sternly, "but I _do_; and I have civil
authority also. If you had justice, Palafox, you would hang. I am
ashamed of myself to speak to you further. Now, go."

"Yes, I'll go; I'll go in a minute; but I've got a scrap of paper I
want to read to you. Will you hear it?"

Not unwilling to learn what might be the purport of the writing so
dramatically introduced, and in order to get rid of Palafox without
further violence, Wilkinson consented to listen.

With his back to the door, the lowering Spaniard read the following:
"It is not necessary to suggest to a gentleman of your experience and
knowledge of the world, that man, throughout the world, is governed by
private interest, however variously modified it may be. Some men are
avaricious, some are vain, others are ambitious. To detect the
prevailing passion, to lay hold of and to make most of it is the
profoundest secret of political science."

Pausing, he asked sarcastically:

"Are those your sentiments? Folks say you wrote this to Gardoqui, in
January, 1789. That was before your plot with the Spanish Minister,
Carondelet. Liars say, and say in print, that you hatched up a plan to
split the West from the East, and to put the West under Spanish
control. They say, these malicious liars do, that Tom Power brought
ten thousand dollars bribe money, packed in barrels of sugar and bags
of coffee, from New Madrid to Louisville, and that Philip Nolan
conveyed the sweetened lucre to Fort Washington."

Wilkinson laughed. "You do not believe such absurdities, do you
Palafox?"

"Why should I disbelieve? Carondelet's plan seems excellent to me, a
Spaniard. We have been talking about events that happened ten years
since. I was in your service nearly twenty years ago; you sent
correspondence down the river when I was a boy, but I was a good,
careful boy, and always tried to act with intelligence. I've saved
lots of nice letters. I'm fond of good reading."

Whether it was owing to illness or quinine or conscience, a slight
dizziness came over Wilkinson; his head swam; he leaned far back in
his chair, and endeavored to steady his thoughts. Palafox cast on him
a sidelong malicious glance and continued his monologue:

"Yes, I've got lots of fine sentiments in my archives. Here's an
original. It's tolerable old, you see, stained and worn." This he said
displaying a soiled paper, which he drew carefully from a large
leathern pocket-book. "Let's see. Yes, this is the original of a fine