"RichardHardingDavis-TheFrameUp" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Richard Harding)an election, why should Tammany, or a friend of Tammany, place in his possession
the information that to the Tammany candidate would bring inevitable defeat. He felt that the way they were playing into his hands was too open, too generous. If their object was to lead him into a trap, of all baits they might use the promise to tell him who killed Banf was the one certain to attract him. It made their invitation to walk into the parlor almost too obvious. But were the offer not genuine, there was a condition attached to it that puzzled him. It was not the condition that stipulated he should come alone. His experience had taught him many will confess, or betray, to the district attorney who, to a deputy, will tell nothing. The condition that puzzled him was the one that insisted he should come at once or it would be "too late." Why was haste so imperative? Why, if he delayed, would he be "too late"? Was the man he sought about to escape from his jurisdiction, was he dying, and was it his wish to make a death-bed confession; or was he so reluctant to speak that delay might cause him to reconsider and remain silent? With these questions in his mind, the minutes quickly passed, and it was with a thrill of excitement Wharton saw that Nolan had left the Zoological Gardens on the right and turned into the Boston Road. It had but lately been completed and to Wharton was unfamiliar. On either side of the unscarred roadway still lay scattered the uprooted trees and boulders that had blocked its progress, and abandoned by the contractors were empty tar-barrels, cement-sacks, tool-sheds, and forges. Nor was the surrounding landscape less raw and unlovely. Toward the Sound stretched vacant lots covered with ash heaps; to the left a few old and broken houses set among the glass-covered cold frames of truck-farms. The district attorney felt a sudden twinge of loneliness. And when an automobile York he knew he was much farther. Two miles up the road his car overhauled a bicycle policeman, and Wharton halted him. "Is there a road-house called Kessler's beyond here?" he asked. "On the left, farther up, "the officer told him, and added: "You can't miss it ' Mr. Wharton; there's no other house near it." "You know me," said the D.A. "Then you'll understand what I want you to do. I've agreed to go to that house alone. If they see you pass they may think I'm not playing fair. So stop here. The man nodded and dismounted. "But," added the district attorney, as the car started forward again, "If you hear shots, I don't care how fast you come." The officer grinned. "Better let me trail along now," he called; "that's a tough joint." But Wharton motioned him back; and when again he turned to look the man still stood where they had parted. Two minutes later an empty taxi-cab came swiftly toward him and, as it passed, the driver lifted his hand from the wheel, and with his thumb motioned behind him. "That's one of the men," said Nolan,"that started with Mr. Rumson and Hewitt from Delmonico's." Wharton nodded; and, now assured that in their plan there had been no hitch, smiled with satisfaction. A moment later, when ahead of them on the asphalt road Nolan pointed out a spot of yellow, he recognized the signal and knew that within call were friends. |
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