The Final Adversary by Gilbert Morris Page A

hardened ward bosses, but they were mistaken. By the time he was thirty-five years of age, he was the boss of New York’s political machine.
    In the process, Carmody had made quite a few enemies, as any man would be forced to do who climbed so rapidly and so high. But many of them were either dead or ruined, so he gave them little thought. But Carmody’s success whetted his appetite for more. Being the boss was a beginning—why not something with more class? Mayor of New York, for example? That could propel him even further—say, senator?
    Dan Carmody sat in his office musing over his future. He was not a poetic man, yet he did have a bold and sweeping imagination where his personal goals were concerned. His eyes flicked to a picture on the wall of two men shaking hands—one, William McKinley, who would in all probability be the next President of the United States; the other, Dan Carmody.

    “Mr. Carmody, there’s a lady here to see you.”
    His secretary’s abrupt announcement tore Carmody’s eyes from the picture. “What lady?” he grunted, irritated.
    “A Mrs. Winslow.”
    “Is she anybody?”
    “I don’t know, sir,” he replied, hesitating. A major part of his job was to decide who should be allowed to see his boss. Finally he shrugged. “I think you better see her. She’s top drawer.” He glanced at the picture of McKinley and Carmody and winked. “She’s a swell, Dan. Might be a heavy contributor to your campaign fund next year.”
    Carmody’s eyes sparked with interest. “Show her in, Patterson.”
    The woman was top drawer, all right, Carmody noted. Dressed in simple but expensive clothing and wearing little jewelry, except for the diamond that glittered at her throat, she spoke of money. He got up at once and advanced to meet her.
    “Mrs. Winslow? Dan Carmody. Won’t you have a seat.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Carmody.” Lola sat down gracefully, then said, “I’ll get right to the point, Mr. Carmody. My son is in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. One of your lieutenants is responsible for it, and I intend to see that he is brought to account. And when that happens, you will, of course, be embarrassed.”
    Carmody prided himself on his iron will, and was not a man to show emotion. But when the beautiful woman with the enormous black eyes spoke out, he was stunned. He saw that she was aware of his confusion, and it angered him.
    “Mrs. Winslow, you’re making a mistake,” he said. Carmody’s first impulse was to strike back. Hit hard and they won’t return, he often said. His eyes narrowed and he said in a threatening voice, “You’d better leave.”
    “Very well,” Lola said calmly, rising to her feet. “I thought we might settle this matter quietly, but I can see you’re not ready for that. You can expect a call from my husband later in the day.”

    “And who might he be?”
    “Mark Winslow. He’s vice-president of the Union Pacific Railroad.” She saw his eyes open wide, so plunged the barb a little deeper. “And he’s also chairman of the Democratic National Committee.”
    Carmody cleared his throat, and saw with alarm that the woman was already heading for the door, her back straight as a soldier’s!
    “Now—just a moment, Mrs. Winslow—!” He jumped up to intercept her at the door. “You’ve got the best of me.” Carmody was a big, fine-looking man who could charm anyone when he chose to do so.
    Smiling and shaking his head gently, he said, “You must forgive me, Mrs. Winslow, but you just don’t know how many people come into this office with strange ideas. Here, please sit down and let me hear more of this. Believe me, I know nothing about it.”
    Lola took her seat, saying, “I think that’s probably true, Mr. Carmody. A man with your busy schedule has to delegate responsibility. My husband tells me that’s the most difficult part of business.”
    “He’s a wise man, Mrs. Winslow!”
    “Yes, he is.” Lola paused, then said slowly and with great