Over at the executive mansion, Governor Chatham and his private secretary were at dinner when the telegram came. The governor took the yellow envelope from the butler's tray and tore it open. When he had read the message he passed it over without a word to Gilman. The private secretary's eyes widened as he read it, and he exclaimed:

"Jim Lockhart dead!"

William, the black butler, stirred uneasily. The governor bent forward, and lifted his coffee to his lips. Gilman laid the despatch beside his plate, and, still looking at it, began to pinch the golden tip of a cigarette. William slid noiselessly to his side with a match. When Gilman had lighted his cigarette he said:

"Poor Jim!"