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father was known as the most tightfisted, intemperate sod in the county. He used to beat his horses and drove his wife like a donkey. Be that as it may, there’s no mistaking Roodle’s success. Half of Durham’s pubs are Roodle pubs. He also has one other great point, in local terms.”
    “What’s that?” asked Hilary with some alarm.
    “He’s from here. In the north we value our own, you see.”
    Indeed, as they had walked that day about town Hilary and Lenox had seen numerous flyers on that subject. “Two weeks in Stirrington, or a lifetime? Who knows you better? Vote Roodle,” read one. “Vote your own—vote Roodle,” said another.
    Lenox saw the fairness of the point. It was a strange political system that led to Hilary representing Liverpool, while the Liberal Party’s current leader in the House, William Gladstone, had grown up in Liverpool but for a long time represented Oxford, of all places. Still, he also believed that his platform would genuinely help the people of Stirrington more than Roodle’s, and he resented the negative, attacking nature of Roodle’s campaign. He was ready to fight.
    Lenox’s own campaign handbills were, he thought, singularly effective; they advertised what they called his “Five Promises.” Crook had written it up, and Hilary (who was invaluable for this sort of task) had revised it. The only promise that both the printer and Crook had absolutely insisted upon keeping was for a lower tax on beer. This wasn’t self-interest, Crook rather defensively assured them, but the most important issue to many Stirringtonians.
    Better still, Roodle was in a bind over the beer tax. He had vocally supported a lower beer tax for many years (as a brewer interested in selling as many pints as possible), but now he found himself on the wrong side of his party, and rather than alienate the aid he received from London he had switched positions. Crook felt this hypocrisy was important, if only to show how weak willed Roodle would be if elected.
    At the committee meeting there was a great deal of detailed talk about Lenox’s schedule for the next several days; by this time he was faint with fatigue, however—Hilary was still impressively spry, but he was younger—and only half heard the plan for a series of speeches, a debate, a meeting with county officials, and visits to several dances, balls, and livestock auctions. The idea was to make Lenox as visible as possible to compensate for the short time he had in which to present his platform. Through all of this conversation Crook was a gentle but forceful guide. His authority was obvious.
    At last Lenox was allowed to go to sleep. In his plain, quite clean room, which had a small warm grate near the bed, he drifted off into a grateful rest, so tired that he only for a passing moment worried about McConnell and Toto.
    In the morning, to Lenox’s surprise, his coffee appeared via a familiar bearer; it was Graham.
    “Thank goodness you’re here, Graham.”
    “I arrived late last night, sir.”
    “You’re not exhausted, I hope?”
    “I slept very well, sir. May I ask how things have progressed here?”
    “Very well, I think, though I’m pulled in five different directions at once.”
    “Such is the nature of campaign life, sir, or so I have heard.”
    “Indeed it is, Graham.” Lenox took a sip of coffee and instantly felt livelier. “Well, I’m prepared for the battle.”
    “Excellent, sir.”
    “I say, though, was there any news about those two gentlemen—about Pierce and Carruthers?”
    “I brought yesterday evening’s papers with me, sir,” said Graham.
    Lenox noticed a bundle under the butler’s arm. “Cheers.”
    “I am afraid there is no new information, however. Mr. Hiram Smalls is still in custody. Inspector Exeter is widely quoted in the paper as saying the case is over.”
    “Is he now? Insufferable, isn’t it,” he murmured as he glanced at the headlines.
    “Will you eat breakfast here, sir?” Graham