The ground which the Attorney-General and his subordinates had to traverse was that over which Peter had so well travelled already, that he felt very much at home, while his notes indeed aided the study, and were doubly welcomed, because the summer season had drained the office of its underlings.  Half as assistant, and half as principal, he worked till three o’clock, with pleasure that grew, as he saw that the opinion of the Attorney-General seemed to agree more and more with his own.  Then they returned to the Governor, to whom the Attorney-General gave his opinion that his present conclusion was that the Governor could empower him, or some appointee, to prosecute the case.

“Well,” said the Governor, “I’m glad you think so.  But if we find that it isn’t possible, Mr. Stirling, I’ll have a letter written to the District Attorney that may scare him into proceeding with the case.”

Peter thanked him, and rose to go.

“Are you going to New York at once?” asked the Governor.

“Yes.  Unless I can be of use here.”

“Suppose you dine with me, and take a late train?”

“It will be a great pleasure,” said Peter.

“Very well.  Six sharp.”  Then after Peter had left the room, the Governor asked, “How is he on law?”

“Very good.  Clear-headed and balanced.”

“He knows how to talk,” said the Governor.  “He brought my heart up in my mouth as no one has done in years.  Now, I must get word to some of the people in New York to find out who he is, and if this case has any concealed boomerang in it.”

The dinner was a very quiet one with only the Governor and his wife.  The former must have told his better-half something about Peter, for she studied him with a very kind look in her face, and prosaic and silent as Peter was, she did not seem bored.  After the dinner was eaten, and some one called to talk politics with the Governor, she took Peter off to another room, and made him tell her about the whole case, and how he came to take it up, and why he had come to the Governor for help.  She cried over it, and after Peter had gone, she went upstairs and looked at her own two sleeping boys, quite large enough to fight the world on their own account, but still little children to the mother’s heart, and had another cry over them.  She went downstairs later to the Governor’s study, and interrupting him in the work to which he had settled down, put her arms about his neck, and kissed him.  “You must help him, William,” she said.  “Do everything you can to have those scoundrels punished, and let him do it.”

The Governor only laughed; but he pushed back his work, and his wife sat down, and told of her admiration and sympathy for Peter’s fight.  There was a bad time ahead for the criminal and his backers.  They might have political influence of the strongest character, fighting their battle, but there was a bigger and more secret one at work.  Say what we please, the strongest and most subtle “pull” this world as yet contains is the under-current of a woman’s influence.