The Governor took the note, which was written on his heavy, private letter-head, and read it. It ran:
Dear Mr. Wilkinson:
Will you and your daughter, Miss Wilkinson, kindly call at my suite in the Remsen this evening at eight o'clock. I desire to see you at that time.
Very truly yours,
Eliot Beekman.
For a moment Beekman was nonplussed and looked from the note to its bearer.
"I didn't write this letter," presently he said. He paled perceptibly; his confusion, whatever it may have meant, was not lost on the three committee-men.
"You didn't write it," queried Wilkinson, coldly, "but isn't that your signature?"
"It looks like my signature," admitted the Governor, after scanning the writing closely.
"But I can't for the life of me think what I wanted to see you about." And turning now to the three men, he added: "You'll excuse us, please."