“Then sit here by me.” The President pushed a chair toward him. “Mr. Tillinghast has come to me about the Trevor murder.” The Secretary raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I leave this matter entirely in your hands, Bowers. Use your judgment in the affair. Now, Mr. Tillinghast, tell us how you found out a telephone call came from this office at that particular hour for the Trevor house.”
Quickly Dick told them; and the two men followed each word with deep attention. After Dick ceased speaking, the Secretary sprang from his chair and paced the room rapidly in deep thought.
“Tillinghast,” he said, stopping abruptly, “what I tell you now is strictly confidential. I am not speaking for publication.”
“Mr. Secretary,” replied Dick, quietly, “I give you my word of honor that I shall never make use of what you tell me.”
“Good! On the whole, I am glad you came, because I was just debating whether or not to send for the Chief of Police about this very affair. Have I your permission to speak freely to Tillinghast, Mr. President.”
“You have.”
Secretary Bowers settled himself more comfortably in his chair, cleared his throat, and began:
“On that Wednesday night I came here to have a secret conference about a matter of national importance. The President and I talked until long after midnight. During our discussion we found it necessary to get the Attorney General’s advice on a vital law point. Knowing that Trevor often stays until daylight in his private office, as I do—” a ghost of a smile lighted his lips—“I took the chance of finding him and rang him up there first, intending, if that failed, to call his house ’phone. The President’s voice and mine are much alike, and it is not surprising that Murray thought it was he calling up Mr. Trevor at that hour.”
“And did he answer you?” asked Dick, breathlessly.
“No—a woman did.”