“I suppose he would. But, yup, just that—forget it.”

“I’m damned if I will!”

“You’ll be silly if you don’t. In the first place, you can’t prove anything. In the second place, there’s no call for you to be grateful to me and I won’t let you lay this burden on me. I didn’t do it for you.”

“Huh?”

“I did it for a little girl who was about to go charging out and maybe get herself killed much the same way—if I didn’t do something. I did it because she was my guest and I temporarily stood in loco parentis to her. I did it because she was all guts and gallantry but too ignorant to be allowed to monkey with such a buzz saw; she’d get hurt. But you, my cynical and sin-stained chum, know all about those buzz saws. If your own asinine carelessness caused you to back into one, who am I to tamper with your karma? You picked it.”

“Mmm . . . I see your point. Okay, Jubal, you can go to hell—for monkeying with my karma. If I have one.”

“A moot point. The predestinationers and the free-willers were still tied in the fourth quarter, last I heard. Either way, I have no wish to disturb a man sleeping in a gutter; I assume until proved otherwise that he belongs there. Most do-gooding reminds me of treating hemophilia—the only real cure for hemophilia is to let hemophiliacs bleed to death . . . before they breed more hemophiliacs.”

“You could sterilize them.”

“You would have me play God? But we’re veering off the subject. Douglas didn’t try to have you assassinated.”

“Says who?”

“Says the infallible Jubal Harshaw, speaking ex cathedra from his belly button. See here, son, if a deputy sheriff beats a prisoner to death, it’s sweepstakes odds that the county commissioners didn’t order it, didn’t know it, and wouldn’t have permitted it had they known. At worst they shut their eyes to it—afterwards—rather than upset their own applecarts. But assassination has never been an accepted policy in this country.”

“I’d like to show you the backgrounds of quite a number of deaths I’ve looked into.”

Jubal waved it aside. “I said it wasn’t a policy. We’ve always had political assassination—from prominent ones like Huey Long to men beaten to death on their own front steps with hardly a page-eight story in passing. But it’s never been a policy here and the reason you are sitting in the sunshine right now is that it is not Joe Douglas’ policy. Consider. They snatched you clean, no fuss, no inquiries. They squeezed you dry—then they had no more use for you . . . and they could have disposed of you as quietly as flushing a dead mouse down a toilet. But they didn’t. Why not? Because they knew their boss didn’t really like for them to play that rough . . . and if he became convinced that they had (whether in court or out), it would cost their jobs if not their necks.”

Jubal paused for a swig. “But consider. Those S.S. thugs are just a tool; they aren’t yet a Praetorian Guard that picks the new Caesar. Such being, whom do you really want for Caesar? Courthouse Joe whose basic indoctrination goes back to the days when this country was a nation and not just a satrapy in a polyglot empire of many traditions . . . Douglas, who really can’t stomach assassination? Or do you want to toss him out of office (we can, you know, tomorrow—just by double-crossing him on the deal I’ve led him to expect—toss him out and thereby put in a Secretary General from a land where life has always been cheap and political assassination a venerable tradition? If you do this, Ben—tell me what happens to the next snoopy newsman who is careless enough to walk down a dark alley?”

Caxton didn’t answer.

“As I said, the S.S. is just a tool. Men are always for hire who like dirty work. How dirty will that work become if you nudge Douglas out of his majority?”

“Jubal, are you telling me that I ought not to criticize the administration? When they’re wrong? When I know they’re wrong?”

“Nope. Gadflies such as yourself are utterly necessary. Nor am I opposed to ‘turning the rascals out’—it’s usually the soundest rule of politics. But it’s well to take a look at what new rascals you are going to get before you jump at any chance to turn your present rascals out. Democracy is a poor system of government at best; the only thing that can honestly be said in its favor is that it is about eight times as good as any other method the human race has ever tried. Democracy’s worst fault is that its leaders are likely to reflect the faults and virtues of their constituents—a depressingly low level, but what else can you expect? So take a look at Douglas and ponder that, in his ignorance, stupidity, and self-seeking, he much resembles his fellow Americans, including you and me . . . and that in fact he is a notch or two above the average. Then take a look at the man who will replace him if his government topples.”