“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.”