McNew nodded. “It is a cipher signature,” he explained. “The whole message came in cipher. The writer is Miss Lillian Byrd, formerly of this city. You know her, I believe.”
The President nodded. “I know her very well,” he said, “and I have the greatest confidence in anything she may say. Where is she? How did she come to send such a message?”
“She is a Gazette correspondent. She has been doing some work in South America for the Gazette. You may have read her dispatches from there. They have been very significant. Three weeks ago she left Buenos Ayres for New York on the steamer Southern Cross. Last night she sent this dispatch by wireless in code via Guantanamo. I got it in New York at three o’clock this morning and left for Washington with it an hour later on a special train.”
“You have not published it?”
“No.”
“Why not? It is a good story. It would cause a sensation. Why do you not publish it, Mr. McNew?”
McNew’s atramentous face grew darker. “Because, Mr. President,” he grated; “because I am an American like yourself. I know, Mr. President, that you think I cater to anarchy for the sake of money. I think that you—But, no matter; I did not come here to bandy words. Frankly, I dislike you, Mr. President, and I would never have brought that message to you if any other course had been possible. I distrust your policies and disapprove your acts. But you are President and the subject matter of that dispatch clearly falls within your province. Therefore I bring it to you. Take it, not as the service of a friend but merely as that of one who is willing for the moment to sink personal enmity for the sake of his country.”
The President listened quietly while the editor spoke.
“Agreed,” he answered. “We will work together in this; later if need be we can again lock horns. You have done neither more nor less than your duty, Mr. McNew. On its face this dispatch,” he slapped it across his hand—“this dispatch is incredible. As a theme for an Oppenheim romance it would be admirable. As a yellow-journal feature story it might sell a few copies of the Gazette. It would not do more. The only people who would believe it would be those who already know it to be true—if it is true. Yet—if it is true—to publish it would do great harm, for it would show these very people that we know something of their plans. So I will ask you to suppress it altogether. I will see that you get another scoop to balance this one. I will tell you that I believe it is true. I received other information only last night that convinces me. Now, Mr. McNew, I must see Miss Byrd at the earliest possible moment.”
McNew nodded. “I thought so,” he answered. “That was why I insisted on seeing you at once. Miss Byrd’s steamer ought to pass outside the capes of the Chesapeake bound for New York some time tonight. Can you send a torpedo boat or a cruiser out to intercept her?”