“What on earth can they want?” he thought.  “Monroe?  We have not bowed for a year.  Two days ago he turned into a muddy lane and splashed himself to his waist, that he might avoid meeting me.”

His first impulse was to excuse himself, on the plea of the pressing nature of his work; but curiosity triumphed, and he told his page to admit the men.

Muhlenberg was again Speaker of the House; Venable was a Representative from Virginia.  Hamilton was not friendly with either, but nodded when they passed him.  He greeted them amiably as they entered to-day, and exchanged a frigid bow with Monroe.  The Senator from Virginia took a chair in the rear of the others, stretched his long legs in front of him, and folded his arms defiantly.  He looked not unlike a greyhound, his preference for drab clothing enhancing the general effect of a pointed and narrow leanness.

There was a moment of extreme awkwardness.  Muhlenberg and Venable hitched their chairs about.  Monroe grinned spasmodically, and rubbed his nose with his upper lip.

“Well, gentlemen,” said Hamilton, rapping his fingers on the table.  “What can I do for you?” He scented gun-powder at once.

“I am to be the spokesman in this delicate matter, I believe,” said Muhlenberg, who looked red and miserable, “and I will, with your permission, proceed to my unpleasant task with as little delay as possible.”

“Pray do,” replied Hamilton.  “The daily assaults of my enemies for several years have endowed me with a fortitude which doubtless will carry me through this interview in a creditable manner.”

“I assure you, sir, that I do not come as an enemy, but as a friend.  It is owing to my appeal that the matter was not laid directly before the President.”

“The President?” Hamilton half rose, then seated himself again.  His eyes were glittering dangerously.  Muhlenberg blundered on, his own gaze roving.  The Federal term of endearment for Hamilton, “The Little Lion,” clanged suddenly in his mind, a warning bell.

“I regret to say that we have discovered an improper connection between yourself and one Reynolds.”  He produced a bundle of letters and handed them to Hamilton.  “These are not in your handwriting, sir, but I am informed that you wrote them.”

Hamilton glanced at them hastily, and the angry blood raced through his arteries.

“These letters were written by me,” he said.  “I disguised my handwriting for purposes of my own.  What is the meaning of this unwarrantable intrusion into a man’s private affairs?  Explain yourself at once.”

“That is what we have come for, sir.  Unfortunately we cannot regard it as a private affair, but one which concerns the whole nation.”

“The whole nation!” thundered Hamilton.  “What has the nation to do with an affair of this sort?  Why cannot you tell the truth and say that you gloat in having discovered this wretched affair,—­a common enough episode in the lives of all of you,—­in having another tid-bit for Freneau?  Why did you not take it to him at once?  What do you mean by coming here personally to take me to task?”