"I'll spend five--ten million to reverse it." "Spend it, then, and I'll help you, and when you're through you'll know that I spoke the truth--affirmance, not reversal." He stopped abruptly, then rising and plunging his hands deep in his trousers pockets, he suddenly put the question to him: "I wish you'd tell me, Peter, whom your daughter is going to marry? I'm interested." "What the devil has that got to do with this case?" "By the way," went on Morehead, ignoring purposely the other's outburst, "where is your daughter now?" "Home." "Then you'd better swing the _Marchioness_ about. When you get home you can find out if you do not already know." "How should I know? There's a dozen cubs hanging around--none of them good enough for her. Leslie's got to marry well." "Has she? A fine chance she has, with her father a convict under a prison sentence! Come, come, man, why don't you give your captain orders? I want to know whom this girl of yours is going to marry--and right away." Wilkinson chuckled. "Might send a wireless...." "You'd get a most remarkable answer, Peter." Morehead was now striding up and down, nervous, energetic strides they were, for he had shaken off his tendency to enjoyment. "I say," he went on, "I haven't heard you mention a word about the political situation so far; you're usually pretty enthusiastic." "How can a man be enthusiastic about politics when he's got the sword of Damocles over his head." "You're going to open fire on Gilchrist, aren't you?" "Sure." "That's politics," said Morehead, "and now that we're on the subject, I want you to do me a favour. Wilkinson, I want my man put up for governor this year, and I want your backing, you understand--your influence, your money, all to back my man. Can I count on you, Peter?" Wilkinson thought a moment before answering. "Who is your man?" "Um," smiled Morehead, "I don't know that--yet." * * * * * A short time after Wilkinson's return from the yachting trip, Leslie received a message that her father would like to see her. She found him with an unlighted cigar between his fingers sitting in his big arm-chair in the Den, gazing into space, his face like a mask. "You sent for me, father, and I came," she said, entering, a faint smile on her lips. "I sent for you," he told her in a level unemotional voice, "to find out something--something that you can tell me if you will. Strange things are happening nowadays. There are matters I'd like to settle before----" "Before what?" she asked, startled. "Before I plunge into this appeal and forget everything else," he answered easily; but now with just enough anxiety in his manner to alarm her, he repeated: "There's something that I've got to know--something that only you can tell me, girlie." "I'll tell you anything, father," she answered softly. Wilkinson caught her by the hand and drew her to him, asking so suddenly that she started: "Who's the man you're going to marry?"