an. Had
Arthur Dillon, always a strange fellow, gone mad? Or was this scene a
hint of murder? The desperate societies to which Dillon was said to
belong often indulged in violence. It had never occurred to him before
that these secret forces must be fighting Livingstone through Dillon.
They would never permit him to use his influence at Washington in the
Minister's behalf. Dreadful! He must dissemble.

"If you can make me sure, I am willing," he said meekly.

"Read that, then," and Arthur placed his winning card, as he thought, in
his hands; the private confession of Sister Claire as to the persons who
had assisted her in her outrageous schemes; and the chief, of course,
was Livingstone. Everard read it with contempt.

"Legally you know what her testimony is worth," said he.

"You accepted her testimony as to her own frauds, and so did the whole
committee."

"We had to accept the evidence of our own senses."

Obstinate to the last was Everard.

"You will not be convinced," said Arthur rudely, "but you can be
muzzled. I say again: keep away from Washington, and keep your hands off
my enterprise. You have some idea of what happens to men like you for
interfering. If I meet you in Washington, or find any trace of your
meddling in the matter, here is what I shall do; this whole scandal of
the escaped nun shall be reopened, this confession shall be printed, and
the story of Louis' adventure, from that notable afternoon at four
o'clock until his return, word for word, with portraits of his
interesting family, of Sister Claire, all the details, will be given to
the journals. Do you understand? Meanwhile, study this problem in
psychology: how long will John Everard be able to endure life after I
tell the Irish how he helped to enthrone their bitterest enemy?"

He did not wait for an answer, but left the baffled man to wrestle with
the situation, which must have worsted him, for his hand did not appear
in the game at Washington. Very smoothly the plans of Arthur worked to
their climax. The friends of Vandervelt pressed his cause as urgently
and politely as might be, and with increasing energy as the
embarrassment of the President grew. The inherent weakness of
Vandervelt's case appeared to the tireless Dillon more appalling in the
last moments than at the beginning: the situation had no logical
outcome. It was merely a question whether the President would risk a
passing unpopularity.

He felt the absence of Birmingham