Rayne smiled inwardly. He had not known the name of the private secretary, but he had learned it now, and without difficulty. The game was playing into his hands. The butler walked a little way down the hallway--it was on the second floor of the building--and was about to knock on a door. “Never mind!” interrupted Rayne. “I’ll go in and see him. You need not knock.” The Apache had found out where Morlein’s room was. This, also, was a piece of information that had not been in his possession before. He did not know the way of the palace. In fact, this was the first time he ever had been within its walls. Again getting a firm grip on his nerves, Rayne opened the door of the secretary’s room and walked in with the authoritative manner of a chief visiting a subordinate. Henry Morlein was a tail, athletic young fellow, whose greeting indicated that he was on very friendly terms with his chief. His feet were on the edge of his desk, and though he took them down when the supposed acting governor entered, he did it languidly, as if it were not an unusual thing for him to be caught in this careless attitude. “Hello, chief!” he drawled, as he removed a cigar from his mouth. “I thought you’d gone to the theater. They’re doing opera, I’m told--and rather well, at that.” “I was going, but I changed my mind.” Rayne said this carelessly, but he trembled lest his imitation of Jabez Portersham’s tones should fail to deceive this wide-awake young man. He reflected that Henry Morlein was accustomed to the sound of the acting governor’s voice every day, and should be able to detect an imitation where many others might fail. But Morlein did not appear to observe anything unusual in the accent and inflection, and Rayne went on calmly: “It’s just as well that I didn’t go. Did you know that Senator Micah Garnford was in to see me a little while ago?” “Senator Garnford?” ejaculated Morlein, in surprise. “Why, I thought he was in Washington. Seems to me I was reading in the paper that he made a great speech on the tariff the day before yesterday.” “That was last week,” declared Rayne. “He’s in San Juan now. Do you know the senator personally, Morlein?” “Never saw him in my life,” was the prompt reply. “I never even saw his picture. Rather a fine man, I’ve been told.” “I think so. But that isn’t the point. I’ve got to go to Washington right away--on official business.” Henry Morlein threw the end of his cigar into a cuspidor and looked up in astonishment. “Geewhillikins! That’s sudden, isn’t it?” “Government business is often sudden, Morlein,” replied Rayne gravely. “I wish you would telephone the wharf where the steamer _Spangled Star_ lies, and tell the agent to hold a deck stateroom for Mr. Portersham, will you?” “She is to sail at ten o’clock,” remarked Morlein. “It’s half past nine now. There won’t be much time.”