ttorney-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