For a moment Beekman was nonplussed and looked from the note to its
bearer.
"I didn't write this letter," presently he said. He paled perceptibly;
his confusion, whatever it may have meant, was not lost on the three
committee-men.
"You didn't write it," queried Wilkinson, coldly, "but isn't that your
signature?"
"It looks like my signature," admitted the Governor, after scanning the
writing closely.
"But I can't for the life of me think what I wanted to see you about."
And turning now to the three men, he added: "You'll excuse us, please."
Leaving the three Assemblymen he ushered his guests into the next room.
"Comfortable quarters, Governor," commented Wilkinson; "almost comes up
to mine at home." And switching on more lights, Peter V. strayed boldly
into the inner room. "Hello, hello, who's here?" he suddenly called out.
The woman who had been sitting on a couch came forth. She was plainly
agitated at the sight of the two men and the woman who now stood facing
her, for Leslie, unconsciously, had pressed to her father's side. In
the background, too, were the three committee-men.
"Governor, it's all my fault," said Wilkinson, somewhat contritely. "I
beg your pardon for intruding on your--your privacy."
The moment was a tense one, the Governor not daring to glance at Leslie.
"There must be some mistake," he stammered out; and then advancing
towards the woman, he demanded angrily: "How did you----" but stopped
suddenly in amazement. "Why, Miss Braine--how do you come to be here?"
Madeline Braine drew from her bosom a crumpled note.
"I--I don't know," she faltered, "that is, I received this note from
you and I came. I supposed it was about the--the Ilingsworth case...."
Wilkinson threw a significant glance over his shoulder toward the three
committee-men.
"The Ilingsworth case," he repeated scornfully, meaningly.
"They--the maid--ushered me in here," went on the woman.
"What maid?" demanded the Governor, puzzled. "I have no maid. And,
what's more, I didn't write this letter--it's something that I cannot
understand."
"It's something that _we_ do not wish to understand," said Wilkinson,
suggestively.
"I told you I would come whenever you wanted me," murmured Madeline
Braine, waving the note, in her agitation, toward the Governor, "and I
came."
Wilkinson chuckled inwardly. In an instant he turned to his daughter
and whispered in a voice that could be heard all over the room:
"Leslie, clearly this is no place for you. A Governor who turns his
apartments into.... Come, dear!" And he made a hurried movement to go.
But the Governor was too quick for him and blocked his path. His face
had gone white with anger; he cried out:
"What do you mean, sir?"
Wilkinson sneered.
"Do you want me to say it here?"
"You've got to say it here," returned the other.
Wilkinson waved his hand toward Miss Braine.
"Then please explain her presence in your apartments,--your private,
apartments, if you can!"
"I will not!" responded Beekman, looking at everybody save Leslie. "I
will not, because I cannot. Nor will she, because neither can she."
"A complete misunderstanding all around," laughed Wilkinson.
"Nevertheless, I prefer to take my daughter to her rooms." And again he
made a movement to go.
"You won't take your daughter to her rooms until you give me a good
reason why you're here, and why you choose to make these remarks," said
Beekman, belligerently.
"I'll answer the last part of your question first because it's easier.
I choose to make these remarks because you're Governor of the State of
New York, and as a citizen of the State, I have a right to object to a
woman of her reputation...."
"A woman of my reputation, did you say?" said Madeline Braine quietly,
and so marvellously well did she succeed in keeping her anger out of
her voice that not for one moment did Wilkinson suspect the action
that was to follow. In a trice she had seized him by the throat with
the whole strength of her woman's hands and was pinning him up against
the wall.
"Peter Wilkinson," she cried, "I'll teach you not to speak ill of a
woman!"
But scarcely had these words fallen from her lips when she loosened her
hands and threw herself into a chair, sobbing. With merely a glance
at the woman who had assaulted him in this fashion, Wilkinson quickly
hurried to his daughter's side, who seemed on the point of fainting. It
was only a short time, however, before the woman had become calm, and
Beekman, turning to Wilkinson, demanded:
"What is the meaning of this? So you know Miss Braine?"
Again the worst in Wilkinson's nature asserted itself; he answered the
Governor's question with a question.
"Do you know this woman's history, Governor Beekman?"
The woman had gathered herself together and stood motionless with
downcast eyes, silent, inert.
In his turn the Governor ignored the man's question and demanded:
"Miss Braine, do you know this man?"
The woman hesitated, while her eyes slowly wandered across the room
and rested on Leslie, standing with her hand in that of her father. A
moment more and Madeline Braine had answered firmly:
"No, except through this Ilingsworth case."
"The Ilingsworth case!" exclaimed Wilkinson; "always the Ilingsworth
case! Some day, Governor, the Ilingsworth case will be your undoing.
Some day----"
Again there was an interruption. The private secretary pushed his way
into the group. He was received by the Governor, with:
"Phillips, I'm delighted you've come. There's the biggest mix-up here
you ever saw. I don't understand it--nobody understands anything."
He stopped short, for Phillips stood facing him with a curious
expression on his countenance, and holding out a folded letter.
"My resignation as your private secretary, Governor Beekman."
"Resignation!"
"My reasons are obvious, but they are nevertheless stated in that
letter, and they will appear in the columns of the press to-morrow. It
is quite beyond me to remain upon the staff of a man who ..." Phillips'
voice quivered. He turned to the committee of three, and addressing
them, said:
"Gentlemen, much as I dislike to follow your instructions, I have,
nevertheless, obeyed your _subpoena duces tecum_. In obedience thereto
I hand you the papers that you came here to find. I found them, not
here, but in the Governor's room at the Capitol. I think this is all
you want of me."
The chairman of the committee took the papers in question and read
them, his associates looking over his shoulder; and when they had
finished reading them they looked at each other with an expression
on their faces, the meaning of which could easily be interpreted
without the exclamatory assurance given by one of them: "By George!
we've got the goods," highly illustrative of the situation as was that
gentleman's phraseology.
"Well?" The Governor was speaking now.
For answer they handed him two letters, one of which read:
_My dear Beekman_:
I now concede that the inducement offered in our interview of
yesterday was insufficient to justify you in acting in the
suggested manner. Let me now say, however, that the situation has
lifted itself out of the Ilingsworth case--we are fast climbing to
a higher plane. The legislature will pass our Trust Company law,
abolishing trust companies. I shall see to that. You must sign
the bill--you must see to that. There is a step beyond. We need
National legislation extending the power of National Banks--we
need good men in the Senate. Let me be clear--these are the things
we want: Wilkinson must be smashed. The first step toward that is
the pardon of Ilingsworth, for the Ilingsworth case gets us public
opinion--you can see that. Wilkinson has got to serve his term,
otherwise he is a dangerous element. Pardon Ilingsworth, refuse
to pardon Wilkinson, sign the Trust Company Bill--all this you
can do for us. We can do much for you--beyond you lies the United
States Senatorship, and beyond that, who knows.... A good New York
man is in line for many things--if he's got the backing. You will
have ours. Better burn this letter.
Yours, etc.,