's den, two dull red points of
light appeared--glowed--subsided--glowed again--then vanished. A
minute later one reappeared, then the other; and after the slow rise
and fall and rise of the glow, once more went out. She stood rigid,
wondering at the phenomenon. Then suddenly she realized that within
were two lighted cigars.

Bending low, she scurried across the open space and crouched beside
the window. Luckily it had been opened to let some fresh air into the
long-closed room. And luckily this was the lee of the house and the
beat of the storm sounded less loudly here, so that their voices
floated dimly out to her. This lee was also a minor blessing, for
Katherine's poor, wet, shivering body now had its first protection
from the storm.

Tense, hardly breathing, with all five senses converged into hearing,
she stood flattened against the wall and strained to catch their
every word. One voice was plainly Blake's. The other had a faintly
familiar quality, though she could not place it. This second man had
evidently come late, for their conversation was of a preliminary,
beating-around-the-bush character--about the fierceness of the storm,
and the additional security it lent their meeting.

Katherine searched her memory for the owner of this second voice. She
had thought at first of Doctor Sherman, but this voice had not a tone
in common with the young clergyman's clear, well-modulated baritone.
This was a peculiar, bland, good-natured drawl. She had not heard it
often, but she had unmistakably heard it. As she ransacked her memory
it grew increasingly familiar, yet still eluded her. Then, all of a
sudden, she knew it, and she stood amazed.

The second voice was the voice of Blind Charlie Peck.

Katherine was well acquainted with the secret bi-partisan arrangement
common in so many American cities, by which the righteous voter is
deluded into believing that there are two parties contending for the
privilege of giving him their best service, whereas in reality the two
are one, secretly allied because as a political trust they can most
economically and profitably despoil the people. Her first thought was
that these ancient enemies, who for ten years had belaboured one
another with such a realistic show of bitterness upon the political
stage of Westville, had all along been friends and partners behind
the scenes. But of this idea she was presently disillusioned.

"Well, Mr. Blake, let's get down to business," Blind Cha