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“And mail, too?” asked Montague.

“Mail!” echoed the Major. “What's easier than that? You can hold up a man's mail for twenty-four hours and take a photograph of every letter. You can do the same with every letter that he mails, unless he is very careful. He can be followed, you understand, and every time he drops a letter, a blue or yellow envelope is dropped on top—for a signal to the post-office people.”

“But then, so many persons would have to know about that!”

“Nothing of the kind. That's a regular branch of the post-office work. There are Secret Service men who are watching criminals that way all the time. And what could be easier than to pay one of them, and to have your enemy listed with the suspects?”

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The Major smiled in amusement. It always gave him delight to witness Montague's consternation over his pictures of the city's corruption.

“There are things even stranger than that,” he said. “I can introduce you to a man who's in this room now, who was fighting the Ship-building swindle, and he got hold of a lot of important papers, and he took them to his office, and sat by while his clerks made thirty-two copies of them. And he put the originals and thirty-one of the copies in thirty-two different safe-deposit vaults in the city, and took the other copy to his home in a valise. And that night burglars broke in, and the valise was missing. The next day he wrote to the people he was fighting, 'I was going to send you a copy of the papers which have come into my possession, but as you already have a copy, I will simply proceed to outline my proposition.' And that was all. They settled for a million or two.”

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The Major paused a moment and looked across the dining-room. “There goes Dick Sanderson,” he said, pointing to a dapper young man with a handsome, smooth-shaven face. “He represents the New Jersey Southern Railroad. And one day another lawyer who met him at dinner remarked, 'I am going to bring a stockholders' suit against your road to-morrow.' He went on to outline the case, which was a big one. Sanderson said nothing, but he went out and telephoned to their agent in Trenton, and the next morning a bill went through both houses of the Legislature providing a statute of limitations that outlawed the case. The man who was the victim of that trick is now the Governor of New York State, and if you ever meet him, you can ask him about it.”

There was a pause for a while; then suddenly the Major remarked, “Oh, by the way, this beautiful widow you have brought up from Mississippi—Mrs. Taylor—is that the name?”

“That's it,” said Montague.

“I hear that Stanley Ryder has taken quite a fancy to her,” said the other.

A grave look came upon Montague's face. “I am sorry, indeed, that you have heard it,” he said.

“Why,” said the other, “that's all right. He will give her a good time.”

“Lucy is new to New York,” said Montague. “I don't think she quite realises the sort of man that Ryder is.”

The Major thought for a moment, then suddenly began to laugh. “It might be just as well for her to be careful,” he said. “I happened to think of it—they say that Mrs. Stanley is getting ready to free herself from the matrimonial bond; and if your fascinating widow doesn't want to get into the newspapers, she had better be a little careful with her favours.”

Two or three days after this Montague met Jim Hegan at a directors' meeting. He watched him closely, but Hegan gave no sign of constraint. He was courteous and serene as ever. “By the way, Mr. Montague,” he said, “I mentioned that railroad matter to a friend who is interested. You may hear from him in a few days.”

“I am obliged to you,” said the other, and that was all.