“Ashley Westcott,” the secretary repeated. “He’s—”
Kate Hallard interrupted again, her eyes blazing.
“I know who he is,” she flashed. “He’s the same cur-dog that’s tryin’ to down ’im again. He’s the same—oh, D—Governor Marden, you was askin’ why Ed Hallard didn’t leave me better fixed. Well: here’s why—”
The story came pouring out at white heat, while the two men listened, now and then exchanging significant glances.
“In the name of heaven, Kate,” the governor said, when Mrs. Hallard paused for breath, “why didn’t you come and tell me of this deviltry? We’d have stopped Westcott’s game so quick he’d never have known he chipped into it.”
“I didn’t know any better,” the woman said, bitterly. “I don’t know as I’d a’ come here with it; but if I hadn’t bin an ignorant fool I’d a’ knowed I could do something; but I never did till Mr. Gard told me.”
“You say this chap calls himself Gard? Is that his real name, or Barker? What makes you think he’s the same man?”
“Only what Westcott said—that Sandy Larch heard. He must a’ found something that put ’im wise.”
“It looks that way,” the governor said. “Westcott’s no fool, knave though he is. And do you know, Kate—he’s laying his lines to be the next District Attorney! It looked, till you came in and told us this, as if he’d led his line clean to Washington. Didn’t it, Seth?”
The secretary gave a grunt. Governor Marden turned again to Mrs. Hallard. “We’ll meet his game this time,” he said. “See him and go him about a thousand better. You’ve done me a big favor, Kate. What’s the one you want done?”