"I don't see the connection between a black dagger and a goat," demurred Dick gravely.
"Sure! The one who drew the paper with the black dagger on it had to do the deed. See? And Middleton drew it. The man he was to kill was a Governor of a State, you see. He'd been doing things these Socialists didn't like. So they decided to kill him."
"Quite simple," observed Dick. "Did Whathisname do it?"
"No. That's the point. He started to, and once he almost did it, but something happened. Then he fell in love with the Governor's daughter and they got married and went to Europe to live because the Socialists were mad at him for not killing the Governor, and put a price on his head."
"How much?" asked Dick interestedly.
"I don't know," replied Fudge. "That's just a figure of speech. So he lived over in Europe for a long time till he thought the Socialists had forgotten their grouch and then came back to this country and made his fortune."
"How'd he do it?" inquired Dick.
"Oh, I don't know," said the narrator a trifle impatiently. "He was a Magnate. Anyhow, the So-
