"Oh, yes; Mrs. Dangerfield and Miss Jerry are at the mansion." "Miss Jerry?" "Miss Geraldine. We all call her Miss Jerry in North Carolina." "Oh, yes; to be sure. Let me see; it's over this way to the mansion, isn't it?" inquired Ardmore. "No; out the other end of the building--and turn to your right. You can't miss it." The room was quiet, the secretary a young man of address and intelligence. Here, without question, was the place for Ardmore to discharge his business and be quit of it; but having at last snatched a commission from fleeting opportunity it was not for him to throw it to another man. As he opened the door to leave, the secretary arrested him. "Oh, Mr.--pardon me, but did you come in from the south this morning?" "Yes; I came up on the Tar Heel Express from Atlanta." "To be sure. Of course you didn't sit up all night? There's some trouble brewing around Kildare. I thought you might have heard something, but of course you couldn't have been awake at two o'clock in the morning?" The secretary was so anxious to acquit him of any knowledge of the situation at Kildare that it seemed kindest to tell him nothing. The secretary's face lost its anxiety for a moment, and he smiled. "The governor has an old friend and admirer up there who always puts a jug of fresh buttermilk on board when he passes through. The governor was expected home this morning, and I thought maybe--" "You're positive it's always buttermilk, are you?" asked Ardmore with a grin. "Certainly," replied the secretary with dignity. "Governor Dangerfield's sentiments as to the liquor traffic are well known." "Of course, all the world knows that. But I'm afraid all jugs look alike to me; but then, the fact is I'm in the jug business myself. Good morning." The governor's mansion was easily found, and having walked about the neighborhood until his watch marked eleven Ardmore entered the grounds and rang the bell at the front door.