Ely Ives would, before his connection with Tertius Marrineal, have
probably identified himself as a press-agent. In that capacity he had
acted, from time to time, for a railroad with many axes to grind, a
widespread stock-gambling enterprise, a minor political ring, a liquor
combination, and a millionaire widow from the West who innocently
believed that publicity, as manipulated by Mr. Ives, could gain social
prestige for her in the East.
In every phase of his employment, the ex-medical student had gathered
curious and valuable lore. In fact he was one of those acquisitive
persons who collect and hoard scandals, a miser of private and furtive
information. His was the zeal of the born collector; something of the
genius, too: he boasted a keen instinct. In his earlier and more
precarious days he had formed the habit of watching for and collating
all possible advices concerning those whom he worked for or worked
against and branching from them to others along radiating lines of
business, social, or family relationships. To him New York was a huge
web, of sinister and promising design, dim, involved, too often
impenetrable in the corners where the big spiders spin. He had two
guiding maxims: "It may come in handy some day," and "They'll all bear
watching.
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