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urges to hit an Exxon. That’s when he calls me. Anytime, day or night, and we meet for coffee until the urge leaves him.”
    â€œLike AA?”
    â€œSame principle. But he’s gotten much better since he met Frieda, another little person, and they married.”
    â€œExactly what are you doing at this soiree besides bellying up to the bar, Rocco?”
    â€œI am here at the specific request of the noble lord of the manor,” Rocco replied. “After that display outside, and some threats the family seems to have gotten, he wants me to discuss house security with his top rent-a-cop.”
    The Welch Rabbit reappeared with a replenished tray and replaced the vodka. “Well, I’m off to check out the premises,” Rocco said as he clutched his fresh drink in a massive hand. “I’m thinking of checking out the new Sunoco on Route Eighty,” Rabbit said in a stage whisper to Rocco as they wound their way through the party back to the pantry.
    Across the room Peyton Piper stood in a partly open doorway. When he established eye contact with Lyon he made a small beckoning hand gesture.
    â€œI think it’s our turn to have an audience with the lord of the manor,” Lyon said. They made their way through clumps of guests and were ushered into a room in the far corner behind the west stairwell. As soon as they were inside Peyton firmly closed the heavy door.
    A large stained-glass window in the outside wall depicted a life-size heroic pose of a Civil War union officer mounted on a rearing white charger. The soldier appeared to be leading an army as he waved a naked saber overhead. In the background, a vaulted stone bridge arched toward infinity.
    Reaching up the right wall were two-story-high shelves containing bound volumes of family and business documents carefully preserved for more than a century. Glass cabinets on the floor and walls of the left side of the room displayed museum-quality Civil War memorabilia.
    â€œI believe you both know Roger Candlin,” Peyton said.
    The congressman was a tall, balding, cadaverous man. His few surviving strands of hair were brushed across his head, while opaque dark eyes increased the sense of distance about him. Somber clothes were in keeping with his personality. He gave a dour smile as his long tapering fingers quickly brushed Bea and Lyon’s hands.
    Roger Candlin had not remained in office for ten terms because of personal charisma, but seemingly in spite of it. His political control of his district and a good portion of the state was immense. His incisive mind contained a wealth of personal information concerning constituents, state office holders, campaign contributors, and other individuals who might have influence in a state election, enabling him to resurrect names, family backgrounds, and person history nearly instantaneously. Over the years he had created a vast web of debits and credits. His staff provided myriad services for voters who needed help with any federal or state agency. He was ruthless, remarkably efficient, and unerringly able to identify foibles in others. The primary secret of his incumbency was simply that his wealth of knowledge put him in possession of intimate facts that discouraged active political opposition. Few felt secure enough in their backgrounds to chance an election challenge against Roger Candlin.
    â€œI came to Bridgeway tonight for a nine o’clock appointment with Markham Swan, Peyton. Do you know where he is?” Lyon asked.
    â€œI let him stay in the gate cottage,” the factory owner replied.
    â€œThen I’ll leave you three and arrive at my appointment a little early,” Lyon said.
    Peyton laughed. “If Swan said nine I wouldn’t arrive a second early. You might find yourself acting as coitus interruptus for Swan and his latest.”
    Lyon nodded, knowing that there was hard truth in Peyton’s sarcasm. The room attracted him with its smell of old leather