Dan was conscious that the senator from Fraser had changed in the years
that had passed since the beginning of their acquaintance. Bassett had
outwardly altered little as he crossed the watershed of middle life; but
it seemed to Dan that the ill-temper he had manifested in the Thatcher
affair had marked a climacteric. The self-control and restraint that had
so impressed him at first had visibly diminished. What Harwood had taken
for steel seemed to him now only iron after all--and brittle iron.
During the last week of the campaign an incident occurred that shook
Harwood a good deal. He had been away from the capital for several days
making speeches, and finding that his itinerary would permit it, he ran
into town unexpectedly one night to replenish his linen and look at his
mail. An interurban car landed him in town at eleven o'clock, and he
went directly to the Boordman Building. As he walked down the hall
toward his office he was surprised to see a light showing on the
ground-glass door of Room 66. Though Bassett kept a room at the Whitcomb
for private conferences, he occasionally used his office in the Boordman
for the purpose, and seeing the rooms lighted, Dan expected to find him
there. He tried the door and found it locked, and as he drew out his key
he heard suddenly the click of the typewriter inside. Miss Farrell was
rarely at the office at night, but as Harwood opened the door, he found
her busily tapping the keys of her machine.
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