He shuddered at the thought of it. If he gave himself up and declared
that he had struck in self-defense, how could he explain having dashed
away with the woman in a hansom? Where had he gone? _Why_ had he gone
there? His lips were sealed. He _could_ make no statement without
publicly avowing the whole object of his night's work--the necessity for
finding Steadman, and Steadman's relations with Ellen. He saw column
after column of interviews with himself, real and imaginary. The most
sacred passages of Ellen's life would be made public property, dressed
up to suit the editor's fancy, and sold on the corner for a penny.
The possibility sickened him. There was nothing to be done but to resign
and go away. In that way only could the Administration be relieved from
a most embarrassing situation, and by no other means could Ellen be
saved from the humiliation incident to a truthful explanation of the
affair. Then, too, he must continue his search. He could not give it up
now. He must find Steadman, even while a fugitive from justice himself.
He _would_ find him.
He opened his eyes. They were still following Sixth Avenue beneath the
elevated tracks. It had grown brighter. Sullivan had lighted a cigar.
Ralston found himself trembling with excitement. A sweat had broken out
all over him. Across the way, on the opposite corner, he saw the lights
of a telegraph office, and he raised the manhole and told the cabby to
stop.
"What's up?" inquired Sullivan, removing his cigar.
"I've got to send a telegram," said Ralston unsteadily.
Sullivan looked at him with suspicion.
"You ain't givin' me the double cross, eh?"
"I give you my word I'm not," replied Ralston. "It's only a matter of
private business."
"Guess it can wait, can't it?"
Ralston smiled in spite of himself. He wished he could tell Sullivan the
purport of this telegram which gave him so much anxiety. Simultaneously
it occurred to him that it was undesirable to leave the cab even for a
moment Sullivan might take it into his head to disappear.
"Oh, well," he retorted, "it doesn't entirely suit my book to allow you
a chance to side-step me either, so we'll settle it by letting Miss
Davenport send the wire for me. In that way we can each continue in the
other's company. Much more agreeable, of course. Miss Davenport, may I
ask you to get me a blank from inside?"
The girl sprang down and quickly returned with a sheaf of blanks and a
pencil. Ralston scribbled on his knee a hasty message:
To the President, White House, Washington. Am forced,
after all, to decline appointment. See morning papers.
Am writing fully.