The governor looked at Handy. “William,” he said, “you might as well understand now, that that would be wholly useless. I am convinced of Whalen’s innocence absolutely, beyond all doubt, but it will be impossible to get a jury to convict the one who did kill Brokoski on such evidence as convinced me.” “But she confesses,” urged Handy. “To whom?” “To you.” “Exactly. But what if that confession be a privileged communication?” Handy looked up in amazement. “You don’t mean you wouldn’t testify?” The governor’s countenance lost its legal expression, and became suddenly human. If Handy had been a thinner man he would have jumped when the governor said: “Do you think I would send a woman to the penitentiary to elect myself governor?” “Are you sure confessions to a governor are privileges?” inquired Handy, who was adhering to practical things. The governor’s face put on its legal mask again, and he replied: “Well, the question is unsettled--” “Who presides in the criminal court this winter?” inquired Handy, “any of our fellows?” Handy’s whole philosophy of life was pull. The governor resumed, without answering: “The question has never been decided. Mr. Chief Justice Marshall, upon the trial of Aaron Burr, ruled, if I remember, that a _subpœna duces tecum_ might be issued to the president for a letter addressed to him, leaving the question of the production of the letter--” “Oh, say, John,” broke in Handy, “Burr’s dead, isn’t he? And he wasn’t a good fellow, anyway, or he’d never got in that far. Go on with your legalities--I myself do not propose to go to jail for contempt for refusing to testify.” “You?” “Yes, me.” “What have you to do with it?” “Oh, nothing much,” said Handy, “only I happened to be inside that door just now when she confessed--and there’s Gilman besides.” Handy, his cigar tilted upward, smoked on voluminously and smiled through the smoke with deep satisfaction. The governor averted his face. Lines of trouble drew themselves across his brow. Presently he turned to the chairman. “Handy,” he said, “I may be reëlected and I may not--probably not. However that may be, I insist upon this: I want that woman, for the present, let alone. I have faith in the people. I am willing to go to them on my record. They may or may not reëlect me. I shall not, at any rate, have my motives impugned. I only want, when the turmoil has subsided, when the subject can be viewed with clear eyes and investigated by clear heads and clean hands, to see justice done.” “Oh,” said Handy, “to hell with justice.” “Well, then,” asked the governor, “what do you say to a little mercy now and then?” THAT BOY