"Every act that would alleviate the sufferings of the people is at once stigmatized as anarchistic; while the aggressions of the men of money in the legislatures, and through executives, are upheld as justifiable means for the proper protection of property.

"My trip to the West and East has made me doubtful as to the result of the election. In New York City alone is there a tendency to support me."

"Oh, do not say that you have lost hope," expostulates Sister Martha.

"It is not my intention to intimate that I have done so, to any one, other than to you."

"Ah, I cannot believe that a just God will see you defeated!"

"As matters stand now it will take almost a miracle to elect me. I have studied all the elements that enter into this campaign. It will be the last one that can be conducted with the semblance of order. Four years from now, if not before then, the conditions will be ripe for a revolution; the oligarchy of American manufacturers and bankers will have reached its height and will be on the point of dissolution. The perfected mechanism of government that it will have established, will be in readiness to be turned over to the people.

"Socialism of a rational sort will result from the sudden and sharp revolution. History will not be enriched by a new chapter, but be marked by the repetition of its most frequent story—the fall of empire and the establishment of a new government. In the end of all governments at the same point, is the strongest argument in support of the theory of reincarnation; a state, as a being, has its birth, mature age, and decay. None seemingly is endowed with the attribute of immutability. It was the fond hope of our forefathers that the United States should prove the exception. Imperialism was the reef on which the classic empires were wrecked; commercialism is the danger that threatens our ship of state."

"You must take a brighter view of the situation," insists the sensitive woman, to whom these lugubrious words are as dagger thrusts. "You must fight as if there was not the shadow of a doubt but that you will be successful. I have a premonition (woman's intuition, if you prefer), that you will be the victor in this struggle."

With these words of encouragement ringing in his ears, Trueman departs. He has yielded to the human weakness which prompts a man to confide his inmost thoughts to woman. Kingdoms have been destroyed, empires have crumbled in a day; the world's greatest generals have seen their carefully designed campaigns fall flat, all through the treachery of women in failing to keep secret the confessions of their confidants.

The admission that Trueman has made of his misgivings as to the result of the election, if it were made public, would shatter his every chance. The world will not lend its support to a man or a cause that admits its hopelessness. A forlorn hope, however forlorn, has never wanted volunteers.

Fortunately Trueman has made a confidant of a woman unselfishly and devotedly his friend, and who has the good sense to realize that his untrammeled utterances to her are for her alone.

It is eleven o'clock when Trueman reaches his party's headquarters. He finds his supporters working with the feverish energy that attaches to a desperate situation. The soldiers of a beleaguered fortress man the guns with a disregard to fatigue and danger that is inspiring; the men at the pumps, when the word goes forth that the ship is sinking, work with a frenzy that defies nature; so it is with the leaders of the Independence party. They are fighting against appalling odds, yet they do not stop to question the result. "Work, work, work!" is the command they obey.

"The indications from the Southern States are brighter than ever," one of the committeemen tells Trueman.

"Judge for yourself," adds another, and he hands the candidate a telegram. It is from New Orleans. Trueman reads it aloud:

"CHAIRMAN BAILEY, National Headquarters, Independence Party, Chicago, Ill.:

From a canvass of the cotton belt the indications are that our party will carry all the Southern States with the possible exception of Louisiana. This doubtful state can be carried if speakers are sent there.

(Signed) EDWARD B. MASON."

"Is there any way of complying with this request?" Trueman asks.

"We may be able to send three speakers down there the latter part of the week," says the Chairman of the Speakers Committee, after consulting his schedule.

"Have you heard from New York to-day?" Trueman is asked by the Treasurer. "You know we have been expecting to hear the result of the forecast there."

"No, I have had no word. It is barely possible that the message has been intercepted."

As Trueman speaks the telegraph operator approaches and hands him a message.

"Here is the message!" cries Trueman. "It is from Faulkner. He says that the city of New York will be about evenly divided; and that in the state we can rely upon the counties along the canal. He ends up by stating that the result in Greater New York may be assured if I can go there and fight in person."

"Then you will go?" inquires Mr. Bailey.

"Yes, I shall go there at once and try to be there for the close of the campaign."

The routine of the night's work is resumed. Trueman leaves to take a much needed rest.



CHAPTER XXI.

THE COMMITTEE REPORTS PROGRESS.

As the time approaches for the carrying out of the plan of annihilation, the spirits of the forty vacillate from joyousness to despair at the thought, now of the glorious page they are to give to the history of the world and now, of the terrible means that an inexorable fate compels them to use. Each passes through varying moods. The ever present thought that the day will soon arrive on which each will have to commit two deeds of violence, the one, to take a public enemy out of the world's arena once and forever; the other, the extinction of self, is enough to keep the mental tension at the snapping point.

Yet, not a man weakens. The stolid march of trained men toward inevitable death is the only counterpart to their action. And their unfaltering fulfillment of the work allotted them is the more remarkable as each works independently. It is one thing to be impelled forward by the frenzy and madness of battle; to be nerved to deeds of valor and self-sacrifice in the face of impending disaster, such as shipwreck and fire; but it is quite another thing to deliberately carry out a plan that taxes the will, the heart and the conscience, and that too, totally unaided by the presence or sympathy of others. This is what these forty men have determined it is their duty to perform.

Nevins is in New York to receive reports from the members of the Committee. A month has passed since their departure from Chicago. From most of the men he receives letters in which they tell of their success. No mention is made of the men to whom they are assigned, yet the reports seem to assure Nevins that the plan will not miscarry.

"I have twice been sorely tempted to abandon my mission," writes Horace Turner, the plain, honest Wisconsin farmer. "My heart and not my conscience has been weak. But strength of purpose has come to me. I realize that our undertaking is one that the populace will not sanction at the start; it is not one that we can hope to make acceptable to the public mind until it comes to a successful issue.

"The world does not look with favor upon reforms or revolutions until they are accomplished facts. And this is the reason history records the events of every advance of man in letters of blood. This advance is not to be an exception in this point so far as the spilling of blood is concerned; it is to be exceptional in regard to the quantity that is to be sacrificed.

"The revolutions in politics that have preceded it, the reformations in religion, have necessitated the butchery of thousands of men and women; the overturning of existing conditions and the impediment of the human race for generations.

"This reformation will measure its sacrificial blood in drops. It will have as many martyrs as it had tyrants."

It is the preponderance of reasons in favor of their adhering to their oaths that prevents the members of the Committee of Annihilation from faltering.

At forty points through the world these unheralded crusaders are silently arranging their campaigns against the enemies of the common weal. For the most part the men who have been named on the proscribed list are residents of the chief city of their respective states; they are men who have walked the path of life rough-shod and have stepped to their exalted positions over the prostrate forms of their fellowmen. They are what the world is pleased to call the "Princes of Commerce."

To become acquainted with the habits of his quarry; to fix upon a plan for inflicting death upon him, which will be certain, and to be prepared to carry this programme out at the appointed time, these are matters that each of the forty has to arrange.

They call into requisition all of their talents, all of the skill that has made them men of mark in their respective professions and vocations.

When Hendrick Stahl became sponsor for Nevins he felt that he had not misplaced his confidence, yet it was impossible for him to be unacquainted with the movements of the originator of the Committee of Forty. He so arranges his affairs as to be in New York at the end of the month to meet him. On his visits he seeks Nevins and spends the night with him.

"I have perfected my plans," Stahl tells his friend. "At first it looked as though I could not get acquainted with my man, but I finally struck upon a course that led me directly to him. I perfected the details of a mechanism to do away with manual labor on a machine which he employs in his factory. When I suggested the adoption of it and proved that I could make the improvement, he became interested. I meet him every day. On the thirteenth of October we will examine the model."

Nevins opens a letter bearing a postmark, "Edinburgh, Scotland." The letter simply states:

"I am enjoying the hospitality of one of the Transgressors. He and I are great friends. We are arranging to substitute a counterfeit substance for the new armor plate ordered by the government.

"By our plan the government will be defrauded of thirty million dollars. The armor plate will not stand the test of heavy projectiles. But we can 'fix' the inspectors. My friend is delighted at the prospect of giving the United States Government another batch of worthless armor plate."

This particular Transgressor is Ephraim Barnaby, the Pennsylvania iron king. He is the master of the greatest iron and steel concern in the world. His wealth is counted by scores of millions; he has palaces in this country and abroad. His domination over the lives of the thousands who slave in his foundries is kept unshaken by reason of the fact that he coats the bitter acts of oppression of which he is constantly guilty, with ostentatious gifts in the name of benevolence. He presents the cities of the country with public libraries.

This philanthrophic iron master has erected an armory for his private detectives for every library he has established for the people. To make a life of unparalleled achievement as an amasser of money terminate in glory is well within his power, but avarice is the chief occupant of his heart. With sixty and more years on his head and so much wealth that he cannot by any possibility spend one twentieth part of his yearly income, the iron master still has an insatiable thirst for gold. To the Forty who know every detail of his career, this man above all others is the one whom they despise. His hypocrisy makes him the most despicable of the proscribed. Chadwick is proud that to him has fallen the lot of exterminating this Transgressor.

From other letters received by Nevins it develops that not one of the men has failed in locating his man and in laying the net which is to enmesh him.

The proposal of a supposed inventor to create a machine that will reduce cost of manufacture, leads the merchant prince into a trap. He rejoices at the thought of reducing the expense of wage and of maintaining the price of goods to the consumer.

An improved explosive interests the mine owner It will cost him less and can be sold to the operatives at the same price. It is more dangerous to use, but that does not deter him from seeking to utilize it; for it is the operatives who will have to run the risk in the mines.

A substitute for oil is the lure that compels the Oil King to pay respectful attention to another of the committee. The same prospect of a substitute for sugar demands the attention of the Sugar King. To each of the Transgressors there is held out as a bait the needed promise of gain at the public expense.

Thus the details of the pending tragedy are perfected.



CHAPTER XXII.

MILLIONAIRES SOWING THE WIND.

While the work of the Independence party is being conducted with all the vigor that its scanty financial resources will permit, the opponents of popular government are pushing their campaign in all directions, aided by inexhaustible money, and all the influence that attaches to the party in power. The Plutocratic convention which had been held in Chicago promulgated a platform that pledges the party to institute every form of legislation calculated to appease the demands of the people.

That the pretences of the platform are insincere is a fact that every one is well acquainted with; yet so potential is the power of the party that it is able to persuade men against their best judgment, and those whom it cannot bring to its support by argument are forced to align themselves on the side of phitocratic government by the force of coercion.

Where in 1900 the Trusts employed four million men, they now have on their pay rolls more than ten millions. This represents seventy-five per cent. of all the able-bodied men in the country. The tradesmen in every city are as effectually dominated by the Trust magnates as if they were on their payrolls. Through the general establishment of the system of "consignment," by which goods are placed on sale in small shops, under covenants with the Trusts, the retailers are made to sell at the prices dictated by the manufacturers. It is useless for a retailer to rebel; he has either to handle the goods of the Trusts or go out of business altogether.

To realize how far-reaching this system is, it will suffice to cite the case of the retail grocers. Their staple articles, such as sugar, flour, salt, coffee, tea, spices and canned meats are all controlled by Trusts. If the retailer attempts to sell any article not manufactured by the Trusts, his contumacy is taken as a cause for all the staples he has "on sale" to be reclaimed by the Trusts. This leaves him with practically nothing to sell.

Where a man, more pugnacious than the majority, attempts to fight the Trusts, his stand is made futile by the Trust immediately establishing a rival store in his neighborhood, where goods are sold at an actual loss until ruin comes upon the recalcitrant tradesman.

This is the story of all trades. It is the condition that exists in all lines of manufacture as well, and the system reaches even to the farmers. They have either to sell their products at the prices offered by the Trusts or run themselves into inevitable bankruptcy. They may dispose of one year's crop, but the next year they are doomed to find themselves without a purchaser. Failing to intimidate the farmer, the Trust will bring its influence to bear upon the purchaser—he will either be absorbed or annihilated.

From being a nation of independent producers, the people of the United States have been slowly and insidiously pushed back to a position where more than nine-tenths of the people are the servants of the remaining few. With the changed condition has come a deterioration in the spirit of the masses. They are apathetic, and take the scant wage that the Trusts condescend to pay them. The efforts to regain a place of honorable independence are becoming weaker and weaker.

The enervating effects of urban life have told on the millions who live in the great cities. The number of men who can stand the rigor of out-door life, and the exigencies of labor afield, grows smaller year by year.

Adulterated food, sedentary work at machines which require practically no skill to operate, and dispiriting home surroundings have brought millions of men to a mental and physical condition which makes them little better than slaves.

These truths Trueman and his co-workers endeavor to impress upon the people. In some districts the audiences evince interest in the arguments. In others the speakers are met with open derision.

"We are content to work in our present places," some of the laborers assert. "Are we not sure of getting our bread as it is? If we were to bring on a revolution where would our next day's wage come from?"

To this argument, which exhibits to what a debased position the wage-earner has sunk, the Independence party leaders who have formed the party of the fragment of free-minded men that still remains, marshal all the arguments of logic and political economy. They appeal to the pride, the decency of the men, to drag themselves from the slough into which they have fallen. The appeals are fervent, yet their effect seems uncertain.

The terror of "lock-outs," of massacres done under the seal of the law, is vividly recalled.

In 1900 the people had made a desperate effort to throw off the yoke of the Trusts. They had failed and been made to feel the lash of their victors. Eight years have passed, during which the Trusts have become impregnable, the people impotent.

Trueman is in St. Louis on a flying trip. This city of two millions is the great centre of the labor organizations.

It is Friday night, and the local headquarters is the scene of wild excitement. It resembles nothing more closely than a camp on the eve of battle. Leaders from all districts of the city are on hand to receive final instructions, as in a camp they would be given ammunition, rations and assignment of positions. The determined expression that marks the face of a man who is set at a task which involves his entire future, is upon every man who enters the headquarters. The fountain of their inspiration is Trueman, who has a word for everyone. He seems to be everywhere and to be able to do all things.

From the hour of his triumph at Chicago he has won the support of the rural districts. Mass meetings have been held in villages, hamlets and cross-roads in all the States. In the smaller towns the people have likewise hailed Trueman as their deliverer. It is the good fortune of those dwelling outside of the cities to be still in possession of the dormant spirit of independence. They have been crushed, yet not cowed by the Trusts.

The fact that they are self-supporting in so far as procuring the actual necessities of food and shelter, make them capable of retaining a hope for emancipation from Trust domination.

The wage-slaves of the cities are in a condition actually appalling. It is part of Trueman's campaign to go amongst the shops and factories in the environs of the cities to talk with the men, and to picture to them the results that will follow their voting in their own interests. He has seen poverty in its most direful forms.

The evening has worn on until it is within an hour of midnight. Reporters come and go; the last of the committeemen has said good night. Trueman is alone with his secretary, Herbert Benson.

Benson, a young newspaperman, volunteered his services at the opening of the campaign. He is a brilliant writer, and what is of more consequence, he is beyond doubt an ardent supporter of popular government. There are few men in the journalistic field who are free thinkers. The universities, colleges and academies in which the higher branches of study can be pursued, have all been brought under the power of the Magnates. Endowments are only to be obtained by observing the commands of the donors. The chief offence which an institution of learning can commit is to tell the truth regarding social conditions. For this reason the men who enter journalism from college, are unfitted to grasp the social problem; or if, in the case of a few, the true conditions are realized, they find it expedient to remain silent. Excommunication from the craft is sure to follow any radical expression in favor of socialism. The press is free only in name.

A strong friendship exists between Trueman and Benson.

"Tell me candidly, Benson," Trueman inquires, "do you think there is a chance of my carrying New York City and St. Louis?"

"I am satisfied that you will have a clean majority in both. My belief is based on personal observations. I have been in all quarters of the cities, and have questioned workmen in every industry. They seem of one mind. Your Convention speech converted them."

"What do they say about it?"

"Why, it makes it clear to them that with a fearless and noble leader, the masses can express their will. You showed to the world that reason can rule passion. It needed but a word from you to have precipitated a revolt in the party which would have spread through every state. To most men in your position it would have appeared that out of the tumult and confusion, they would have come out with a decided advantage. But you gave no thought to a personal advantage; it was the good of the people that actuated you. And now you are to reap your reward. What was plain to the inhabitants of the rural districts from the start, is now manifest to the toilers in the cities, especially in this city and Chicago."

"This condition must be known at the Plutocratic Headquarters. What is being done by the managers there, to overcome the sudden change in the public mind? I hear so many stories that I am at a loss to tell which is true and which false."

"The local committee of the Plutocrats has abandoned all hope of coercing the people. This evening it sent out a letter of instruction to the manufacturers calling upon them to exercise drastic measures to prevent their operatives from voting; but this is only a blind," replies Benson.

"The Chairman of the National executive committee at the same time held a conference with the chief labor leaders. These leaders were offered a flat bribe if they prevent the men whom they represented from voting. Eight out of the ten who were present accepted the bribe, which was $50,000, in cash. Two declined. One of these afterwards went to the local treasurer and agreed to deliver his people into bondage for $100,000. His terms were acceded to.

"The one who spurned the bribe has been given to understand that if he divulges the nature of the meeting, his life will be the penalty. Notwithstanding this, he has just informed me of the matter. I had to pledge not to make public the information he gave me. But we can counteract the influence of the labor leaders."

"In what way?" Trueman asks, with deep interest.

"You have made a great mistake," he continues, before Benson has time to reply. "You never should promise to keep a secret. Publicity would have been our sure means of thwarting their design."

"If I had not promised to keep the secret I should not have learned of the plot," protests Benson. "I have an idea that we can bring the labor leaders to terms. We are driven to the wall by the Trust Magnates, who will stop at nothing. We must do what instinct would suggest. The labor leaders shall receive notice that if they attempt to prevent the people from voting, their blow at public suffrage will bring on a revolution. It will be on treacherous leaders of the people that the vengeance will fall."

"No, no, that will never do. I cannot consent to the use of a threat of violence," declares Trueman, with emphasis.

"But this is not a question of what you may or may not consent to," replies Benson. "It is what I will do. I know what I say is certain to be true. To avert an uprising I shall warn the labor leaders myself. You will have no part in this matter. I am determined that the vote of the people shall be recorded at this election." Benson hurries from the room.

He is soon in secret conference with the leaders at Liberty Hall. They are inclined to scoff at his assertion that the people will resort to violence if they discover that they have again been betrayed; but when Benson repeats the circumstances of the compact between the Magnates and the Labor leaders, with every detail and word, they realize that their positions as leaders are endangered.

With threat and bribe they seek to win Benson to silence. He withstands their blandishments; at the suggestion of a bribe he flies into a passion.

These men are cowards at heart; they have taken the gifts of the Magnates for years, and have contrived to pacify their followers. Now that they are brought face to face with the possibility of exposure, they tremble at the thought of the popular denouncement that will come upon them. They even weigh the chances of physical harm that may befall them. Secretly planning to get the bribe money, they agree to make no attempt to coerce the vote of the people.

"The first word of intimidation or coercion which is spoken will be my signal to expose you," Benson tells them at parting.

The Trust Magnates remain ignorant that they are sowing the wind. They receive daily reports from the leaders telling of their success in intimidating the masses. To every demand for money the Magnates willingly respond. It is an election where money is not to be spared. Benson and his faithful corps of workers keep a vigilant watch over the Labor leaders.

When the Magnates arrange for a great parade, Benson warns the Labor leaders not to attempt to force any workingman to march. This causes the parade to turn out a dismal failure.

"We must have more money," the leaders assert.

Two millions of dollars is set aside for use in St. Louis alone. Against such odds can the Independence party win?



CHAPTER XXIII.

A DAY AHEAD OF SCHEDULE.

It is two o'clock P.M., on October twelfth. In sixty minutes the New York Stock 'Change will close. The day has been exceedingly quiet; brokers are standing in groups discussing the whys and wherefores of this and that stock scheme; all are of little consequence. Indeed, there has been nothing done on the floor since the abrupt departure of James Golding, the Head of the Banking Syndicate for Europe, three weeks before this pleasant twelfth day of October.

Golding's mission abroad is vaguely guessed to be the floating of a bond issue for the government, as there has been an alarming shrinkage in the money market, and the Secretary of the Treasury has called upon the Banking interests to relieve the strain on the Treasury.

The slightest indication of weakness in the money market has its instant effect on stocks. New York quotations are looked upon as the criterion of the country, and for that reason the brokers are disposed to be cautious. Wall street traditions make it seem proper for the brokers to wait the result of the European trip.

Since the inauguration of the system of bank favoritism, which, was one of the strong features of the previous Plutocratic Platform, and on which the Party was able to raise an enormous Campaign fund, the secrets of the Government and its favorite bankers are not shared with the brokers in ordinary stocks and industrials. For this reason the timidity of the brokers is more pronounced than ever before.

To them it seems inexplicable that the Government should seek to float a bond issue on the eve of an election. They do not grasp the full import of this scheme to force the people to support the Plutocratic candidates as the preservers of the country's credit.

A broker, running the tape through his fingers listlessly, reads this sentence: "London, Oct. 12,—James Golding announces his intention to float $245,000,000 three per cent. U.S. gold bonds in London."

In an instant he realizes that the confidence of the market will be restored. Rushing to the pit he begins to buy everything that is offered. Half a hundred tickers in the Exchange convey the same news to as many brokerage firms.

A wild scramble is started; everyone is anxious to go "long" on stocks which they have been cautiously selling for days past. Point by point the listed stocks advance.

The clock strikes half-past two. Will half an hour suffice to readjust the market?

An exceptional, an unprecedented bull panic is in progress. Brokers, messengers, clerks, every one connected with the Stock Exchange is in a flurry. Tickers are for the time being utterly forgotten.

In a corner of the Exchange sits the operator who has to send the doings of the day to the Press Association. He is unmoved by any excitement that may occur on the floor; it is an every-day experience with him. Stolidly he reads the tape, and jots down the advance in the stocks as a matter of course.

He has sent word to his office that Golding is to float the bond issue; but he knows that this news has reached the office through another channel before his belated report. He sends the message because it is a part of his routine.

"Calais, Oct. 12th," are the words that now appear on the slip of paper he is scanning. "James Golding, accompanied by M. Tabort, French banking magnate, entered rear car Paris Express from London to cross the Channel. Car uncoupled in tunnel; explosion; both men instantly killed; submarine tunnel wrecked."

Here is news. The instinct of the broker is awakened in the operator. He leaves his desk and walks rapidly to the pit. He places his hand on the shoulder of a prominent broker. In a few words he tells this man the news, and asks that the broker make him a "little something" for the tip.

With the news of Golding's death this broker enters the pit as a seller. There are now but twenty minutes left before the closing of 'Change, yet by cautious work he will be able to sell out his holdings at the inflated prices that prevail. He alone of all the members of the Exchange knows that the greatest American financier is dead. On the morrow every stock on the list will depreciate. Now is the time for him to unload.

A hundred bidders are eager to buy the stock he offers. He reaps a fortune in the quarter of an hour before the 'Change closes; the rest of the brokers heap up trouble for the morrow. Five minutes before three the news of Golding's death is brought to the brokers. It is too late. In their frenzy the men fear either to buy or sell. The floor is a veritable bear pit. Men swear and rage in impotent grief as they realize that they have brought ruin upon themselves by their rash speculation.

While this scene is in progress the world is being told of the death of the great Financier.

It will be recalled that to William Nevins was assigned the task of ending the career of James Golding. He has worked secretly, as have all the other members of the Committee of Forty. Now his role as shadow of the financier leads him to New York, while some banking scheme is being consummated; now he is rushing across the continent to be near the Magnate in San Francisco; the last trip takes him to Europe.

At the time he began to study the movements of Golding, the Magnate was in London and thither Nevins went; he was detained there, on that occasion, but three days. On the voyage back to the United States he was afforded an excellent opportunity to observe Golding. Nevins became acquainted with the man whose life he was to take, through a business proposition in regard to an investment. He professed to represent a syndicate of French investors which was negotiating to purchase and work a gold mine in Lower California. According to his story, he had secured the necessary privileges from the Mexican government. Golding was invited to be a participant in the enterprise, which was destined to prove a bonanza.

Plausible, suave, intelligent, Nevins has impressed the Magnate most favorably. So when Nevins proposes that he accompany Golding to Europe to introduce him to the French capitalists, the financier readily agrees.

As traveling companions on the millionaire's yacht, the two men leave New York on September twentieth. Golding is bent on the successful launching of the big bond issue, with the gold mining scheme as a secondary consideration; Nevins has only the awful work before him to consider. London becomes the permanent abode of the two, their trips to France being short and frequent.

The newly constructed Channel tunnel connecting England with the continent is a transportation improvement which makes it possible for one to leave London, at ten o'clock in the morning and be in Paris at one in the afternoon. The Air line to Paris enters the sub-marine tunnel at a point twelve miles north of Dover and emerges on the plains eight miles south of Calais. As an engineering feat the construction of the tunnel has been heralded as unparalleled.

It is by this speedy route that Golding and Nevins make three trips to Paris. The Committeeman contrives to interest several French bankers in his supposititious mine, and by artful manipulation he brings these bankers and the American Money King together in preliminary negotiations.

On October twelfth the two are to effect a final understanding with the members of the French syndicate. The newspapers have given an inkling of the transactions, and have run stories to the effect that Golding is negotiating with a French banker for rich gold lands in Mexico.

Independently of Nevins, the bond issue plan has been developed by Golding and the time for announcing the fact is this same twelfth day of October.

Knowing the result that will be produced on American securities, he delays the announcement until the London Exchange closes for the day. He knows that immediately after making the news public, he is to leave London, for Paris to be gone until the twentieth. Thus he will avoid being interviewed.

Golding has calculated that the difference in time of five hours between London, and New York will result in the announcement being cabled for the opening of the New York Exchange. This would be the result did not a number of large London speculators, who hold American securities, determine to hold back the messages until they apprise their New York representatives of the matter and advise them how to act.

The monopoly of the cable is obtainable by an easy means. All four of the lines which communicated with the United States are leased. Messages rumoring important developments in the China alliance question are transmitted and suffice to explain the cessation of other news—the Government is supposed to be using the cables.

Despite the efforts of the speculators, an enterprising correspondent of a New York News Association succeeds in sending the news of the bond issue announcement, so that it is received on 'Change at two o'clock. From another source the message of death is cabled fifteen minutes before the closing of the market.

Golding and Nevins lunch together before starting for Paris.

"I have closed a deal to-day that will net me twenty-five million dollars within six weeks," Golding confides to Nevins with an air of satisfaction. He might be a retail merchant discussing trade with a neighbor and relating the result of a barter which will net him a profit of a hundred dollars, for there is no stronger emotion in his speech or manner than would be evoked by such a commonplace transaction. Yet this man has just arranged a financial deal which is to maintain the stability of the currency of a Nation of a hundred millions of people.

"Then it is true that you are to shoulder the responsibility of disposing of the United States bond issue?" Nevins inquires with a semblance of interest. "What would that Republic do if it were not for its public spirited men of wealth? Republics are all right when they are curbed by the conservative elements, but when the riff-raff gets the reins in hand, then there is always trouble."

"The days of mob rule in America are over," Golding declares. "It was no easy matter to wean the people of the fallacious idea that a proletariat could manage the finances of the country."

"When our mine is in operation you will not have to seek the aid of England in taking bonds off the hands of the Treasurer of the United States, will we?" Nevins asks.

"That's just the point," exclaims Golding. They talk on in this strain until the meal is finished.

"We have ten minutes to get to the terminal," says Nevins, consulting his watch.

"O, that will be ample time. It only takes five minutes to ride there."

When the train is reached, Golding looks at his watch. "There, I told you we could make it in five minutes. I am always just on time. Never a minute too soon or a minute too late. Time is money. Perhaps I am the wealthiest man in America, if not in the world, because I know the value of time."

"That certainly is the secret of your success," Nevins declares blandly.

The Special Paris Express is composed of six coaches and the motor; this train runs at an average speed of sixty-two miles an hour. It is the fastest train on the continent. So that they may not be disturbed, the mine promoters have arranged to occupy a private car attached to the rear of the train. This car they enter. Nevins carries a small hand-satchel which he declines to give over to the willing porter.

The superintendent of the road is on hand to see that the influential patrons are properly cared for; he has received his instructions from the president, who is an intimate friend of James Golding.

The signal is given and the express starts.

In an incredibly short time the tunnel is reached. As the train rushes into the darkness, Golding notices that the electric lights have not been turned on.

"Ring for the porter, will you, Mr. Tabort," he asks of Nevins, whom he knows only as M. Emile Tabort.

"But where is the button? Ah, I have an idea," replies Nevins. "I shall go into the forward car and find the porter; it will not take a minute."

The car is engulfed in pitchy darkness, save for a glimmer of diffused light that comes from the cars ahead.

"Hurry, won't you; I hate to be in darkness," says Golding, uneasily.

"I won't keep you waiting long," calls back Nevins, who is half way to the door.

He turns to look at the Magnate. A vague shadowy form is all that he can discern in the gloom.

"So here is where you are to end a life of mammon-worship," Nevins mutters as he steps upon the platform of the forward car.

He bends down, and with a strong, quick jerk uncouples the rear car.

For a few seconds the detached car keeps up with the train, then as its momentum is exhausted, a rapidly widening gap is made.

"In five minutes you will have light," Nevins calls grimly, as he looks at the fading car.

The train rushes ahead with speed that is imperceptibly increased. Nevins climbs to the top of the car and crawls toward the front of the train. He works his way to the coach immediately behind the motor. Standing on the platform he removes his coat and trousers and reappears arrayed in the common suit of a train hand. A soft cap completes the disguise.

A faint rumble reaches his ears.

"The first Magnate has fallen" he whispers, as if confiding a secret.

"Yes; I have carried out my plan. James Golding is buried at the bottom of the Channel. The time-fuse worked."

When the train emerges from the tunnel it is stopped by the signals of the Block station. The operator inquires if anything has gone wrong. He has been unable to communicate with the English station for more than fifteen minutes, and supposes that the wires have been deranged. Then it is that the loss of the rear car is discovered.

While the trainmen and passengers discuss the matter, a sound from the tunnel reaches their ears; a roar resembling a series of dynamite explosions.

"The tunnel has caved in!" exclaimed the conductor. "Get aboard, for your lives!"

A rush is made for the train, and in half a minute it pulls away from the mouth of the tunnel at top speed.

From the rear car the tunnel is visible. The train is five hundred yards away when the waters burst from the mouth of the tunnel.

Loosed from the confining walls, the gigantic column subsides in height, spreading on either side of the tracks. It inundates a vast area of the low country surrounding the station.

Through the employment of the block system, but one train in each direction is permitted to enter the tunnel at the same time.

A partition wall bisects the tunnel into 'parallel sections, each containing a single track. The left-hand section, on which are east-bound tracks, is the one in which the telegraph wires run. The explosion wrecks the walls of the tunnel and breaks the wires.

The only explanation that can be offered is that the compressed air cylinder on the car exploded. On each of the tunnel cars a compressed air apparatus is attached, to insure against the trains being stalled in the tunnel in the event of the electric motor giving out.

Nevins experiences no difficulty in losing himself in the crowd when the train reaches Calais. He goes at once to a cheap furnished room which he has previously engaged. He still wears the attire of a train hand. Once in his room he sinks upon the bed, his mind and body thoroughly fatigued by the strain that has been placed upon them.

For more than an hour he is motionless; then his reserve gradually returns.

"I have fulfilled my pledge," he says to himself. "It had to be done to-day, for otherwise I should have been compelled to die with Golding. I have started the execution of the edict of proscription a day in advance of the schedule.

"This will be the signal for the thirty-nine to do their duty. They must hear of Golding's death to-day. I shall cable the news to New York; once there it will be heralded through the country.

"And they will suppose that Golding and a French financier met death accidentally. Yes, the people will accept this view; but the Committee! ah! it will know the truth. To the Thirty-nine it will mean that one of their brothers has gone to his fate with one of the Transgressors. It will dispel any symptom of hesitancy on their part.

"Two men are supposed to have died in the explosion. The tunnel is destroyed. Who can say that one of the occupants of the car escaped?"

He sits on the edge of the bed bending forward, and rests his head in his hands. In this attitude he remains for several minutes.

"Good God, forgive me!" he cries, fervently. "I cannot die in ignorance of to-morrow! I must hear that my plan is faithfully carried out; that the Transgressors are annihilated, and the committee have kept their pledge. Is it false in me to wait? No; for I do not fear death; I would have faced it forty times could I have done so. The Transgressors would all have fallen by my hand had such a thing been possible. I shall keep my pledge, to-morrow."

A few minutes later Nevins leaves the house dressed in a plain suit. He enters the cable office and writes the following message:

"James Golding, accompanied by M. Tabort, French Banking Magnate, entered rear car, Paris express for London, to cross the channel. Car uncoupled in tunnel. Explosion. Both men instantly killed. Sub-marine tunnel wrecked."

"Send this message to the New York Javelin," are his instructions to the operator. "Rush it, and I will give you a hundred francs."

"Cable is engaged," is the reply. "Orders from London."

"What news is London sending over this cable?"

"None. It seems strange to keep the cable tied up, when there is such important news to be sent. But the instructions are, 'Send no messages to the United States.' I'm sending an unimportant House of Commons speech."

"Your wire is free, then? I'll give you a thousand francs if you will send this one message through," Nevins urges persuasively. "I want to get the news to my paper. They will pay royally for it."

The operator hesitates. A thousand francs is a tempting offer.

"When will you pay?" he asks.

"I will pay you now, on the very spot."

As he speaks Nevins counts out the bills.

It is twenty minutes of eight by the local clock in the cable office. The clock indicating New York time registers two-forty P.M.

A glance at the Bank of France notes decides the question in the operator's mind. He takes the money and transmits the message.

Nevins returns to his room to await the developments of the thirteenth of October.



BOOK IV.

In Freedom's Name.



CHAPTER XXIV.

THE SYNDICATE IN LIQUIDATION.

The crisis has arrived. On the bulletins in front of the leading newspaper offices in New York crowds congregate. Men discuss the startling tidings that come from all points of the compass and ask themselves what the next report will be. Golding's death is the forerunner of a long list of fatalities.

JAVELIN BULLETIN.

United States Senator Warwick, of California, was assassinated at his villa in San Diego.

The murderer, after shooting the Senator, turned the smoking pistol upon himself and died with his victim.

This bulletin is posted on the board in front of the Javelin office.

"What's happening?" asks one of the crowd of the man at his side. "Is this a wholesale butchery planned by Anarchists, or is it a plot of the Mafia?"

"God only knows," is the reply.

And to the thousands who stand waiting with breathless excitement for the next announcement the inability to locate the source of the outburst of violence is quite as complete as this man's. They realize that a series of appalling crimes has been committed; yet none can ascribe the least pretext for them.

The name of one after another of the leading magnates of the land is posted as the victim of a simultaneous homicide, and the notion that it is the work of anarchists begins to prevail.

JAVELIN BULLETIN.

Robert Drew, the Sugar King, while riding in Central Park, was stabbed to death by an assassin.

The man jumped into his carriage as it was descending the hill leading to the One Hundred and Tenth Street entrance at Seventh Avenue.

No sooner had the dagger been buried in the heart of Mr. Drew than the fanatic withdrew it and plunged it into his own heart.

The murderer fell forward and died even before his victim.

When this notice is displayed it causes a shudder to run through the crowd. This is the first of the deaths to be inflicted in New York.

With the apprehension of men who feel that danger is imminent, the crowd in front of the bulletin shifts uneasily. There is the thought in all minds that some awful calamity may come upon them as they stand there. Then, too, there is the thought that they may not be safe elsewhere. In such a state of mind men become susceptible to emotion. A word can then sway a multitude.

From five o'clock, when the first bulletin appeared, until the announcement of the killing of Mr. Drew, a period of two hours and a half, the list has grown to frightful proportions.

From Chicago comes the report that Tingwell Fang, the Beef King, has been killed in his private office by the explosion of a dynamite bomb or some other infernal machine brought there by a man who for weeks had been transacting important business with Mr. Fang. The explosion entirely demolished the office, and when the police succeeded in getting at the bodies it was found that the bomb-thrower had paid for his deed with his life.

In a bundle of papers which the man left in the outer office a note is found which gives his address as the Palmer House. At his room in the hotel a card is found addressed to the public: It read as follows:

I have fulfilled my oath; my self-destruction is proof that I am sincere in the belief that I have acted for the good of mankind.

BENTON S. MARVIN.

Almost as soon as the papers are on the street announcing the tragedy, another message comes from Chicago telling of the strange death of Senator Gold. His body and that of a man who had been with him at the Auditorium are found in the Senator's room. Death has been caused by an unknown agency. There are no signs of violence on either. The money and jewelry of both are undisturbed. Neither man appears to have been the victim of the other's hand, for the apparel of each is unruffled. One is found lying on the floor near the window; the other is found stretched across the table in the room.

Following these early bulletins come others from Philadelphia, St. Louis and Boston, successively announcing the mysterious deaths of President Vosbeck of the National Transportation Trust, Captain Blood of the St. Louis Steamship Association, and of ex-U.S. Supreme Court Justice Elias M. Turner of Massachusetts.

"President Vosbeck met his death while on a tour of inspection in the new power house of his company in the western part of the city. With him were his private secretary and a stranger from New York whom he was taking on a tour of inspection. The secretary was sent to find the superintendent of the power house. He returned to find both President Vosbeck and the stranger in the throes of death on the floor near the great dynamo. In the stranger's hand a cane was clutched. This cane was one of those that are commonly made at penitentiaries. It was of leather rings strung on a steel rod."

The above dispatch is spread on the bulletin board, followed by these details:

"As soon as the hospital surgeons and the electrical experts arrived they decided that the cane must have come in contact with the deadly current; and that at that instant Steel and the stranger were standing upon the metal flooring which made a perfect conductor." The death of Captain Blood was even more astounding than that of President Vosbeck.

"In company with the newly appointed Superintendent of the grain elevators, of which the Captain had a monopoly, he descended into the hold of the steamboat that was taking on a cargo of wheat at the Big Three Elevator. The two men were hardly below deck when, by some inexplicable error the engineer received the signal to open the shoot. An avalanche of golden grain rushed upon the two captives. There was a cry of dismay from the hold, and then only the sound of the rushing stream of grain.

"The engine was reversed and the bucket chain began to take up the grain; but it was too late. When the bodies of the men were reached they were contorted in the agony of death. Suffocation had come as a tardy relief to them."

This bulletin adds to the excitement of the crowd. While the people are reading the extras that tell of the series of strange deaths of men of such national importance as Vosbeck and Captain Blood, the news comes from Boston that a double murder has been committed in Brookline, a suburb of that city.

Ex-Chief Justice Turner of the United States Supreme Court and a friend who was visiting him at his country house, were set upon by highwaymen as they were strolling through a strip of woodland, and had been hanged to trees. It was not known how much money the road agents got. The Justice had never been in the habit of carrying any large sums. As to what money Mr. Burton, his friend, might have had on his person, there was no way of ascertaining.

"The Supreme Court, the Senate, and three of the leading-men in the country, this is pretty big game," remarks one of the crowd.

"It will be well if it ends there," says another.

"This will cause 'Industrials' to take a slump," observes a stout, sleek, well dressed man.

"Yes," replies a voice at his elbow, "and it may be that a slump of the market is at the bottom of most of this. I wouldn't trust these brokers. They'd kill a regiment to get a flurry on the market if they were short."

The stout man, who happens to be a stock broker, says no more.

"Get yer extra, all about six millionaires killed; get yer extra!" cry the newsboys.

"Make it seven," shouts a coarse voice from the very heart of the mass of humanity.

And seven it is to be.

The bulletin is being cleared for a fresh notice.

"Bet you it's a Banker this time," a book-keeper, who had deserted his desk to get the latest news, says jestingly.

"Ah, it'll be a dead shoemaker next," laughingly exclaims a messenger boy who has heard the book-keeper's remark.

By a strange coincidence the name that appears the following instant is that of Henry Hide, the head of the leather Trust. The ribald jest of the boy proves to be all too true.



CHAPTER XXV.

BIG NEWS IN THE JAVELIN OFFICE.

Inside the newspaper offices there is even greater excitement than on the streets. The editors are non-plussed at the appalling news that comes pouring in from every section of the laud.

How is the news to be conveyed to the people? is the question that the oldest journalist is unable to answer.

In selecting the leading feature of the day's terrible news, what is to be considered? The fact that an astounding number of murders or accidents have simultaneously stricken with death a score of the leading men of the country, is in itself a matter of unprecedented importance. But the end is not in sight. Every half hour brings tidings of still other deaths and murders.

The peculiar feature of the news is, however, that in every instance where a banker, mine owner or financier is murdered, the evil-doer has committed suicide. What does this indicate? Is it a concerted move on the part of some society; or is it the result of an inexplicable fatalistic phenomenon?

Just as a decision on these points is arrived at, and the editors have given their orders for the make-up of the extras, some account, either of the death of a railroad magnate or the head of some one of the great trusts, is received. The necessity of a change in the form of the paper is made imperative. For the thought that a rival sheet may feature the news forces a change.

Extras of the evening papers are being issued every half hour. The excitement on the streets exceeds even that of the days when the reports of our wars was the all absorbing topic.

In the present calamity men know not what to think. To some it is apparent that a modern juggernaut is abroad; others hold the belief that a conspiracy is being carried to its bloody fulfillment.

No more accurate idea of the confused condition of the public mind can be gathered than from a study of the action in the editorial rooms of the great New York newspaper, the Javelin.

The editorial staff of this paper is composed of the brainiest men in journalism; men who have won distinction in their profession by reason of their ability to handle the news of the day in a manner that will satisfy the demands of the public.

On the large reportorial staff are men who have been brought from various cities; each is competent to gather news and present it in the most interesting fashion.

In the composing room sixty of the most skilled linotypists sit at their machines ready to set the words as they fall from the pencils of the writers.

Still other men are at the presses, awaiting to put the great mechanisms in motion, to pour out a stream of a hundred thousand papers an hour.

All is in readiness to turn out the news with unerring accuracy and incredible speed.

Year in and year out the routine of publication has been gone through with. Now one man who is advanced or discharged vacates a position, which is immediately filled by the man next in line for promotion. The machinery of the office never clogs. But on this night, turmoil takes the place of system.

A crisis in the history of the paper is being reached. The heads of departments are all present, having been summoned by telegram or telephone. They are ready to act. Yet the signal for action is delayed.

To run off the edition of a morning paper is a far different thing from getting out an edition of an evening paper.

The morning newspaper must contain the "news" in its first edition if it is to reach distant points; if it is even to reach the suburban towns. In these towns, by far the largest percentage of the readers are located. They will be anxious for the latest and most complete news. The evening papers give hurried accounts of the events that are stirring the country. For the full details the readers depend upon the morning papers. The newspaper which fails to satisfy their demands will lose its popularity.

So the editor-in-chief and the proprietor of the Javelin are in a quandary.

"It is now 1.30," says the editor-in-chief, as he consults the clock. "If we are to get out a paper we must start the presses." "What is the leader?" inquires the proprietor anxiously.

"A general review of the casualties; the summary of the result of the announcements of the sudden deaths of so many leading men. This is followed by the story of the deaths of six Senators. The head runs across the page. The head-line reads 'Death's Harvest, Thirty-Six!' The banks tell of the sudden deaths that have come upon Senators, Judges, Manufacturers, Railroad Magnates, and a score of multi-millionaires."

"We can't tell everything in a line, or in one edition," observes the proprietor, "so I think it is safe to 'go to press.' Is there nothing of importance left out?"

Before an answer can be given to this query the telegraph editor rushes from his desk waving a slip of paper.

"Hold the press!" he exclaims. "Here's the biggest news yet. Attorney General Bradley of the United States has been assassinated as he was leaving his office.

"The man who killed him made no attempt to escape, but, waiting to see that the three shots he had fired point-blank at the Attorney General had done their work, he deliberately turned the pistol on himself. He placed it at his right temple and fired, dropping dead in his tracks."

"Wait a minute; wait!" cries the editor-in-chief. "Don't say another word."

Turning to the night editor he says, "It will be necessary to change the first page. A new head will have to be run, and the leading story will have to tell of the murder of the Attorney General. This news is national. I think I had better go to the press room and do this work myself. The press will start in twenty minutes, if you give me the word 'Go ahead!'"

"Go ahead," is the laconic reply.

Down the winding staircase that leads to the composing room, and then to the basement where the presses are located, the chief runs. He sets about his work with a calmness and speed that is remarkable. The first page is put on the composing table and the form opened. The head lines are removed and the copy that the editor is turning out a dozen words at a time on a page, are instantly set up and put in place.

In eight minutes the form is keyed up and the stereotypers have it in their hands. Three minutes later the pressman has the stereotype plate. A minute later the press is in motion.

With the first half dozen copies of the edition wet from the press, the editor rushes back to his office.

In his absence there has been nothing startling reported. He breathes a sigh of relief and sinks exhausted into his chair.

At a score of desks men are writing special portions of the news. One is telling of the startling murders, another of the unusual accidents that have claimed a dozen prominent men as victims.

The strange story of the hanging of an Ex-Justice of the Supreme Court Judge is being written by one of the sporting reporters; the assassination of six Senators is the theme of another special writer. Every one is busy.

The chance that always comes to the young reporter is at hand. He is entrusted with the important work of writing the story of the deaths of five railroad magnates. His face is a study. It is scarlet and beads of perspiration run down his cheeks.

Even the copy-boys are alive to the fact that a night of unusual import is passing, and they carry copy without being called. A boy stands at the side of every reporter and runs with the pages to the desks where the copy readers scan it and write the head lines; it is not a night when copy is carefully read and "cut." Everything is news, and the responsibility for the accuracy of the writing is upon the heads of the reporters.

Surrounding the bulletin board in the City Hall square, a crowd of from one hundred and fifty to two hundred thousand has gathered.

The lateness of the hour is forgotten. Men and women stand through the chill hours of the late night and early morning waiting for news. There is an ever varying stream passing in front of the Javelin office. Early in the afternoon the police have taken control of the streets and compelled the people to keep moving. There is fear that the disorderly element will start a riot.

Fortunately the first of the calamitous telegrams of the day has been received after the close of the Exchanges. This has prevented a panic. Brokers and bankers receive the tidings with consternation; they dread the opening on the morrow. Many of them are in the crowd anxiously waiting for further details of the deaths of the controllers of railroad and industrial stocks.

At midnight a bulletin announces that Senator Barker, who had been the staunch advocate of Bi-metallism until the recent session, and who had then voted with the Gold element, has been found murdered in his palatial home at Lakewood, N.J. His private secretary has also been killed, evidently because he had attempted to rescue his employer. Both have been stabbed.

After this the only news that is posted is of a confirmatory nature. It tells of the development of the national wave of death. Then, too, it begins to give the first positive information that the majority of the deaths have been the result of a plot.

Either on the body of each of the assassins or in his effects have been found papers that show conclusively that the men acted in concert. While the phraseology of each of the letters differ, there is a similarity which is very apparent when they are compared.

"I have kept my word. The world will judge if I was justified," is found on one of the suicides.

"If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out," is all that the card on another bears.

"A part is not greater than the whole," is the inscription on the card that is found in the breast-pocket of the man who has killed the Sugar King.

When the news of the assassination of the Attorney General is given to the people, there is a reaction in the spirit of the multitude immediately surrounding the Javelin bulletin. They have previously received the notices with expressions of wonderment. Now all realize that the Nation itself is imperilled.

"This is another Suratt conspiracy," says one man to another.

"Will it reach the President?" is the question that men do not dare ask, though they think it.

"This is not the work of cranks, you may depend upon it," observes a Central office detective, who has a reputation for sagacity. His fellow-officer, who stands a pace in advance of him, turns and inquires if the detective thinks he could run the gang down.

"If I am set on the case I shall not waste much time in looking for ordinary crooks," replies the detective. "It will be my aim to unearth a society of malcontents."

At another point a party of club men, who have come down town from their Fifth avenue haunt, stand discussing the terrible events.

"Do you remember the night that the news was received here that Lincoln has been shot?" asks a patriarchal New Yorker of an equally ancient citizen.

"Indeed I do. You and I were at the Niblo's Garden, weren't we?"

"That's right. It's strange that history should repeat itself; and that we should be together to-night?"

"There is quite a difference between the murder of Lincoln and this series of crimes," observes one of the younger men. "This night's, or rather day's, work is aimed at all classes of wealth. It is evident that it is an attack on capital. And the inexplicable part of the news is, that in every instance the murderers have cheated the gallows."

"Come, move on there," gruffly shouts a policeman.

"Hallo, Mason," cries one of the club men as he pushes his way to the side of the policeman.

"O! How do you do, Mr. Castor," says the blue-coat, in deferential tone.

"Mason, these are my friends; we want to stand here for a few minutes. It's all right, isn't it?"

"Certainly, it's all right. I thought that you were a lot of the idle crowd, sir, and we have had orders to keep everyone on the move. But you're all right."

Mason had been appointed to the force by the Clubman's influence.

Turning from his patron the policeman roughs his way through the crowd and makes the men and women "move on."

"Nothing like having a friend at court, eh?" laughingly cries one of Mr. Castor's friends.

"It is this custom of privilege that has brought on this calamity," soberly observes the philosopher of the group.

A riot breaks out at this moment at the foot of the Franklin statue; and the shouts and curses of the men who are being beaten by the police send a thrill through the multitude.

The people on the fringe of the swaying thousands begin a retreat. Their action is quickly imitated.

The Clubmen decide that they have seen all that they want of the crowd. But the matter of getting out is not easy of accomplishment.

"What are you plug hats looking for?" sneers a rough from the slums. And his arm swings out and hits the foremost man in the face. This seems to be the cue for a dozen ruffians to fall upon the party of well dressed men.

Two policemen who stand nearby come to the rescue of the party and conduct them to a place of safety. From thence the sightseers are glad to make their way up-town.

The ambulances from the Hudson Street Hospital take four of the rioters who have been beaten with the night sticks of the police, to the station house. Under ordinary circumstances the prisoners would be taken to the hospital; but the Inspector of Police, who is on the scene, deems it advisible to take them to the Station house.

A sullen crowd of young men from the neighboring streets follow the ambulances, shouting execrations at the policemen who have made the arrests.

The hands on the clock in the cupola of the City Hall point to 2.15 A.M.

The news wagons are wedging their way through the sea of humanity. Morning papers are being sold by the ever vigilant newsboys. Still the people linger.

An event of graver nature than any that has preceded is what the crowd craves. The appetite of a man, or of a collection of men, is the same; if it is fed to repletion, it cannot resist the desire for an excess.

"Let's wait for one more bulletin," an engineer suggests to his fireman.

"All right; we can stay until 2.30. That will give us time to get to the building."

Before the fifteen minutes elapse all thoughts of tending in the engine room are driven from their minds.

The first bulletin announcing the tidings of the Wilkes-Barre uprising is posted by the Javelin at 2.35 o'clock. From this moment the crowds in City Hall increase. No one who can get within range of the blackboard thinks of leaving. There is a subtle fascination in waiting for the details of the momentous events.

At daybreak the evening edition of the day's papers containing news of the transcendent occurrences of the hour are on the street. In these papers the first intimation of the full scope of the blow that has been dealt the Magnates is given to the public. Link by link the chain of evidence that the accidents and murders are each part of a general and concerted movement is built.

"Martyrs or Murderers?" This is the interrogatory headline that appears in every paper.

The events of the past twenty-four hours have been so unparalleled that men dare not jump at conclusions. To proclaim the forty agents of the Syndicate of Annihilation martyrs, may lead to an instant uprising of the anarchistic element. To denounce them as murderers may have the same effect. Fear prompts the people to take a conservative stand, they wait for full evidence before pronouncing a verdict.

They do not know that Harvey Trueman is pleading the cause of justice and right to a mob at Wilkes-Barre.

The case is now in the hands of the great public as a jury.

A verdict that will shake the world is about to be tendered.

This verdict is to be entered at Wilkes-Barre.



CHAPTER XXVI.

ON TO WILKES-BARRE.

When the first news of the Act of Annihilation reaches the Independence Party's Headquarters, Trueman is out on an important mission, a conference with the American Mothers' League for the Abolition of Child Labor. This League, it is believed, can influence scores of thousands of voters.

A telephone call from Benson brings Trueman back to the headquarters. On the way down town he hears loud cries in the street.

"Get y'er Extra! All about the big murders!" the newsboys are calling in front of the headquarters. Trueman buys a paper. He reads about the murder in Central Park. "This is an unfortunate occurrence," he says, half aloud. "The people will put more credence in the assertions of the Magnates, that there are anarchists working to disrupt the Government."

Once in the rooms of the Campaign Committee he receives the messages direct from the Javelin office over a special wire.

He is as ignorant of the true condition of affairs as any of the public. What to think of the wholesale destruction of the leading magnates, is a riddle to him.

"WILKES-BARRE, PA., Oct. 13th.

Gorman Purdy was murdered in his house at 2 o'clock this afternoon, by Carl Metz. After shooting Purdy, Metz committed suicide. Come to Wilkes-Barre at once. Miners are threatening to sack the palaces on the esplanade. Ethel is in great danger. MARTHA."

This telegram is handed to Trueman. He reads it; re-reads it. The full import flashes upon him. He knows the character of the miners; knows that there is an element which will take advantage of every opportunity to commit acts of violence. He pictures Ethel at her home, besieged by the mob of miners.

"I must get to Wilkes-Barre immediately," he declares.

"Mr. Benson, will you telephone to the Inter-State Railroad and ask when the next train leaves for Wilkes-Barre? If there is not one within an hour, ask if it is possible to engage a special. I must reach Wilkes-Barre as quickly as possible.

"Here, read this," and he hands his secretary the telegram.

"Send this message to Martha Densmore. Address it, 'Sister Martha, Care of the Mount Hope Seminary, Wilkes-Barre, Pa., I leave for Wilkes-Barre at once.' If you can find out the time the train will leave, state it in the message to Martha."

In five minutes Benson returns to inform Trueman that the Keystone Express will leave at 3.30 P.M. This gives Trueman thirty minutes to catch the train. He hurries to the street and jumps into a cab.

"Drive to the Twenty-third street ferry as fast as you can. I'll give you an extra dollar if you make the four o'clock boat," he tells the cab driver.

"All right Mr. Trueman," replies the man, who recognizes the people's candidate. "You'll get the boat. Don't worry about that."

From Twenty-third street and Broadway the cab starts. It turns west on Twenty-fourth street. Then the driver whips up his horse. At Eleventh Avenue a freight train is passing. It will delay Trueman for five minutes. He jumps from the cab.

"Mr. Benson will pay you," he calls to the cab-man. The train moves down the street at a slow rate of speed.

Trueman jumps on a car, climbs across it and jumps to the street. At a run he makes for the ferry house.

As he passes the gateman he throws down a silver piece for ferry fare and rushes toward the boat. Half a minute later the boat draws out of the slip. When he enters the train, Trueman seats himself in the smoking-car. The man next to him is reading a late extra which he has bought at Cortlandt street.

Glancing over the man's shoulder, Trueman reads of the deaths of financiers, statesmen, manufacturers. All have met sudden and violent deaths, and in each instance there is announced the suicide or accidental death of an unknown companion.

Under a seven-column head, printed in red, is a suggestive paragraph. It asks if the wave of annihilation can have any connection with the Committee of Forty. And as if to answer the interrogation affirmatively, the paragraph concludes in these words:

"On the cards of six of the men whose bodies have been found with the murdered multi-millionaires, reference to the Committee of Forty is made point-blank. One asserts: 'In the future, arrogant capitalists will not sneer at the protestations of a committee of the people. As a deliberative body the Committee of Forty was impotent; as the avenger of the downtrodden, it will never be forgotten.' Another bears this strange inscription: 'When anarchy seems imminent, take courage, for an honest leader will deliver you from harm.'

"There are two cards which quote direct from the Scriptures: 'The wicked in his pride doth persecute the poor: let them be taken in the devices that they have imagined.' This gives the motive which supplied the assassin of the Sugar King with courage to commit a double crime. He was a religious fanatic. The name George M. Watson was scribbled on the back of the card. This is the name of one of the Committee of Forty.

"The other card reads: 'And the destruction of the transgressors and of the sinners shall be together, and they that forsake the Lord shall be consumed.'"

Here is a matter which sets Trueman thinking. He knows every member of the Committee of Forty; they are men who would not take part in a dastardly crime.

But is this terrible annihilation to be looked at in the light of an ordinary crime?

"Metz is a member of the committee." Trueman resolves this thought for several minutes.

The train rolls on at a rapid rate; the towns of Jersey are entered and passed so quickly that no idea of the excitement that is stirring them can be formed. It is not until Trenton is reached that Trueman hears the news of the deaths of still other prominent men.

He buys a paper and returns to his seat. This extra contains the details of the threatened uprising in Wilkes-Barre, and the statement that the Committee of Forty has converted itself into a Syndicate of Annihilation.

When the train reaches Philadelphia a battalion of the State Militia goes on board. The Major in command has instructions to report to the Sheriff of Luzerne County. This means that the militia is to be handed over to the Magnates.

As the train is about to leave the depot a telegram is received at the dispatcher's office, which causes a delay. A freight on the Wilkes-Barre division has jumped the track. The wrecking train is called for. After the departure of the wrecking train the express pulls out. The accident has occurred thirty miles east of Wilkes-Barre. It causes the Keystone to be two hours late.

During his enforced wait, Trueman improves the time by telegraphing to New York. He gets from Benson the latest details of the news; the full import of the terrible atonement dawns upon him. The Committee of Forty had come to the conclusion that it must meet force with force. This was a step which Trueman would never have sanctioned. He realizes that the opprobrium for the act of the committee will be placed on him. He has been associated with the committee; has been the one candidate which it indorsed. And for all that he has known absolutely nothing of its intention to carry out a wholesale annihilation.

"Who will believe that I am not an accomplice?" he asks himself.

"I have but one way to clear my name of such an imputation. I must stand out as the advocate for rational action. I must bring the people, those who know me and who will obey my wishes, to unite to suppress anarchy."

As this thought shapes itself, the words on the card of one of the committee obtrude themselves on Trueman: "When anarchy seems imminent, take courage, for an honest leader will deliver you from harm." Is there something prophetic in these words?

Reinforcements are arriving on trains that are obliged to stop in the rear of the express. One of the new arrivals is a part of the infamous Coal and Iron Police. As these men are familiar with the mining district, the Sheriff of Luzerne requests that they be placed on the Keystone and rushed through first. This request is complied with. When the train starts, after the track is cleared, the three hundred and fifty members of the Coal and Iron Police have exchanged places with the militia.

From the intemperate speech of the men, Trueman foresees that the conflict between the miners and the police will be sanguinary. He resolves to keep the two bodies of men apart, if anything in his power can effect this result.

As the twilight deepens the train reaches the ten-mile grade that leads to Wilkes-Barre. The powerful engine responds to the utmost of its capacity and begins the ascent at a speed of fifty miles an hour.

"We shall be doing business in fifteen minutes," remarks one of the Coal and Iron Police, as he pulls his rifle from under the seat.

"Thank God, we don't have to stand up and receive a shower of sticks and stones, as the militia did in the old days. We have the right on our side now, and we can shoot without waiting to be shot," asserts a dyspeptic clerk, who has quit his desk for "a day's shooting."



CHAPTER XXVII.

SISTER MARTHA AVERTS A CALAMITY.

When the tidings of the murder of Gorman Purdy reach the mines, the rejoicing of the miners and their families is undisguised. They feel that an avenging hand has been raised against the man who has caused them so many days of suffering.

"The devil has a new recruit," says a brawny miner.

"Hell is too good for a man like Purdy," another declares.

In all of Wilkes-Barre not a man or a woman except those who live under the Coal King's roof has a word of pity to express.

Sister Martha is silent; she feels shocked at the news; yet even in her heart there is no room for sympathy for the Magnate. The thought comes to her that Ethel will need comforting. Ethel Purdy is the woman who eclipsed Sister Martha in Harvey's mind. It is not to be supposed that Martha has forgotten this; yet it does not deter her from hastening to the place. She finds Ethel on the verge of hysteria.

Under the soothing influence of the Sister of Charity, Ethel's composure is restored.

"What is to become of me?" she asks, despairingly. "How am I to face the world? I have wealth; but will it restore my father?"

"Have faith, my dear, and you will find your troubles lightened."

Martha prays with the late Magnate's daughter. They are on their knees in the sumptuous bed-room of Ethel's suite when a servant abruptly enters.

"O, Miss Purdy, run for your life," cries the maid. "The miners are coming to burn the house."

Ethel utters a cry of terror.

"Leave the room!" sister Martha orders. And the frightened servant retires.

"Do not feel alarmed. I shall stay here and the miners will do you no injury. They love me and will obey me."

Ethel clasps the hand of her defender and crouches at her feet. A knock at the door startles the two women. Sister Martha remains in possession of her faculties; Ethel swoons.

"Come in," calls Sister Martha.

The butler enters.

"I have come to inform you that the miners are on their way to the house. They have sworn to sack it. What shall we do?"

"Who told you that the miners intend to come here?"

"I have just received the warning from the office; one of the clerks telephoned. He says the Superintendent is on his way here, but will probably be cut off."

Fear has anticipated the actual trend which events are to take. The miners are parading the streets but have not formulated any definite plan to attack the Purdy palace.

Superintendent Judson arrives and assumes charge of the house. He brings definite news of the intention of the miners. They are bent on claiming the body of Carl Metz to give it a public funeral. "We shall never be able to prevent violence," he declares.

"The police and the militia have been summoned; but it will be hours before they arrive."

"If there was some one here who could pacify the mob until the troops come; there is no one they will heed."

"Perhaps I can pacify them," suggests Sister Martha.

"You can try," says the Superintendent, scrutinizing her closely. "You are known as the friend of the miners; they may respect your wishes."

Inwardly he doubts her ability to check the mob; he feels, even, that she may meet with physical violence at their hands. Yet his nature is so small that he is eager to sacrifice her if it will keep the miners at bay for an hour.

"I shall try to keep them in the town," Sister Martha assures him as she departs. On reaching the centre of the town Sister Martha meets some of the miner folk. A woman comes up to her and whispers:

"They have sent for the police. The work will be done before they get here."

"What work?"

"Why, we are going to give Metz a decent funeral. He died for us. He said in a letter,—died to set us free from Purdy."

"When are you going to demand the body?"

"This evening when the mines and shops close. We will all get together and then the sheriff can't stop us."

An inspiration comes to Martha. She hurries to a telegraph station, and sends the message to Trueman calling him to Wilkes-Barre.

"If he only gets here before the police or the troops, he can prevent trouble," is the thought that consoles her. The hour that passes before she receives word that he will arrive on the Keystone Express, seems an eternity.

With the knowledge that Trueman will arrive at five o'clock she breathes a sigh of relief. Again she mingles with the crowds which fill the streets. Here and there she goes, begging of the men and women to refrain from doing anything that they will regret later.

The afternoon wears on, and as rumors float through the town that the Governor has called out the State Guard, the excitement increases.

At four o'clock Sister Martha hears that the miners have determined to wreck the express, as it is bringing the Coal and Iron Police.

This news appalls her. Can she tell them that Trueman is on this train, and hope to have his arrival effective? No. He must come unexpectedly.

The plot to wreck the train must be defeated.

She hurries to the house of one of the miners who she knows will be in sympathy with any movement that has for its object the destruction of the Police. His two sons were shot at the Massacre of Hazleton. One of the young men died from the effects of his wounds. The other is a confirmed invalid.

On reaching the miner's cottage, Sister Martha finds that her intuition is correct. Henry Osling is telling his son the plan of vengeance.

"We will wipe out the old score to-night," he is saying. "When the express starts up the grade, we will send a ton of Paradise Powder down to meet it."

"How will it explode?" asks the son.

"How? Why, by the collision with the engine."

"But it may not go off," suggests the invalid. "You had better make sure by using dynamite. No! that won't do either.

"Use nitro. You can get it from the Horton shaft. They have to use it there to blast the slate."

"That's what we'll do, 'sonny.' Just lie still 'til you hear the bang, then you can get up and dance, for the Police will be blown to pieces."

Sister Martha waits for no further details. Her plan of action is decided upon. She knows every foot of ground in the mountains. A short cut will bring her to the home of Widow Braun. This woman will do anything in the world for Harvey Trueman. She will help Sister Martha to save the train; for by so doing she will save Trueman's life.

The widow is at home. In a few words Martha tells her what she must do if she would save the life of the men who rescued her boy and herself from the sheriff.

"Do you have to ask me twice to help you?" cries the woman. "I would lie down on the track and let the cars run over me if it would protect Mr. Trueman."

Martha and her ally start for the long grade. On the way they discuss the manner in which they may derail the car with the nitro-glycerine.

"We will put rocks on the track," suggests Sister Martha. "But the miners will see us;" objects the widow, "it won't be dark when the train arrives."

"I heard the miners say the train would be late. A freight was off the track east of Mathews and the wrecking crew was at work," Martha goes on to explain.

When the rescuers arrive at the track they realize that in their haste they have neglected to bring a lantern, the one thing that may be needed to signal the train, for now a dilemma confronts them. If they place a pile of rocks on the track, the train may reach that point before the car of destruction, and in this event the obstruction will cause the wrecking of the train.

The roadway is along the side of the mountain.

On one side of the tracks the rocks rise in a sheer wall; on the other is a steep embankment that in places is almost as precipitous as the crags above.

"We will have to separate," Martha advises. "You go up the track. No, I will go up and you down. If it is possible, you must stop the train. I will wait till the last moment and then put rocks on the track. When you see Mr. Trueman, tell him to hasten to the Purdy house, for Ethel is in great danger. Tell him I will be there to aid him in pacifying the miners."

"But you can never pile rocks enough on the track to stop the car," Widow Braun says compassionately, glancing at the frail form before her.

"Have no fear. I can do my part of the work. God will give me strength. And you, He will guide you, as well. Come, let us set about our work."

With a parting blessing from Sister Martha, the widow hurries down the track. She can discern the station five miles below at the beginning of the ten-mile grade. This station is her objective. If she can reach it before the arrival of the express, the life of Harvey Trueman and those of all the passengers will be saved.

The nature of her mission gives her strength to travel over the rough roadbed with incredible speed. Her eyes are upon the station, which momentarily becomes more and more indistinct; she knows that if the train starts up the grade she can see the headlight. Her lips move in an articulate prayer that she may not see the light. So absorbed is she in the thought of how to stop the train in the event of its passing the station that she fails to see a culvert bridge. At the bridge the roadbed terminates and a trestle carries the tracks for a distance of fifteen yards. The culvert is dry nine mouths in the year, and is a raging mountain torrent only in the spring.

Widow Braun rushes upon the trestle. Her steps are not regulated by the ties, and almost instantly she falls between them. Her hands grasp the rails on either side; but she has not sufficient strength to support herself. With an agonizing cry she drops twenty feet upon the jagged rocks below. Her head strikes a rock and she lies motionless.

Several minutes pass; then she regains consciousness. On attempting to rise she finds that her ankle is sprained. Despite the agony it causes her, the brave woman struggles to climb back to the track. It is now quite dark and she realizes that the train must be along in a few minutes. She cannot reach the station. But she may yet stop the train at the culvert bridge.

A long shrill whistle sounds. It is the familiar signal of the Keystone Express.

Regardless of the acute pain which every step causes her, the widow scrambles over the rocks.

As she reaches the roadbed the express rumbles over the trestle. With a cry of despair she sinks to the ground.

Sister Martha is acting her role of heroine at a point a mile and a half further up the grade. She has posted herself where she can observe the station and the summit of the grade.

At the side of the track she collects a dozen boulders, the heaviest she can move. These she determines to put on the track to derail the car which the miners are to send down the grade to wreck the train.

"Will the widow Braun stop the express?" Martha asks herself again and again, as the terrible minutes of suspense pass. "Perhaps I should have gone down the track instead of sending her."

Through the darkness a glimmer of light shines from the summit of the mountain.

"The miners are in readiness. What shall I do?"

For an answer, the whistle of the train falls upon her ears.

She hesitates, then with an energy born of desperation she begins to pile the rocks on the track. The ragged edges cut her tender fingers. She works on unmindful of cuts and bruises.

Higher and higher the pyramid rises.

Only once does she glance down the track to see the train. Its great headlight looks like a beacon. It is approaching nearer and nearer.

"Have they started the car?" Martha wonders. She can hear the rumble of the train, but not a sound from the road above.

"The train will reach this spot first," she cries aloud. "The miners are waiting for it to get nearer to them."

Acting upon a sudden impulse, she runs up the track a distance of a hundred yards. There are rocks lying on the side of the track nearest the mountain.

One, two, three big rocks she places on the track.

A faint cheer reaches her.

"They have started the car," she laughs hysterically.

"It will not harm the Keystone. No, it will stop here."

Another and another rock is placed on the rails.

She knows that these boulders are a poor impediment to a wildcat car; but they are the only things available.