"What I did come to say," went on Cavendish, more steadily, "is that your life and Mr. Rathbawne's are in danger. You're to be put out of the way, both of you, before twelve to-night. McGrath's determined on it, and there's no lack of men to carry out his orders. The strikers are desperate. I overheard their talk, while—well, while I was getting drunk! What's that?"
He stopped, with his hand to his ear. Some one was tapping at the communicating door.
"Put up that flask!" said Barclay under his breath, adding aloud, as Cavendish obeyed:
"Come in!"
The door swung open softly, and Governor Abbott, smiling and rubbing his hands, appeared upon the threshold.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Barclay," he said. "I did not know you were engaged. We have the pleasure of another visit from the Citizens' Committee, and, by a singularly opportune coincidence, Mr. McGrath has called at the same time. Can you spare us a few moments of your time?"
With a bow, and a glance at Cavendish, Barclay followed his superior silently from the room.
In the Governor's office he found a dozen men, all standing. McGrath, with his back to the others, was examining with an elaborate air of interest a map of Alleghenia which hung upon the wall. Colonel Broadcastle and his fellow-members of the Citizens' Committee, stood close to, and facing, the Governor's desk. The air was electric with suggestion of a crisis about to come.
When the Governor began to speak, it was in his habitually suave voice, yet he was visibly nervous.
"Colonel Broadcastle has been good enough to observe," he said, "that if I do not call out the militia within three hours, to protect the interests of Mr. Peter Rathbawne, his committee will appeal for aid to the federal government. Now—er—now, in my place, and in such a situation, Mr. Barclay—er—what would you do?"