killed, was he?” Snell was plainly puzzled.  “Well, well!” he confessed, when the truth had been gently eased into his mind.  “That’s news!  I’m much obliged for the tip, Senator.”

“Wait a minute.  That’s not the idea at all,” Sabin said, quickly.  “The woman acted in self-defense.”

“Ha!  They all do.  I’m thinking about myself.  These are big names—­ this is a big case, and it will do me a lot of good to work it out.”