[CHAPTER XX]
WEAVING THE WEB
SLOWLY the meaning of Winthrop’s words dawned on the four men.
“It’s false! false as hell!” thundered Douglas. He stepped forward and seized Winthrop in a grip of iron and shook him as a dog would shake a rat; then, before the others could intervene, threw the struggling man on the floor. “Bah! you’re not worth killing.”
Whimpering with rage and weakness, Winthrop caught hold of the table and dragged himself upright, and stood swaying on his feet.
“It’s true, it’s true!” he reiterated. “Look at her,”—pointing a shaking finger to where Eleanor stood aghast, watching the scene. Her hand was on the doorknob and she seemed poised for instant flight. A curious smile twisted her pale lips as the men turned and faced her.
“He doesn’t seem to have recovered from delirium tremens,” she remarked slowly.
“It may be, Miss Thornton,”—the Secretary of State spoke with grave deliberation,—“but it is a serious charge which he is making, and I think it had better be investigated now.” Eleanor winced visibly, then, controlling herself, advanced further into the room.
“I am at your service,” she said with sudden hauteur, “but as I have an important engagement later I trust you will be brief.”
“Sit by me here, Eleanor.” Colonel Thornton, who had listened to Winthrop’s charges in stupefied silence, pulled forward an armchair. “Mr. Secretary, will you occupy the desk chair, and you,” turning to Winthrop, who cowered back as he caught the smoldering wrath in the older man’s eyes, “sit over there,” pointing to a chair some distance away.