The Best Man

I

DUSK had fallen, and the circle of light shed by the lamp of Governor Mornway’s writing-table just rescued from the surrounding dimness his own imposing bulk, thrown back in a deep chair in the lounging attitude habitual to him at that hour.

When the Governor of Midsylvania rested he rested completely. Five minutes earlier he had been bowed over his office desk, an Atlas with the State on his shoulders; now, his working hours over, he had the air of a man who has spent his day in desultory pleasure, and means to end it in the enjoyment of a good dinner. This freedom from care threw into relief the hovering fidgetiness of his sister, Mrs. Nimick, who, just outside the circle of lamplight, haunted the warm gloom of the hearth, from which the wood fire now and then sent up an exploring flash into her face.

Mrs. Nimick’s presence did not usually minister to repose; but the Governor’s serenity was too deep to be easily disturbed, and he felt the calmness of a man who knows there is a mosquito in the room, but has drawn the netting close about his head. This calmness reflected itself in the accent with which he said, throwing himself back to smile up at his sister: “You know I am not going to make any appointments for a week.”

It was the day after the great reform victory which had put John Mornway for the second time at the head of his State, a triumph compared with which even the mighty battle of his first election sank into insignificance, and he leaned back with the sense of unassailable placidity which follows upon successful effort.

Mrs. Nimick murmured an apology. “I didn’t understand–I saw in this morning’s papers that the Attorney-General was reappointed.”

“Oh, Fleetwood–his reappointment was involved in the campaign. He’s one of the principles I represent!”

Mrs. Nimick smiled a little tartly. “It seems odd to some people to think of Mr. Fleetwood in connection with principles.”

The Governor’s smile had no answering acerbity; the mention of his Attorney-General’s name had set his blood humming with the thrill of the fight, and he wondered how it was that Fleetwood had not already been in to clasp hands with him over their triumph.

“No,” he said, good-humoredly, “two years ago Fleetwood’s name didn’t stand for principles of any sort; but I believed in him, and look what he’s done for me! I thought he was too big a man not to see in time that statesmanship is a finer thing than practical politics, and now that I’ve given him a chance to make the discovery, he’s on the way to becoming just such a statesman as the country needs.”

“Oh, it’s a great deal easier and pleasanter to believe in people,” replied Mrs. Nimick, in a tone full of occult allusion, “and, of course, we all knew that Mr. Fleetwood would have a hearing before any one else.”

The Governor took this imperturbably. “Well, at any rate, he isn’t going to fill all the offices in the State; there will probably be one or two to spare after he has helped himself, and when the time comes I’ll think over your man. I’ll consider him.”

Mrs. Nimick brightened. “It would make _such_a difference to Jack–it might mean anything to the poor boy to have Mr. Ashford appointed!”

The Governor held up a warning hand.

“Oh, I know, one mustn’t say that, or at least you mustn’t listen. You’re so dreadfully afraid of nepotism. But I’m not asking for anything for Jack–I have never asked for a crust for any of us, thank Heaven! No one can point to _me_–” Mrs. Nimick checked herself suddenly and continued in a more impersonal tone: “But there’s no harm, surely, in my saying a word for Mr. Ashford, when I know that he’s actually under consideration, and I don’t see why the fact that Jack is in his office should prevent my speaking.”

“On the contrary,” said the Governor, “it implies, on your part, a personal knowledge of Mr. Ashford’s qualifications which may be of great help to me in reaching a decision.”

Mrs. Nimick never quite knew how to meet him when he took that tone, and the flickering fire made her face for a moment the picture of uncertainty; then at all hazards she launched out: “Well, I have Ella’s promise, at any rate.”

The Governor sat upright. “Ella’s promise?”

“To back me up. She thoroughly approves of him!”

The Governor smiled. “You talk as if Ella had a political _salon_and distributed _lettres de cachet!_I’m glad she approves of Ashford; but if you think my wife makes my appointments for me–” He broke off with a laugh at the superfluity of such a protest.

Mrs. Nimick reddened. “One never knows how you will take the simplest thing. What harm is there in my saying that Ella approves of Mr. Ashford? I thought you liked her to take an interest in your work.”

“I like it immensely. But I shouldn’t care to have it take that form.”

“What form?”

“That of promising to use her influence to get people appointed. But you always talk of politics in the vocabulary of European courts. Thank Heaven, Ella has less imagination. She has her sympathies, of course, but she doesn’t think they can affect the distribution of offices.”

Mrs. Nimick gathered up her furs with an air at once crestfallen and resentful. “I’m sorry–I always seem to say the wrong thing. I’m sure I came with the best intentions–it’s natural that your sister should want to be with you at such a happy moment.”

“Of course it is, my dear,” exclaimed the Governor genially, as he rose to grasp the hands with which she was nervously adjusting her wraps.

Mrs. Nimick, who lived a little way out of town, and whose visits to her brother were apparently achieved at the cost of immense effort and mysterious complications, had come to congratulate him on his victory, and to sound him regarding the nomination to a coveted post of the lawyer in whose firm her eldest son was a clerk. In the urgency of the latter errand she had rather lost sight of the former, but her face softened as the Governor, keeping both her hands in his, said in the voice which always seemed to put the most generous interpretation on her motives: “I was sure you would be one of the first to give me your blessing.”

“Oh, your success–no one feels it more than I do!” sighed Mrs. Nimick, always at home in the emotional key. “I keep in the background. I make no noise, I claim no credit, but whatever happens, no one shall ever prevent my rejoicing in my brother’s success!”

Mrs. Nimick’s felicitations were always couched in the conditional, with a side-glance at dark contingencies, and the Governor, smiling at the familiar construction, returned cheerfully: “I don’t see why any one should want to deprive you of that privilege.”

“They couldn’t–they couldn’t–” Mrs. Nimick heroically affirmed.

“Well, I’m in the saddle for another two years at any rate, so you had better put in all the rejoicing you can.”

“Whatever happens–whatever happens!” cried Mrs. Nimick, melting on his bosom.

“The only thing likely to happen at present is that you will miss your train if I let you go on saying nice things to me much longer.”

Mrs. Nimick at this dried her eyes, renewed her clutch on her draperies, and stood glancing sentimentally about the room while her brother rang for the carriage.

“I take away a lovely picture of you,” she murmured. “It’s wonderful what you’ve made of this hideous house.”

“Ah, not I, but Ella–there she _does_reign undisputed,” he acknowledged, following her glance about the library, which wore an air of permanent habitation, of slowly formed intimacy with its inmates, in marked contrast to the gaudy impersonality of the usual executive apartment.

“Oh, she’s wonderful, quite wonderful. I see she has got those imported damask curtains she was looking at the other day at Fielding’s. When I am asked how she does it all, I always say it’s beyond me!” Mrs. Nimick murmured.

“It’s an art like another,” smiled the Governor. “Ella has been used to living in tents and she has the knack of giving them a wonderful look of permanence.”

“She certainly makes the most extraordinary bargains–all the knack in the world won’t take the place of such curtains and carpets.”

“Are they good? I’m glad to hear it. But all the good curtains and carpets won’t make a house comfortable to live in. There’s where the knack comes in, you see.”

He recalled with a shudder the lean Congressional years–the years before his marriage–when Mrs. Nimick had lived with him in Washington, and the daily struggle in the House had been combined with domestic conflicts almost equally recurrent. The offer of a foreign mission, though disconnecting him from active politics, had the advantage of freeing him from his sister’s tutelage, and in Europe, where he remained for two years, he had met the lady who was to become his wife. Mrs. Renfield was the widow of one of the diplomatists who languish in perpetual first secretary-ship at our various embassies. Her life had given her ease without triviality, and a sense of the importance of politics seldom found in ladies of her nationality. She regarded a public life as the noblest and most engrossing of careers, and combined with great social versatility an equal gift for reading blue-books and studying debates. So sincere was the latter taste that she passed without regret from the amenities of a European life well stocked with picturesque intimacies to the rawness of the Midsylvanian capital. She helped Mornway in his fight for the Governorship as a man likes to be helped by a woman–by her tact, her good looks, her memory for faces, her knack of saying the right thing to the right person, and her capacity for obscure hard work in the background of his public activity. But, above all, she helped him by making his private life smooth and harmonious. For a man careless of personal ease, Mornway was singularly alive to the domestic amenities. Attentive service, well-ordered dinners, brightly burning fires, and a scent of flowers in the house–these material details, which had come to seem the extension of his wife’s personality, the inevitable result of her nearness, were as agreeable to him after five years of marriage as in the first surprise of his introduction to them. Mrs. Nimick had kept house jerkily and vociferously; Ella performed the same task silently and imperceptibly, and the results were all in favor of the latter method. Though neither the Governor nor his wife had large means, the household, under Mrs. Mornway’s guidance, took on an air of sober luxury as agreeable to her husband as it was exasperating to her sister-in-law. The domestic machinery ran without a jar. There were no upheavals, no debts, no squalid cookless hiatuses between intervals of showy hospitality; the household moved along on lines of quiet elegance and comfort, behind which only the eye of the housekeeping sex could have detected a gradually increasing scale of expense.

Such an eye was now projected on the Governor’s surroundings, and its explorations were summed up in the tone in which Mrs. Nimick repeated from the threshold: “I always say I don’t see how she does it!”

The tone did not escape the Governor, but it disturbed him no more than the buzz of a baffled insect. Poor Grace! It was not his fault if her husband was given to chimerical investments, if her sons were “unsatisfactory,” and her cooks would not stay with her; but it was natural that these facts should throw into irritating contrast the ease and harmony of his own domestic life. It made him all the sorrier for his sister to know that her envy did not penetrate to the essence of his happiness, but lingered on those external signs of well-being which counted for so little in the sum total of his advantages. Poor Mrs. Nimick’s life seemed doubly thin and mean when one remembered that, beneath its shabby surface, there were no compensating riches of the spirit.

II

IT was the custodian of his own hidden treasure who at this moment broke in upon his musings. Mrs. Mornway, fresh from her afternoon walk, entered the room with that air of ease and lightness which seemed to diffuse a social warmth about her; fine, slender, pliant, so polished and modeled by an intelligent experience of life that youth seemed clumsy in her presence. She looked down at her husband and shook her head.

“You promised to keep the afternoon to yourself, and I hear Grace has been here.”

“Poor Grace–she didn’t stay long, and I should have been a brute not to see her.”

He leaned back, filling his gaze to the brim with her charming image, which obliterated at a stroke the fretful ghost of Mrs. Nimick.

“She came to congratulate you, I suppose?”

“Yes, and to ask me to do something for Ashford.”

“Ah–on account of Jack. What does she want for him?”

The Governor laughed. “She said you were in her confidence–that you were backing her up. She seemed to think your support would ensure her success.”

Mrs. Mornway smiled; her smile, always full of delicate implications, seemed to caress her husband while it gently mocked his sister.

“Poor Grace! I suppose you undeceived her.”

“As to your influence? I told her it was paramount where it ought to be.”

“And where is that?”

“In the choice of carpets and curtains. It seems ours are almost too good.”

“Thanks for the compliment! Too good for what?”

“Our station in life, I suppose. At least they seemed to bother Grace.”

“Poor Grace! I’ve always bothered her.” She paused, removing her gloves reflectively and laying her long fine hands on his shoulders as she stood behind him. “Then you don’t believe in Ashford?” Feeling his slight start, she drew away her hands and raised them to detach her veil.

“What makes you think I don’t believe in Ashford?” he asked.

“I asked out of curiosity. I wondered whether you had decided anything.”

“No, and I don’t mean to for a week. I’m dead beat, and I want to bring a fresh mind to the question. There is hardly one appointment I’m sure of except, of course, Fleetwood’s.”

She turned away from him, smoothing her hair in the mirror above the mantelpiece. “You’re sure of that?” she asked after a moment.

“Of George Fleetwood? And poor Grace thinks you are deep in my counsels! I am as sure of re-appointing Fleetwood as I am that I have just been re-elected myself. I’ve never made any secret of the fact that if they wanted me back they must have him, too.”

“You are tremendously generous!” she murmured.

“Generous? What a strange word to use! Fleetwood is my trump card–the one man I can count on to carry out my ideas through thick and thin.”

She mused on this, smiling a little. “That’s why I call you generous–when I remember how you disliked him two years ago!”

“What of that? I was prejudiced against him, I own; or rather, I had a just distrust of a man with such a past. But how splendidly he’s wiped it out! What a record he has written on the new leaf he promised to turn over if I gave him the chance! Do you know,” the Governor interrupted himself with a pleasantly reminiscent laugh, “I was rather annoyed with Grace when she hinted that you had promised to back up Ashford–I told her you didn’t aspire to distribute patronage. But she might have reminded me–if she’d known–that it _was_you who persuaded me to give Fleetwood that chance.”

Mrs. Mornway turned with a slight heightening of color. “Grace–how could she possibly have known?”

“She couldn’t, of course, unless she’d read my weakness in my face. But why do you look so startled at my little joke?”

“It’s only that I so dislike Grace’s ineradicable idea that I am a wire-puller. Why should she imagine I would help her about Ashford?”

“Oh, Grace has always been a mild and ineffectual conspirator, and she thinks every other woman is built on the same plan. But you _did_get Fleetwood’s job for him, you know,” he repeated with laughing insistence.

“I had more faith than you in human nature, that’s all.” She paused a moment, and then added: “Personally, you know, I have always rather disliked him.”

“Oh, I never doubted your disinterestedness. But you are not going to turn against your candidate, are you?”

She hesitated. “I am not sure; circumstances alter cases. When you made Fleetwood Attorney-General two years ago he was the inevitable man for the place.”

“Well–is there a better one now?”

“I don’t say there is–it’s not my business to look for him, at any rate. What I mean is that at that time Fleetwood was worth risking anything for–now I don’t know that he is.”

“But, even if he were not, what do I risk for him now? I don’t see your point. Since he didn’t cost me my re-election, what can he possibly cost me now I’m in?”

“He’s immensely unpopular. He will cost you a great deal of popularity, and you have never pretended to despise that.”

“No, nor ever sacrificed anything essential to it. Are you really asking me to offer up Fleetwood to it now?”

“I don’t ask you to do anything–except to consider if he _is_essential. You said you were over-tired and wanted to bring a fresh mind to bear on the other appointments. Why not delay this one too?”

Mornway turned in his chair and looked at her searchingly. “This means something, Ella. What have you heard?”

“Just what you have, probably, but with more attentive ears. The very record you are so proud of has made George Fleetwood innumerable enemies in the last two years. The Lead Trust people are determined to ruin him, and if his reappointment is attacked you will not be spared.”

“Attacked? In the papers, you mean?”

She paused. “You know the ‘Spy’ has always threatened a campaign. And he has a past, as you say.”

“Which was public property long before I first appointed him. Nothing could be gained by raking up his old political history. Everybody knows he didn’t come to me with clean hands, but to hurt him now the ‘Spy’ would have to fasten a new scandal on him, and that would not be easy.”

“It would be easy to invent one!”

“Unproved accusations don’t count much against a man of such proved capacity. The best answer is his record of the last two years. That is what the public looks at.”

“The public looks wherever the press points. And besides, you have your own future to consider. It would be a pity to sacrifice such a career as yours for the sake of backing up even as useful a man as George Fleetwood.” She paused, as if checked by his gathering frown, but went on with fresh decision: “Oh, I’m not speaking of personal ambition; I’m thinking of the good you can do. Will Fleetwood’s reappointment secure the greatest good of the greatest number, if his unpopularity reacts on you to the extent of hindering your career?”

The Governor’s brow cleared and he rose with a smile. “My dear, your reasoning is admirable, but we must leave my career to take care of itself. Whatever I may be to-morrow, I am Governor of Midsylvania to-day, and my business as Governor is to appoint as Attorney-General the best man I can find for the place–and that man is George Fleetwood, unless you have a better one to propose.” She met this with perfect good-humor. “No, I have told you already that that is not my business. But I _have_a candidate of my own for another office, so Grace was not quite wrong, after all.”

“Well, who is your candidate, and for what office? I only hope you don’t want to change cooks!”

“Oh, I do that without your authority, and you never even know it has been done.” She hesitated, and then said with a bright directness: “I want you to do something for poor Gregg.”

“Gregg? Rufus Gregg?” He stared. “What an extraordinary request! What can I do for a man I’ve had to kick out for dishonesty?”

“Not much, perhaps; I know it’s difficult. But, after all, it was your kicking him out that ruined him.”

“It was his dishonesty that ruined him. He was getting a good salary as my stenographer, and if he hadn’t sold those letters to the ‘Spy’ he would have been getting it still.”

She wavered. “After all, nothing was proved–he always denied it.”

“Good heavens, Ella! Have you ever doubted his guilt?”

“No–no; I don’t mean that. But, of course, his wife and children believe in him, and think you were cruel, and he has been out of work so long that they are starving.”

“Send them some money, then; I wonder you thought it necessary to ask.”

“I shouldn’t have thought it so, but money is not what I want. Mrs. Gregg is proud, and it is hard to help her in that way. Couldn’t you give him work of some kind–just a little post in a corner?”

“My dear child, the little posts in the corner are just the ones where honesty is essential. A footpad doesn’t wait under a street-lamp! Besides, how can I recommend a man whom I have dismissed for theft? I won’t say a word to hinder his getting a place, but on my conscience I can’t give him one.”

She paused and turned toward the door silently, though without any show of resentment; but on the threshold she lingered long enough to say: “Yet you gave Fleetwood his chance!”

“Fleetwood? You class Fleetwood with Gregg? The best man in the State with a little beggarly thieving nonentity? It’s evident enough you’re new at wire-pulling, or you would show more skill at it!”

She met this with a laugh. “I’m not likely to have much practice if my first attempt is such a failure. Well, I will see if Mrs. Gregg will let me help her a little–I suppose there is nothing else to be done.”

“Nothing that we can do. If Gregg wants a place he had better get one on the staff of the ‘Spy.’ He served them better than he did me.”

III

THE Governor stared at the card with a frown. Half an hour had elapsed since his wife had gone upstairs to dress for the big dinner from which official duties excused him, and he was still lingering over the fire before preparing for his own solitary meal. He expected no one that evening but his old friend Hadley Shackwell, with whom it was his long-established habit to talk over his defeats and victories in the first lull after the conflict; and Shackwell was not likely to turn up till nine o’clock. The unwonted stillness of the room, and the knowledge that he had a quiet evening before him, filled the Governor with a luxurious sense of repose. The world seemed to him a good place to be in, and his complacency was shadowed only by the fear that he had perhaps been a trifle over-harsh in refusing his wife’s plea for the stenographer. There seemed, therefore, a certain fitness in the appearance of the man’s card, and the Governor with a sigh gave orders that Gregg should be shown in.

Gregg was still the soft-stepping scoundrel who invited the toe of honesty, and Mornway, as he entered, was conscious of a sharp revulsion of feeling. But it was impossible to evade the interview, and he sat silent while the man stated his case.

Mrs. Mornway had represented the stenographer as being in desperate straits, and ready to accept any job that could be found, but though his appearance might have seemed to corroborate her account, he evidently took a less hopeless view of his case, and the Governor found with surprise that he had fixed his eye on a clerkship in one of the Government offices, a post which had been half promised him before the incident of the letters. His plea was that the Governor’s charge, though unproved, had so injured his reputation that he could only hope to clear himself by getting some sort of small job under the Administration. After that, it would be easy for him to obtain any employment he wanted.

He met Mornway’s refusal with civility, but remarked after a moment: “I hadn’t expected this, Governor. Mrs. Mornway led me to think that something might be arranged.”

The Governor’s tone was brief. “Mrs. Mornway is sorry for your wife and children, and for their sake would be glad to find work for you, but she could not have led you to think that there was any chance of your getting a clerkship.”

“Well, that’s just it; she said she thought she could manage it.”

“You have misinterpreted my wife’s interest in your family. Mrs. Mornway has nothing to do with the distribution of Government offices.” The Governor broke off, annoyed to find himself asseverating for the second time so obvious a fact.

There was a moment’s silence; then Gregg said, still in a perfectly equable tone: “You’ve always been hard on me, Governor, but I don’t bear malice. You accused me of selling those letters to the ‘Spy’–“

The Governor made an impatient gesture.

“You couldn’t prove your case,” Gregg went on imperturbably, “but you were right in one respect. I _was_on confidential terms with the ‘Spy.'” He paused and glanced at Mornway, whose face remained immovable. “I’m on the same terms with them still, and I’m ready to let you have the benefit of it if you’ll give _me_the chance to retrieve my good name.”

In spite of his irritation the Governor could not repress a smile.

“In other words, you will do a dirty trick for me if I undertake to convince people that you are the soul of honor.”

Gregg smiled also.

“There are always two ways of putting a thing. Why not call it a plain case of give and take? I want something and can pay for it.”

“Not in any coin I have a use for,” said Mornway, pushing back his chair.

Gregg hesitated; then he said: “Perhaps you don’t mean to reappoint Fleetwood.” The Governor was silent, and he continued: “If you do, don’t kick me out a second time. I’m not threatening you–I’m speaking as a friend. Mrs. Mornway has been kind to my wife, and I’d like to help her.”

The Governor rose, gripping his chair-back sternly. “You will be kind enough to leave my wife’s name out of the discussion. I supposed you knew me well enough to know that I don’t buy newspaper secrets at any price, least of all at that of the public money!”

Gregg, who had risen also, stood a few feet off, looking at him inscrutably.

“Is that final, Governor?”

“Quite final.”

“Well, good evening, then.”

IV

SHACKWELL and the Governor sat over the evening embers. It was after ten o’clock, and the servant had carried away the coffee and liqueurs, leaving the two men to their cigars. Mornway had once more lapsed into his arm-chair, and sat with out-stretched feet, gazing comfortably at his friend.

Shackwell was a small dry man of fifty, with a face as sallow and freckled as a winter pear, a limp mustache, and shrewd, melancholy eyes.

“I am glad you have given yourself a day’s rest,” he said, looking at the Governor.

“Well, I don’t know that I needed it. There’s such exhilaration in victory that I never felt fresher.”

“Ah, but the fight’s just beginning.”

“I know–but I’m ready for it. You mean the campaign against Fleetwood. I understand there is to be a big row. Well, he and I are used to rows.”

Shackwell paused, surveying his cigar. “You knew the ‘Spy’ meant to lead the attack?”

“Yes. I was offered a glimpse of the documents this afternoon.”

Shackwell started up. “You didn’t refuse?”

Mornway related the incident of Gregg’s visit. “I could hardly buy my information at that price,” he said, “and, besides, it is really Fleetwood’s business this time. I suppose he has heard the report, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. I rather thought he would have looked in to-day to talk things over, but I haven’t seen him.”

Shackwell continued to twist his cigar through his sallow fingers without remembering to light it. “You’re determined to reappoint Fleetwood?” he asked at length.

The Governor caught him up. “You’re the fourth person who has asked me that to-day! You haven’t lost faith in him, have you, Hadley?”

“Not an atom!” said the other with emphasis.

“Well, then, what are you all thinking of, to suppose I can be frightened by a little newspaper talk? Besides, if Fleetwood is not afraid, why should I be?”

“Because you’ll be involved in it with him.”

The Governor laughed. “What have they got against me now?”

Shackwell, standing up, confronted his friend solemnly. “This–that Fleetwood bought his appointment two years ago.”

“Ah–bought it of me? Why didn’t it come out at the time?”

“Because it wasn’t known then. It has only been found out lately.”

“Known–found out? This is magnificent! What was my price, and what did I do with the money?”

Shackwell glanced about the room, and his eyes returned to Mornway’s face.

“Look here, John, Fleetwood is not the only man in the world.”

“The only man?”

“The only Attorney-General. “The ‘Spy’ has the Lead Trust behind it and means to put up a savage fight. Mud sticks, and–“

“Hadley, is this a conspiracy? You’re saying to me just what Ella said this afternoon.”

At the mention of Mrs. Mornway’s name a silence fell between the two men and the Governor moved uneasily in his chair.

“You are not advising me to chuck Fleetwood because the ‘Spy’ is going to accuse me of having sold him his first appointment?” he said at length.

Shackwell drew a deep breath. “You say yourself that Mrs. Mornway gave you the same advice this afternoon.”

“Well, what of that? Do you imagine that my wife distrib–” The Governor broke off with an exasperated laugh.

Shackwell, leaning against the mantelpiece, looked down into the embers. “I didn’t say the ‘Spy’ meant to accuse _you_of having sold the office.”

Mornway stood up slowly, his eyes on his friend’s averted face. The ashes dropped from his cigar, scattering a white trail across the carpet which had excited Mrs. Nimick’s envy.

“The office is in my gift. If I didn’t sell it, who did?” he demanded.

Shackwell laid a hand on his arm. “For heaven’s sake, John–“

“Who did, who did?” the Governor violently repeated.

The two men faced each other in the closely curtained silence of the dim luxurious room. Shackwell’s eyes again wandered, as if summoning the walls to reply. Then he said, “I have positive information that the ‘Spy’ will say nothing if you don’t appoint Fleetwood.”

“And what will it say if I do appoint him?”

“That he bought his first appointment from your wife.”

The Governor stood silent, immovable, while the blood crept slowly from his strong neck to his lowering brows. Once he laughed, then he set his lips and continued to gaze into the fire. After a while he looked at his cigar and shook the freshly formed cone of ashes carefully upon the hearth. He had just turned again to Shackwell when the door opened and the butler announced: “Mr. Fleetwood.”

The room swam about Shackwell, and when he recovered himself, Mornway, with outstretched hand, was advancing quietly to meet his guest.

Fleetwood was a smaller man than the Governor. He was erect and compact, with a face full of dry energy, which seemed to press forward with the spring of his prominent features, as though it were the weapon with which he cleared his way through the world. He was in evening dress, scrupulously appointed, but pale and nervous. Of the two men, it was Mornway who was the more composed.

“I thought I should have seen you before this,” he said.

Fleetwood returned his grasp and shook hands with Shackwell.

“I knew you needed to be let alone. I didn’t mean to come to-night, but I wanted to say a word to you.”

At this, Shackwell, who had fallen into the background, made a motion of leave-taking, but the Governor arrested it.

“We haven’t any secrets from Hadley, have we, Fleetwood?”

“Certainly not. I am glad to have him stay. I have simply come to say that I have been thinking over my future arrangements, and that I find it will not be possible for me to continue in office.”

There was a long pause, during which Shackwell kept his eyes on Mornway. The Governor had turned pale, but when he spoke his voice was full and firm.

“This is sudden,” he said.

Fleetwood stood leaning against a high chair-back, fretting its carved ornaments with restless fingers. “It is su