Carmel was astonished at herself; she discovered herself to be cool
and self-possessed; determined rather than frightened. Here was an
emergency; her one thought was to prove adequate to it.... It was a
thing to have been expected. Abner Fownes’s face reassured her--it
informed her intuition rather than her intelligence. It wore an
expression such as would have been more suitable to one in Carmel’s
position--an interloper in danger of being detected and ejected from
the house. His eyes were something more than startled or surprised.
They were unbelieving. She saw it was hard for him to comprehend her
presence; that, for some reason, it was inconceivable she could be
there. She knew, through some psychic channel, that it was not the fact
of her being at the Governor’s function which nonplused him, but rather
the fact of her not being somewhere else--in some spot where he had
expected confidently she would be.
His face mirrored the sensations of a man whose plans have gone wrong
unbelievably. He was angry, almost frightened, at a loss. She took
command of the situation before his moment of weakness passed.
“Good evening, Mr. Fownes!” she said.
“G-good evening!” he answered. “What--how----” Then he smirked and
drew himself up to the full realization of his stature. He resumed
character. “I did not know,” he said, pompously, “that you were an
acquaintance of the Governor’s.”
“May it not be possible,” Carmel said, sweetly, “that there are a
number of things you do not know?”
“Young woman, you are impertinent,” he said, drawing his shoulders
upward and his neck inward very much like a corpulent turtle in a
state of exasperation. He was laughable. Carmel smiled and he saw the
derision in her eyes. It must have been maddening to a man accustomed
for years to deference and to adulation--maddening and not to be
understood. “I have warned you,” he said. “My patience nears the
breaking point.”
“And then?” Carmel asked.
For the first time she saw the man, the real Abner Fownes. Lines,
cultivated by years of play-acting in a character part, disappeared
from his face. His chins seemed to decrease in number; his cheeks to
become less pudgy; his eyes less staring and fatuous. His jaw showed
strong and ruthless; his eyes turned cold and deadly and intelligent.
She saw in him a man capable of planning, of directing, of commanding
other men--a man who would pause before no obstacle, a man whose
absurd body was but a convenient disguise for a powerful, sinister
personality. He was no longer ridiculous; he was dangerous, impressive.
“Miss Lee,” he said, “for reasons of your own you have gone out of
your way to antagonize me.... I was attracted to you. I would have
been your friend. I credited you with brains and ability. I would even
have made you Mrs. Fownes.... You would have been a credit to me as my
wife--I believed. But you are not intelligent. You are very foolish.”
There was no threat, no rancor. There was even a certain courtesy and
dignity in his manner, but it frightened her more than rage and bluster
could have done. It was the manner of one who has made up his mind. His
eyes held her eyes, and a feeling of helplessness spread over her like
some damp, cold wrapping.
“If you do not return to Gibeon,” he said, “I will forget your
antagonism.”
“What are you saying?”
“Your presence in Gibeon has become an annoyance. If you do not
return--it will be wise.”
“Not return!... To Gibeon, and to the _Free Press_! You are absurd.”
“In a few days there will be no _Free Press_,” he said.
“There will be a _Free Press_ in Gibeon,” she answered, “long after the
bankruptcy courts have settled the affairs of Abner Fownes.”
As she spoke she knew she had been again the victim of impulse; she
had betrayed knowledge which she should not have betrayed. Fownes was
expressionless, but his eyes glowed like sun upon sullied ice.
“I have no more to say to you,” he said, and there was a finality in
his words which conveyed more than the sense of the words themselves.
It was as if he had spoken a death sentence.
He turned to the door and walked away from her with that pompous waddle
which was not so absurd when one realized how invaluable it was to the
man and how painstakingly he must have cultivated it.... A servant
peered into the alcove and entered with a yellow envelope in his hand.
“Mr. Fownes?” he said.
“Yes.”
“A telegram, sir. The Governor said he saw you come in here, sir.”
“Thank you,” Fownes said and tore open the envelope. He read the
message slowly, then stood staring at it thoughtfully while Carmel
held her breath. She sensed a menace in the telegram, something which
threatened her and her enterprises.
He turned and peered at her, and there was something saturnine in his
eyes, almost mocking.
“I imagine this concerns you,” he said. “It is from Deputy Jenney. It
may interest you.” He read, “‘Whitefield out for sheriff. Miss Lee left
town in his automobile.’” He shrugged his shoulders. “I wondered how
you got here,” he said after a moment. Then, “How did you get in here?”
“That is the Governor’s affair, not yours,” she said.
“True,” he answered. “Suppose we leave it with him.”
He turned to the waiting servant. “Ask the Governor to step here,
please. Tell him it is important.” Then to Carmel. “It will not be
embarrassing for you to see the Governor?”
“I came to see him.”
“Uninvited.”
She made no answer. She was frightened, quivering. What could she say?
What could she do? When the Governor appeared and she was denounced
to him as an intruder, as a woman who forced her way into a private
entertainment, how could she reach his ear with her petition?... Would
not the fact of her being an intruder make her case hopeless? She set
her teeth. At any rate she would make a fight for it, and at worst
there could be nothing but ignominious expulsion at the hands of some
servant. The thought of that was unbearable. She was a woman, with a
woman’s social consciousness and a woman’s delicacy. It seemed more
terrible to her to be detected in such a breach of society’s laws than
it would have been to be detected in a crime.... For a moment she was
unnerved.
She thought of her mission; of the public importance of what she was
doing and the excellence of the motives which had brought her to do the
thing she had done. This availed little. The humiliation, the public
humiliation, would be as terrible. She meditated flight.... But then
there arose in her a stubbornness, a resolution. Back of it was this
thought--“_He_ is depending on me. _He_ sent me to do this. _He_ looks
to me to succeed.” The _he_ was emphasized. It did not occur to her to
wonder how Evan Bartholomew Pell came to be of such importance to her
in this moment, or why the fact that he was relying upon her should
sustain her in this crisis. Nevertheless, it was so. She felt she would
possess his approval, no matter what came, if she persisted, if she did
not give up so long as there was the shadow of a chance of success. She
felt, she knew, he would consider as negligible any sneer of society,
any personal humiliation sustained. She knew he would persist, and from
this she drew strength....
She saw a tall, handsome man approach the alcove. From dimly remembered
lithographs she knew him to be the Governor, and as he approached in
his dignified way, she studied him. He looked like a Governor. He was
smooth-shaven, appearing younger than his years. He carried a look of
authority, the presence of a personage. It was a fine presence, indeed,
and one of incalculable value to him. It had been his chief asset in
reaching the height to which he had climbed.... Her scrutiny told her
nothing more than this. The man who approached might be a great man,
a statesman, a man of tremendous depth and character--or he might be
nothing but an appearance. She hoped he was a man.
He entered and extended his hand to Fownes. “Glad you ran up,” he said,
cordially. “I saw you come in, but couldn’t break away. How is Gibeon?”
“Gibeon,” said Abner, “is flourishing.”
The Governor turned his eyes from Fownes to Carmel, and they lighted an
instant in tribute to her loveliness.
“Your daughter?” he asked.
“You don’t know the young woman?” Fownes said.
“It is my misfortune,” said the Governor.
“Um!... Possibly. Then, as I supposed, she is not here at your
invitation?”
The Governor looked from one to the other of them, and seemed
distressed, embarrassed. He sensed a tenseness, a situation, and, of
all things, he hated to face situations.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
Carmel stepped closer. “Governor,” she said, “I am not a guest. I came
to see you to-day on an important matter--a matter of life and death.
I went to your office, but you had gone. It was necessary to see you
to-night.... So I came. I am an intruder--but I will go as quickly as I
can.... After I have spoken with you.”
Fownes shrugged his shoulders and laughed.
“The young woman deserves to get ahead,” he said, “if effrontery can
win success.... But, unfortunately, I know her, Governor. She owns a
bankrupt, blackmailing rag in Gibeon.... That is unimportant, but,
otherwise, I am sure your wife would not care to have her rubbing
elbows with her guests.... In Gibeon----” he paused to allow the
innuendo to take effect. “To prevent unpleasantness, or any chance of
her recognition here, the best thing will be to call a servant and show
her quietly to the street.”
Carmel knew such hot rage as she had never known before. She could
have struck Fownes. Hot words sprang to her lips, but she suppressed
them, fought for self-control. She laid a tiny hand on the Governor’s
arm.
“Sir,” she said, “you occupy a great position this state. Thousands of
people look up to you for the qualities you must possess.... Fairness
must be among them. I insist that you listen to me now.... Abner
Fownes, you have lied, deliberately and maliciously. You know there
is no reason why I should not be here, no reason why any man or woman
should object to my presence. It was a cowardly lie--told because you
were afraid.”
“Shall I call a servant--to prevent a scene? Your guests may
overhear.... It wouldn’t read well in the papers.”
The Governor hesitated, for he was a vacillating man, timorous, a
mirror reflecting stronger images than his own.
“I---- Possibly you had better go quietly,” he said.
“I shall not go,” Carmel said. “You shall hear me. I will not leave
except by force--and then you will have your scene.... It is too late
for me to care what happens now. If you dare to eject me I promise you
a scene....”
“But--er--young woman----”
“My name is Miss Lee, and you will address me so,” she said. “If you
will listen to me five minutes, I will go.”
“Nonsense!” said Fownes.
“Why did she come? What is it all about? This is most unpleasant,” said
the Governor.
“Why did I come? What is it about.... It is about _murder_!”
“Murder!... What--murder?”
“The murder of Sheriff Churchill of Gibeon.”
“But he was not murdered. He ran away, absconded.”
Fownes laughed. “You have all the facts in that matter, Governor.”
“I think so....”
“You have no facts.” Carmel clutched his sleeve. “This man, if he has
given you the facts you have, has lied to you.... Sheriff Churchill
is dead. He did not abscond. He was killed doing his duty by men who
feared detection.”
“What are you saying? What is this, Fownes? What does she mean?”
“Politics,” said Fownes, in a voice he tried to keep steady.
“It is not politics. Sheriff Churchill was lured from his home and
killed. I know. By the crowd of men in Gibeon who are making themselves
rich by smuggling whisky over the border.... There is a wholesale
traffic, Governor. I have seen it. I, myself, discovered a _cache_ of
hundreds of bottles in the woods.... It is no petty bootlegging, but a
great, wholesale traffic....”
“Nonsense!” said Fownes.
“The headquarters of it is the Lakeside Hotel. That is the point of
distribution.... Deputy Sheriff Jenney, whom this man has come to ask
you to appoint sheriff in Mr. Churchill’s place, is a crony of the
proprietor. He is in it, as I shall prove. But he is not the head of
it.... These men, because I printed in my paper what I discovered, came
to wreck my plant. I believe they are ready to do with me as they did
with Sheriff Churchill.... So I have come, I have forced my way to you,
to beg you not to make that appointment. It gives these lawbreakers,
these murderers, control of the legal machinery of the county.
Governor, do you know Jared Whitefield?”
“I--do,” said the Governor.
“He is a good man, a capable man, an honest man, and he has agreed to
accept the appointment as sheriff and to clean out this association of
lawbreakers. That is my purpose in coming here--to ask his appointment
of you.”
“Whitefield!--Whitefield!... What’s this? What’s this about Whitefield,
Fownes?” The Governor was bewildered. Whitefield’s name completed his
consternation. He despised conflict of any sort and political conflict
most of all. When influential men fell out it agitated him, especially
if he were asked to take sides. He had gone forward in the world by
keeping in mid-channel, making no contacts with either shore. He had
done extraordinarily well by never making up his mind and by availing
himself of the opportunities other people dropped.... If there was
trouble between Whitefield and Fownes it would mean taking sides....
Whitefield! He knew what Whitefield was capable of, and Fownes--Fownes
was supposed to control his county. He quite lost sight of the specific
matter in hand in his agitation over distant political aspects.
“Whitefield’s out of politics. This woman’s just raked up his name.
He’s dead.... She lies.”
“But--he’s got a following. Not only in his county. There was talk of
his running for Governor once.”
“There would be again if you gave him this appointment,” said Fownes,
adroitly. “Now Jenney deserves the place. He knows the machinery of the
office--and I want him to have the job.”
“Jenney’s a brute and a criminal. If you appoint him you’ll outrage the
decent people of the whole county--and I’ll take care they know how
and why you appointed him,” said Carmel. Her courage was in its place
again. She was not afraid, but she was desperate. “I’ll tell the people
how the Governor of this state rewards a man for being a party to the
murder of a public official. It won’t sound well.”
“But Churchill wasn’t murdered. He--he absconded,” said the Governor.
“He was murdered. That man knows it.” Carmel cast off all discretion.
“I believe he ordered the murder. I know he is the head and brains of
this liquor-smuggling conspiracy.... I suspect he’s plotting to put
_me_ out of the way.... He’s bankrupt. Do you know that, Governor.
He’s fighting off his creditors, keeping his head above the surface
with money he gets from smuggling and selling whisky.... That’s
Abner Fownes. That’s the man who asked you to appoint his Man Friday
sheriff.... You dare not do it, Governor.... You’ll be a party to
murder if you do.... Oh, Governor, please, please see this thing as
it is. It’s an opportunity.... We can break this thing up; we can
destroy this traffic going on under the surface of Gibeon, turning
decent people into lawbreakers.... I tell you”--her voice lifted as she
spoke--“I tell you Abner Fownes is as guilty of Sheriff Churchill’s
murder as if he did it with his own hand.”
Fownes shrugged his shoulders and forced a laugh.
“I told you it was a blackmailing sheet,” he said.
“I know.... But Whitefield. That’s what worries me. I don’t want a war
on my hands.”
“Governor, have you listened to me?” Carmel said, fiercely. “Have you
heard what I have told you--and, hearing it, are you worrying about
petty political squabbles.... We are talking about _murder_.”
“I--I must go back to my guests. I’ll take this matter under
advisement.... I’ll have it investigated. Fownes, why did you get me in
this mess?”
“Governor,” said Fownes, “I’m going away from here with Jenney’s
appointment as sheriff in my pocket.... Think back. It was my county
put you where you are. I swung it for you. I can just as well swing
it against you--and election isn’t far off.... My county can keep you
out of the Senate.... If you listen to a fool girl who is trying to
blackmail me into marrying her--why, that’s your lookout, but you’re a
dead chicken in this state.... Either I get Jenney or I throw every
dollar I own and every ounce of my influence against you. You’re none
too strong.... You shilly-shally. You’ve listened to a pack of lies,
and you know they are lies. Who is Whitefield, to disturb you?”
“But if there was a murder?”
“Fiddlesticks!... Do I get Jenney or not? Fish, Governor, or cut bait.”
The Governor looked appealingly at Carmel, turned his eyes to Abner
Fownes. He was an exceedingly unhappy man.
“You--you have no evidence,” he said. “You make grave charges, and on
nothing but your unsupported word.... I--in fairness--I do not see how
I can consider them. Charges against a man of Fownes’s standing.”
Carmel knew she was defeated. Her mission had been in vain. Such a
man as the Governor was to be reached only by underground channels,
by the political alleys and blind byways so well known to him.... He
was spineless, a figurehead, nothing.... Fownes would get his man,
Jenney would become sheriff, and Gibeon would be abandoned into the
arms of the liquor smugglers.... To her personally it meant more than
this. It meant imminent danger.... With the machinery for detecting
and apprehending criminals in his hands, Fownes would find little
difficulty in disposing of herself.... She made one more desperate
effort, pleading, cajoling, arguing--but in vain.
“Shall I call the servant?” Fownes said, with his cold eyes upon
Carmel. “I think we have had enough of this.”
“No scene. We must have no scene. Will you go quietly, Miss Lee.”
“I will go,” she said, “and Heaven help a state with such a man at its
head....”
She went out of the alcove, ascended the stairs, and found her wrap.
Her automobile drew up as its number was called, and she entered.
“The telegraph office, quickly,” she said.
At the office she sent two messages--one to Evan Pell, the other to
Jared Whitefield himself. They announced her failure.
“Can you--will you drive me back to Gibeon to-night?” she asked the
chauffeur.
“Mr. Whitefield said I was to do whatever you wanted.”
“The hotel, then, until I get my bag.”
In twenty minutes she was in the car again, speeding over the dark
roads toward home, heavy of heart, depressed, weighed down with
foreboding.... It was nearly eleven o’clock. She felt as if she could
not reach Gibeon soon enough, and repeatedly begged her driver for more
speed....