"Come along,
Daunt!" he counseled, his voice cracking hoarsely.
"Hold on, Senator!" expostulated the Governor. "I need your help!"
"I won't allow myself to be mixed into this mess, North. I can't afford to
help shoulder the blame where I have not been fully informed. And I won't
allow a lunatic to endanger my life. Come on, Daunt, I tell you!"
"If you're bound to go, I'll go along, too," proffered the Governor,
rising hastily. "This thing can be handled. It's got to be handled. We'll
go where this infernal, clattering loom from St. Ronan's mill can't break
up a gentlemen's conference."
Stewart did not suggest that the gentlemen remain; nor did he offer to go;
nor did he plead for a decision. He stood quietly and watched them pull on
their overcoats.
The Senator led the retreat toward the private door.
Morrison dropped the captured bunch of keys into his pocket.
Rellihan held his club horizontally in front of him with both hands.
"Get out of the way!" yelped Corson.
The officer shook his head.
"General Totten, open that door."
"No chance!" Rellihan growled.
North wagged his way close to the barring "fender" and shook an admonitory
finger under the policeman's nose.
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