New York City.

"No wonder they ran," said Waldemar with a grin, as he digested this
document.

"And so must we if we're to get through the crowd and reach the
reviewing stand," warned Average Jones, glancing at his watch.

Their seats, which they attained with some difficulty, were within a few
feet of the governor's box. Within reach of them sat Carroll Morrison,
his long, pale, black-bearded face set in that immobility to which
he had schooled it. But the cold eyes roved restlessly and the little
muscles at the corners of the lips twitched.

"Tell me that he isn't in on the game!" whispered Average Jones, and
Waldemar nodded.

The sound of music from down the street turned all faces in that
direction. A roar of cheering swept toward them and was taken up in the
stands. The governor, in his high coach, came in sight. And, at that
moment, terror struck into the soul of Waldemar.

"Suppose they came back!" he whispered to Average Jones. "We've left the
house unguarded."

"I've fixed that," replied the Ad-Visor in the same tone. "Watch
Morrison!"

Governor Arthur approached the civic statue. An official, running out to
the coach, handed him a silken cord, which he secured with a turn
around the wrist. The coach rolled on. The cord tautened; the swathings
sundered and fell from the gleaming splendor of marble, and a blinding
flash, followed by another, and a third, blotted out the scene in
unbearable radiance.

Involuntarily Morrison, like thousands of others, had screened his
sight with his hands after the second flash. Now, as the kindlier light
returned, he half rose, rubbing his eyes furiously. A half-groan escaped
him. He sank back, staring in amaze. For Governor Arthur was riding on,
calm and smiling amid the shouts.

Morrison shrank. Could it be that the governor's eyes were fixed on his?
He strove to shake off the delusion. He felt, rather than saw, the
guest of honor descend from the coach; felt rather than saw him making
straight toward himself; and he winced and quivered at the sound of his
own name.

"Mr. Morrison," the governor was saying, at his elbow, "Mr. Morrison,
here is a paper that may interest you. Better luck next time."

Morrison strove to reply. His voice clucked in his throat, and the hand
with which he took the folded newspaper was as the hand of a paralytic.

"He's broken," whispered Average Jones.

He went straight to Governor Arthur, speaking in his ear. The governor
nodded.