“Zat is what I thought,” said she, the colour rushing back to her face.
That evening Percival called a meeting of the “cabinet,”—as the council was now called. They were asked to come to his home, instead of to the meetinghouse. This, of itself, was surprising. Landover had never set foot inside the “governor's mansion.” While his attitude toward the “governor's lady” was studiedly courteous, he made no effort to resume the intimate and friendly relationship that existed before her marriage to his enemy. Contact with Percival was unavoidable. They met frequently in “cabinet” conferences, but avoided each other at all other times.
He came to this hastily called meeting, however, and Percival was the only man present who was not dumbfounded. Sheriff Shay, in summoning the members to this secret meeting, had delivered a message that Landover could not well afford to ignore.
Seventeen men were crowded into the little sitting-room of the house. Each one of them bore a high-sounding title. There were present, besides Percival, State Treasurer Landover, Chief Justice Malone, Minister of War Platt, Minister of Marine Mott, Minister of Agriculture Pedro Drom, State Clerk Flattner, Surgeon General Cullen, Lord High Sheriff Shay, and the following members of the Executive Council: Snipe, Block, Jones, Fitts, Knapendyke, Calkins, Ruiz' and Alvara. Ruiz was a Chilean merchant and Alvara a Brazilian coffee grower. Calkins was an English cattle buyer.
Percival, with his customary abruptness, announced that there was a plot on foot to destroy the present government and turn the island over to the mercy of a gang of desperadoes headed by Manuel Crust.
Landover was on his feet in an instant.
“I am in a position, gentlemen, to declare that there is not a word of truth in that statement. It is true there is a very definite movement on foot to organize a new party to contest the election of many of us who are gathered here tonight. The people want a change. They are dissatisfied. They have a right to vote as they please, to choose their own—”
“We are not here to discuss the election, Mr. Landover,” broke in Percival. “Before we go any farther, however, I wish to state that if you are chosen Governor of Trigger Island, you will find no one more willing and ready to serve you than I. But, that is beside the question. If you will listen to me, I will tell you exactly what it is that confronts us. The election next month is to be the signal for all kinds of hell. You may be elected governor, Mr. Landover,—but you will not be allowed to serve. Now, here is the story that came to me today,—and I can vouch for it. I am authorized,—in fact I am commanded to reveal to you the name of my informant. You may be sure I did my best to prevail upon her to remain unknown, for the present, at least, but she threatened to go forth and shout her story from the housetops if I did not do as she wished.”
The conference ended an hour later, and Abel Landover had shown his true colours at last. He stood up, his face drawn and haggard, his eyes ablaze, his voice husky, and addressed the group.
“Gentlemen, I have been wrong. I am grateful to Mr. Percival for his generosity in warning me of the danger into which I was rushing. We have not been friends. He could have left me to my fate. I would not have blamed him. He has played fair,—and I have not. I ask you all to bear witness to that humiliating admission. I have argued here tonight against all of you,—when down in my heart I had the sickening fear that this damnable story is true. I now believe it to be true. I now see through the whole devilish game.