ted this
treatment, dubbing him "Kingmaker Coxon," and hilariously repudiating
the idea that he did not enjoy the title. Captain Heseltine dropped in
about eleven; cross-questioning drew from him the news that
communications had passed, informal communications, he insisted, from
the Governor to Sir Robert, as well as to the Premier.

"In fact," he said, "poor old Flemyng's cutting up and down all over
the place. Glad it's his night on duty."

Presently Mr. Flemyng himself appeared, clamorous for cigars and drink,
but mighty discreet and vexatiously reticent. Yes, he had taken a letter
to Medland; yes, and another to Perry; no, he had no idea what the
missives were about. He believed Medland was to see the Governor
to-morrow, but it was beyond him to conjecture the precise object of the
interview. Was it resignation or dissolution? Really, he knew no more
than that waiter--and so forth; very likely his ignorance was real, but
he diffused an atmosphere of suppressed knowledge which whetted the
curiosity of his audience to the sharpest edge.

A messenger entered and delivered a note to Puttock and another to
Coxon. The two compared their notes for a moment, and went out together.
The arguments rose furiously again, some maintaining that Medland must
disappear altogether, others vehemently denying it, a third party
preferring to await the disclosures at the inquest before committing
themselves to an opinion. An hour passed; the noise in the streets began
to abate, and the clock of the Roman Catholic cathedral hard by struck
twelve. Captain Heseltine yawned, stretched, and rose to his feet.

"Come along, Flemyng," he said. "The show's over for to-night."

He seemed to express the general feeling, but men were reluctant to
acknowledge so disappointing a conclusion, and the preparations for
departure were slow and lingering. They had not fairly begun before Mr.
Kilshaw's entrance abruptly checked them. Instantly he became the centre
of a crowd.

"Now, Kilshaw," they cried, "you know all about it. Oh, come now! Of
course you do! Secret? Nonsense! Out with it!" and one or two of his
intimates added imploringly, "Don't be an ass, Kilshaw."

Kilshaw flung himself into a chair.

"They resign," he said.

"At once?"

"Yes. Perry's to be sent for. Medland, I'm told, insists on going. For
my own part, I think he's right."

"Of course," said somebody sapiently, "he doesn't want to dissolve with
this affair hanging over him