show its books, and if we can reach
the guilty ones, on the top, indictments will soon be moving their way.
I think within the next month we will have indictments from the grand
jury for at least four of the more-holier-than-thou sort. That is where
the bomb is going to fall, unless my plans miscarry most woefully."

"You see there are lively times ahead," added Bailey Armstrong. "There
is a man--one on whom a great deal depends--whom we want to bring to
confession. He is the son of your father's old coachman--Fitzgerald."

"Newton Fitzgerald?" asked Gertrude. "The one who has a saloon over on
the south side?"

"Yes--and, unfortunately for us, a properly certified license," answered
Bailey. "He is a tough character, but when a boy he had a soft side. Do
you suppose you could reach him, Gertie?"

"Possibly," she answered thoughtfully. "I used to have a good deal of
influence over Newton when he lived in our cottage as a boy. Don't you
remember--I got him to go to school regularly, and saved him from the
truant officer's clutches on two or three occasions?"

"He used to swear by you," said Bailey. "Couldn't you manage to see him
now, and get him to talk?"

"Get him to confess, if you can," added Joyce. "Offer him immunity if he
will tell you all he knows--and I suspect that is a good deal."

"Yes, I'll do that," answered the mayor. "I'll telephone now to his
place and ask him to come over and see me."

They talked on for another half-hour, and when the two men left, their
plans were all made. Gertrude and Mary Snow were to appear at the court
house next morning, both ready to give valuable testimony against the
grafters, testimony which would convict them out of Vickery's own mouth.

When she was alone, Gertrude at once took up her telephone and called up
Newton Fitzgerald's saloon.

"Is Mr. Fitzgerald in?" she asked.

"He has just stepped out," was the answer.

"Tell him, when he comes in, to please call at the mayor's office before
he goes home," replied Gertrude, "Miss Van Deusen wishes to speak with
him."

She hung up her receiver and turned back to the duties of her desk. It
was nearly five o'clock before she heard anything further. Then her
telephone rang and a strange voice came over the wire.

"Mr. Fitzgerald has fallen and sprained his knee. He has to be put to
bed, but wants to know if you won't come to see him tonight. He wants to
talk with you about the investigation--has something to tell you.