Ned Beaumont nodded. “Yes. Farr’s probably forgotten them too.”
“Exactly. Now, Mr. Beaumont, I am not a blood-thirsty man, but I’m damned if I can bear the thought of my son’s murderer walking around free and unpunished when–”
“I told you they’ll have to pick him up. They can’t get out of it. The evidence is too strong and everybody knows it.”
The Senator smiled again, icily. “You are surely not trying to tell me, as one practicing politician to another, that Paul Madvig is in any danger of being punished for anything he might do in this city?”
“I am. Paul’s sunk. They’re double-crossing him. The only thing that’s holding them up is that they’re used to jumping when he cracks the whip and they need a little time to gather courage.”
Senator Henry smiled and shook his head. “You’ll allow me to disagree with you? And to point out the fact that I’ve been in politics more years than you’ve lived?”
“Sure.”
“Then I can assure you that they never will get the necessary amount of courage, no matter how much time they’re given. Paul is their boss and, despite possible temporary rebellions, he will remain their boss.”
“It doesn’t look like we’ll agree on that,” Ned Beaumont said. “Paul’s sunk.” He frowned. “Now about this gun business. That’s no good. You’d better give it to me.” He held out his hand.
The Senator pot his right hand in his overcoat-pocket.
Ned Beaumont stepped close to the Senator and put his left hand on the Senator’s wrist. “Give me it.”
The Senator glared angrily at him.
“All right,” Ned Beaumont said, “if I’ve got to do that,” and, after a brief struggle in which a chair was upset, took the weapon–an old-fashioned nickeled revolver–away from the Senator. He was thrusting the revolver into one of his hip-pockets when Janet Henry, wild of eye, white of face, came in.
“What is it?” she cried.
“He won’t listen to reason,” Ned Beaumont grumbled. “I had to take the gun away from him.”
The Senator’s face was twitching and he panted hoarsely. He took a step towards Ned Beaumont. “Get out of my house,” he ordered.
“I won’t,” Ned Beaumont said. The ends of his lips jerked. Anger began to burn in his eyes. He put a hand out and touched Janet Henry’s arm roughly. “Sit down and listen to this. You asked for it and you’re going to get it.” He spoke to the Senator: “I’ve got a lot to say, so maybe you’d better sit down too.”
Neither Janet Henry nor her father sat down. She looked at Ned Beaumont with wide panic-stricken eyes, he with hard wary ones. Their faces were similarly white.
Ned Beaumont said to the Senator: “You killed your son.”
Nothing changed in the Senator’s face. He did not move.
For a long moment Janet Henry was still as her father. Then a look of utter horror came into her face and she sat down slowly on the floor. She did not fall. She slowly bent her knees and sank down on the floor in a sitting position, leaning to the right, her right hand on the floor for support, her horrified face turned up to her father and Ned Beaumont.
Neither of the men looked at her.
Ned Beaumont said to the Senator: “You want to kill Paul now so he can’t say you killed your son. You know you can kill him and get away with it–dashing gentleman of the old school stuff–if you can put over on the world the attitude you tried to put over on us.” He stopped.
The Senator said nothing.
Ned Beaumont went on: “You know he’s going to stop covering you up if he’s arrested, because he’s not going to have Janet thinking he killed her brother if he can help it.” He laughed bitterly. “And what a swell joke on him that is!” He ran fingers through his hair. “What happened is something like this: when Taylor heard about Paul kissing Janet he ran after him, taking the stick with him and wearing a hat, though that’s not as important. When you thought of what might happen to your chances of being re-elected–“