' There was no dough day. You see the effect in the
returns."
"But how did you do it?" I asked, not comprehending. "The faked
photographs did not move him, that I could see."
The words, "faked photographs," caused Miss Ashton to glance up
quickly. I saw that Kennedy had not told her or any one yet, until
the Boss had made good. He had simply arranged one of his little
dramas.
"Shall I tell, Miss Ashton?" he asked, adding, "Before I complete
my part of the compact and blot out the whole affair?"
"I have no right to say no," she answered tremulously, but with a
look of happiness that I had not seen since our first introduction.
Kennedy laid down a print on a table. It was the pinhole photograph,
a little blurry, but quite convincing. On a desk in the picture
was a pile of bills. McLoughlin was shoving them away from him
toward Bennett. A man who was facing forward in the picture was
talking earnestly to some one who did not appear. I felt
intuitively, even before Kennedy said so, that the person was Miss
Ashton herself as she stuck the needle into the wall. The man was
Cadwalader Brown.
"Travis," demanded Kennedy, "bring the account books of your
campaign. I want the miscellaneous account particularly.
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