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 The secretary of state rolled his head toward the attorney-general, waved his long arm and flapped his hand fin-like at him, and said:

"We'll wait here, Mike and me. You won't need us."

The attorney-general scowled, and then went out, accompanied only by the assistant state treasurer. Hurrying down Capitol Avenue, Grigsby shivered, glancing up dark alleys.

The clock in the hall of the executive mansion had struck the half-hour after midnight, and the governor was descending the stairs in a gray bath-robe and slippers. The old house was dark and still. Even the room occupied by Gilman, who should, at that hour, have been reading the magazines in bed, showed no light. The governor, softly treading, entered the library. The last embers of the fire were smouldering. The governor lighted the lamp, and in the circle of soft light it spread on the library table, he bent over a book, his glasses on his nose, their cord hanging down into his lap. He turned the leaves of the book. It was not The Thoughts of Marcus Aurelius. It was the second volume of