"There is not the slightest doubt about it," he told them. "At the very time the shot was fired in Lafayette Street, New York, this man was with me miles away from the spot." He looked at the officers significantly. "When was he to be——" He broke off, shuddering at the thought of the man's narrow escape.
"Next week Thursday," came from the officers.
Beekman thought for some time. Finally he said:
"I'll grant him a reprieve for a month. It may take a week to verify the facts."
When the prisoner had been led away, the Governor turned to Madeline Braine, and said with great feeling:
"Miss Braine, I owe you a debt of gratitude I can never repay. If it hadn't been for you I would have sent this man to his doom—and one of these days, when it was too late, I would have found it out, and then...." His finger-nails bit into his palms. "You've saved me from the Inferno that he harps upon."
But much to the Governor's surprise, the woman before him seemed to receive this remark listlessly. An unaccountable depression was upon her; there was no fire in her eyes; and the hand that she gave to him was cold as ice. Yet, instinctively he felt that she must be grateful.
"If I can ever be of service"—she murmured. But Beekman interrupted her.
"Pardon me, it is I who wish to be of some service to you. But will you tell me," he asked, another thought coming into his mind, "how it was that you didn't know Ilingsworth, and that he didn't know you? How do you account for it, Miss Braine?"