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.
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