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"There is a gang, then?"
"A gang! My God!"
In the end, however, Clayton decided to let Rudolph go. Hutchinson
was insistent. Production was falling down. One or two accidents
to the machinery lately looked like sabotage. He had found a black
cat crudely drawn on the cement pavement outside his office-door
that very morning, the black cat being the symbol of those I.W.W.'s
who advocated destruction.
"What about the girl?" Dunbar asked, when the manager had gone.
"I have kept her, against my better judgment, Mr. Dunbar."
For just a moment Dunbar hesitated. He knew certain things that
Clayton Spencer did not, things that it was his business to know.
The girl might be valuable one of these days. She was in love with
young Spencer. The time might come when he, Dunbar, would need to
capitalize that love and use it against Rudolph and the rest of the
crowd that met in the little room behind Shroeder's saloon. It was
too bad, in a way. He was sorry for this man with the strong,
repressed face and kindly mouth, who sat across from him.


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