“Mayor Packard,”--I had resumed work,--“was any letter delivered to her that day?” “That I can not say.” Fact one for me to establish. “The wives of men like you--men much before the world, men in the thick of strife, social and political--often receive letters of a very threatening character.” “She would have shown me any such, if only to put me on my guard. She is physically a very brave woman and not at all nervous.” “Those letters sometimes assume the shape of calumny. Your character may have been attacked.” “She believes in my character and would have given me an opportunity to vindicate myself. I have every confidence in my wife’s sense of justice.” I experienced a thrill of admiration for the appreciation he evinced in those words. Yet I pursued the subject resolutely. “Have you an enemy, Mayor Packard? Any real and downright enemy capable of a deep and serious attempt at destroying your happiness?” “None that I know of, Miss Saunders. I have political enemies, of course men, who, influenced by party feeling, are not above attacking methods and possibly my official reputation; but personal ones--wretches willing to stab me in my home-life and affections, that I can not believe. My life has been as an open book. I have harmed no man knowingly and, as far as I know, no man has ever cherished a wish to injure me.” “Who constitute your household? How many servants do you keep and how long have they been with you?” “Now you exact details with which only Mrs. Packard is conversant. I don’t know anything about the servants. I do not interest myself much in matters purely domestic, and Mrs. Packard spares me. You will have to observe the servants yourself.” I made another note in my mind while inquiring: “Who is the young man who was here just now? He has an uncommon face.” “A handsome one, do you mean?” “Yes, and--well, what I should call distinctly clever.” “He is clever. My secretary, Miss Saunders. He helps me in my increased duties; has, in a way, charge of my campaign; reads, sorts and sometimes answers my letters. Just now he is arranging my speeches--fitting them to the local requirements of the several audiences I shall be called upon to address. He knows mankind like a book. I shall never give the wrong speech to the wrong people while he is with me.” “Do you like him?--the man, I mean, not his work.” “Well--yes. He is very good company, or would have been if, in the week he has been in the house, I had been in better mood to enjoy him. He’s a capital story-teller.” “He has been here a week?” “Yes, or almost.” “Came on last Tuesday, didn’t he?” “Yes, I believe that was the day.” “Toward afternoon?” “No; he came early; soon after breakfast, in fact.” “Does your wife like him?” His Honor gave a start, flushed (I can sometimes see a great deal even while very busily occupied) and answered without anger, but with a good deal of pride: