“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.”