A COUNCIL OF WAR PHILIP WINTHROP moved restlessly in bed, then lay still, for a feeling of deadly almost overcame him. Half an hour passed, and, feeling better, he raised his hand and felt his temples. Wearily he tried to collect his ideas, but all appeared confused.
 
What was it that he had promised? Slowly his conscience awoke. “For value received”—the phrase held a double meaning which even his dulled senses. He could not afford to lie there like a bump on a log any longer. He opened his eyes; it was late, for the room was in total darkness, save for a of light which came from the half-open hall door.
 
With an effort Philip raised himself on his elbow and glanced about him, but even that slight was too much in his weakened state, and, with a , he slid back on the pillows. For some seconds he lay without moving, but the yellow patch of light troubled him, and he rolled over on his side facing the wall. He struggled to piece together the occurrences of the past few days. Suddenly he caught the sound of a light step and the swish of skirts approaching his bed.
 
The next instant a glass was thrust under his nose and placed gently against his mouth. He raised his hand and pushed the glass away from him. “G’way,” he faintly; “leave me ’lone.”
 
Apparently no attention was paid to his request, for the glass was again placed at his lips. Again he tried to thrust it from him, but his feeble efforts made no impression against the strong wrist. His resistance only lasted a few minutes, then his weaker will surrendered to the stronger, and he the medicine obediently, after which the glass was .
 
Downstairs in the library three men sat smoking around the large desk table.
 
“I am glad you could join us to-night, Colonel Thornton,” said Brett, as he placed one of the conveniently near the lawyer. “Three heads are better than one, and it is time we got together and discussed certain features of this case.”
 
“Quite right, it will help us to a clearer understanding,” agreed the Colonel.
 
“Then suppose, Mr. Hunter, that you first tell us any theories which you may have formed.”
 
Douglas dropped the paper-cutter he was balancing in his hand, and, leaning on the table, looked seriously at his companions. “I think,” he said , “that Philip Winthrop has a guilty knowledge of Senator Carew’s death, if he is not the actual murderer.”
 
“Your reasons,” demanded Colonel Thornton.
 
“There was bad blood between them, that has been proved,” Douglas picked his words with care. “Possibly the quarrel was brought about because Senator Carew had found out something discreditable in Philip Winthrop’s past. He had a responsible position as the Senator’s private secretary, and there is a chance he betrayed his trust.”
 
“In what way?” asked Brett eagerly.
 
“It may be that he is in the pay of some lobby anxious to influence important legislation.” Douglas, mindful of the Secretary of State’s caution, was feeling his way with care.
 
“Senator Carew was the last man to be influenced by such a character as Philip Winthrop,” said Thornton contemptuously.
 
“He may not have tried to do so, but simply have betrayed valuable information of committee plans and .”
 
“That may be,” acknowledged Thornton, “particularly as I am told that Philip has been spending a great deal of money lately; far more than his salary would warrant.”
 
“‘Value received.’” Douglas his shoulders . “I have also found out that Hamilton, the coachman, is a Jamaican negro, his real name being Samuel Hamilton Quesada, and that he was brought here nearly two years ago by young Winthrop when he returned from a visit to Jamaica. The Senator took him into his employ at the former’s request and recommendation.”
 
“And your theory is?” questioned Brett sharply, laying down his cigar.
 
“That Winthrop either Hamilton to kill Senator Carew, or to help him after he, Winthrop, had committed the murder. You must remember,” he added hastily, as Brett started to speak, “the Jamaican negro has a revengeful when roused, and I have no doubt Senator Carew gave him merry hell when he discharged him Monday afternoon, and Hamilton was ready to risk everything to get even.”
 
Brett shook his head. “How did Senator Carew get into that carriage?” he asked doubtfully.
 
“Hamilton probably lied when he said he did not first stop at this house on his way to the ball to bring Miss Carew home. Or perhaps Winthrop came into this room, found Senator Carew busy writing, stole up behind him, seized the letter file and stabbed him with it.”
 
Again Brett shook his head. “If that had been the case, the Senator would have been stabbed in the back; whereas he was stabbed directly over the heart, and whoever committed the crime was facing him.”
 
“Well, that is not impossible,” argued Douglas. “Winthrop may have stood near the Senator’s chair and talked to him for a few minutes without the latter suspecting danger, may have even picked up the letter file, a harmless thing to do under ordinary circumstances, and, without warning, thrust it into the Senator’s chest.”
 
“And ?” questioned Brett.
 
“Afterward—Winthrop may have stepped into the hall, found no one there, tiptoed into the room again, telephoned”—pointing to the desk instrument—“out to the stable and told Hamilton to drive at once to the front door. The sound of the horses’ was probably drowned by the heavy rain, so no one in the house would have heard the carriage enter the porte-cochère, but”—impressively—“Winthrop, from this window, could see its arrival. He probably stepped into the hall again, found the coast clear, opened the front door, dashed back, picked up Senator Carew, who was much smaller than he, carried him out and placed him inside the carriage. Hamilton had been drinking, and was perhaps too befogged to notice anything unusual, and, when Winthrop slammed the carriage door, he probably drove off none the wiser.”
 
“As much as I dislike Philip Winthrop I do not think him capable of committing murder,” said Colonel Thornton, slowly. “, I believe, no matter how secretly you think the murder was planned, that, if Philip were guilty, Mrs. Winthrop would have some inkling of it, and if their quarrel was so serious she would have known it, and would naturally try to matters up. Instead of which, she is the first to offer a reward, a large reward, mind you. It is not within reason that she would have done such a thing had she the faintest idea that Philip was the murderer.”
 
“I beg your pardon, Philip is not her son. There may be no love lost between them.”
 
 
“Good God! what a suggestion. You don’t mean to that she offered that reward knowing her stepson might be guilty.” Thornton looked at Douglas with sudden horror.
 
For reply Douglas nodded quietly.
 
“No, no, Douglas, you are shinning up the wrong tree. I have known Mrs. Winthrop for over fifteen years; she wouldn’t injure a fly, let alone try to trap one whom she loves as her own flesh and blood. She was to her husband, and for his sake legally ad............