The pencil continued to move over the paper; and from time to time Tate turned the pad and scrutinized his work critically. The men immediately about him watched his hand, wide-eyed, fascinated. There was something uncanny and unreal in the situation: it was like watching a wild animal approaching a trap and wholly unmindful of its danger. The square box which formed the base of the device was traced clearly; the arcs which were its familiar embellishment were carefully added. The governor, having exhausted Cleveland, went back to Jackson, and Tate finished a second drawing, absorbed in his work and rarely lifting his eyes. Seeing that Tate had tired of this pastime, the governor brought his lecture to an end, exclaiming: "Great Scott, Burgess! Why haven't you stopped me! I've said enough here to ruin me with my party, and you hadn't the grace to shut me off." "I'm glad for one," said Tate, pushing back the pad, "that I got in time to hear you; I've never known before that any Democrat could be so broad-minded!" "The governor loosens up a good deal between campaigns," said Burgess, rising. "And now, let's go into the library where the chairs are easier." The governor rose with the others, but remained by his chair, talking to Tate, until the room cleared, and then resumed his seat. "This is perfectly comfortable; let's stay here, Mr. Tate. Burgess, close the door, will you." Tate, hesitated, looked at his watch, and glanced at Burgess, who sat down as though wishing to humor the governor, and lighted a cigar. "Mr. Tate," said the governor unhurriedly, "if I'm not mistaken, you are George Avery's brother-in-law." Tate turned quickly, and his eyes widened in surprise. "Yes," he answered in slow, even tones; "Avery married my sister." "Mr. Tate, I have in my pocket a pardon all ready to sign, giving Avery his liberty. His case has troubled me a good deal; I don't want to sign this pardon unless I'm reasonably sure of Avery's innocence. If you were in my place, Mr. Tate, would you sign it?" The color went out of the man's face and his jaw fell; but he recovered himself quickly. "Of course, governor, it would be a relief to me, to my sister, all of us, if you could see your way to pardoning George. As you know, I've been doing what I could to bring pressure to bear on the Board of Pardons: everything that seemed proper. Of course," he went on ingratiatingly, "we've all felt the disgrace of the thing." "Mr. Tate," the governor interrupted, "I have reason to believe that there was a third man at Avery's bungalow the night Reynolds was killed. I've been at some pains to satisfy myself of that. Did that ever occur to you as a possibility?" "I suspected that all along," Tate answered, drawing his handkerchief slowly across his face. "I never could believe George Avery guilty; he wasn't that kind of man!"