The Apple of Discord. Earle Ashley Walcott

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СКАЧАТЬ out the fullness of his cheeks. He was indeed a handsome man, and carried his sixty years with the ease of forty.

      "So you have brought news," he said, thrusting his papers into a drawer and leaning back to receive my communication. "Well, what is the old fox up to now?"

      "I have the honor," I returned, "to report that the old fox has turned reformer."

      "Reformer?" And a puzzled look overspread his face. "Well, if he wants a job in that line he won't have to leave home to get it. He can spend the rest of his life reforming himself and not have time enough by half."

      "He is not so selfish as all that. His zeal has reached out to embrace the regeneration of the whole human race–or at least the part of it that inhabits San Francisco."

      "What do you mean? I may be thick-headed, but I don't get your meaning."

      "Oh, it is just as I say. And to carry out his benevolent purposes he has engaged the services of the Council of Nine–or at least has entered into active cooperation with it."

      "The Council of Nine! I never heard of it." Wharton Kendrick looked at me in amazement.

      "Well, to confess the truth, I never heard of it myself until to-day. However, you are likely to hear more of it later. It has a valiant recruit in Bolton."

      "But what is it? What is it trying to do?"

      "So far as I can find out, it is the head-center of the local organization of the International Reds. It is made up of anarchists, socialists, communists, and the discontented of all sorts. I'll admit that I don't understand fully the distinctions between these elements, and they are so mixed up here that you can't tell one from another."

      "That's a promising combination," laughed Wharton Kendrick; and then a thoughtful look followed his laughter, as he added: "But what does P. Bolton think he can get out of that crowd?"

      "A liberal education–or at least an education in liberality. He has given a handsome contribution to their funds–"

      "What!" ejaculated Kendrick, starting forward in astonishment. "You don't mean to say that he has given them money?"

      "I have the authority of a good witness–to wit, a man who saw the money paid."

      "Whew! That's pretty hard to swallow. What is the man's name?"

      "Clark–Jonas Clark."

      "Who is he?"

      "Why, he's a shining light in the Carpenters' Union. He's a decent chap who is a little carried away by the eloquence of the agitators, but he is all right. He has been a messenger back and forth between Bolton and some members of the Council, but he had the fault of being too scrupulous, and Bolton gave him the sack. So now he is employee number one of our detective bureau."

      "Hm-m! And maybe you can give a guess why P. Bolton is putting up his good money for that crazy crowd? You are not trying to tell me it's a case of pure philanthropy?"

      "That is what he wants them to believe. He told Clark that before he gave any money he must be satisfied that the aims and methods of the Council were for the benefit of the people."

      "Oh, thunder! To think of P. Bolton playing a game like that! Well, did they satisfy him?"

      "Clark took him any quantity of documents. They fed him first with the brotherhood-of-man and the one-for-all-and-all-for-one course of lectures. He thought there was too much milk-and-water about that, so they gradually worked up to the dynamiting of royal oppressors and the extinction of capitalistic robbers. At this he gave up some good coin–five hundred dollars, as near as I can learn–paid in person at midnight to three members of the Council of Nine."

      Kendrick leaned back in his chair, and meditatively stroked his red side-whiskers once more, while the thoughtful wrinkles chased each other about his eyes.

      "That begins to look like business," he said at last. "I'm sure I could put a name to the capitalistic robber he would like to see extinguished. Still, I don't see what he is driving at. Have you got any light on his plans?"

      "No. So far as I can find out, he has made no suggestions. He has only approved their propaganda, and hinted that they might look for more money if their course was such as to satisfy him."

      "Then you think their schemes worth looking into?"

      "Indeed I do. I have an engagement to meet Clark at their headquarters, down at the House of Blazes to-morrow night. He is going to introduce me to some of the leaders, and I hope to get a line on what they are planning."

      "The House of Blazes? What's that?"

      "Oh, it's a saloon down on Tar Flat. The socialists and anarchists and a lot of other 'ists' loaf around there and drink beer in their hours of ease, and I believe there is a hall there where they hold their meetings."

      "Umph! I hope you'll enjoy your evening. But don't get your head smashed." Wharton Kendrick was silent a little, and then continued thoughtfully: "I don't see what P. Bolton can expect to gain out of a lot of crack-brained fanatics like that, but you can do as you like about looking into them. I suspect, though, that this is just a blind for something else. Just remember that if you are expecting P. Bolton to show himself in one place, he's sure to turn up in another. Now, is that all your budget?"

      "One thing more. Bolton has a little detective bureau of his own. He has engaged Jim Morgan, the prize-fighter, with three or four more of the same sort, and you're being watched. I've no doubt there's a fellow out by the door, waiting to follow you home. So I'll take the liberty of walking with you, and engage a few reliable body-guards to-morrow."

      Wharton Kendrick's mouth closed with a snap.

      "Not much–no body-guards for me! I've walked San Francisco for twenty years in the face of Peter Bolton, and I'm not going to be afraid of him at this day. Hire all the men you want, but set them to looking after P. Bolton–not after me."

      "There are two at his heels already."

      "Good; but I'm afraid a hundred wouldn't be enough to keep track of the old fox," laughed Kendrick. "Well, it's time to be getting home. Reach me my hat there, will you? Make sure of the door–here goes the light." And he followed me into the hall and turned the key behind him. "Now, there's no need for you to go home with me," he continued.

      "It's my way as well as yours," I replied, "and unless you object to my company, we'll go together."

      We faced the west wind that came in gusts from over Nob Hill, with the salt freshness of the ocean fog heavy upon it, turned north at Kearny Street, and at Clay Street took the hill-climbing cable-car that still passed as one of the city's novelties. From the western end of the line we walked to the Kendrick residence on Van Ness Avenue.

      "Well, good night, my boy," he said. "Sorry to have brought you up here for nothing. If you should get any light on the Council's plans to-morrow night, come up here next evening–say at eight o'clock. I may have an idea of my own by that time." And he closed the door.

      As I turned to descend the steps, my eye was startled by a glimpse of movement among the shrubs that decorated the Kendrick lawn. At first I thought it but a branch tossed by the wind; but an incautious movement revealed the figure of a man silhouetted against the faint illumination from a distant street-lamp, and I felt a momentary gratification that my precaution had been justified.

      I descended the flight of steps to the garden with assumed СКАЧАТЬ