by Allen Drury
“Mr. Witness,” Seab said softly, “what did you do on Thursday nights?”
“Thursday nights?” Bob Leffingwell said with some amusement. He turned around and searched the front row of the audience until he found his wife, then turned back with a grin.
“Thursday nights were mostly occupied,” he said, “in courting the young lady who eventually succumbed to my importunings and became Mrs. Leffingwell.” There was a friendly laugh and applause from the audience. “Thursday nights and most other nights,” Bob Leffingwell went on; and then he added smoothly, “If you know how it is, Senator.”
Seab smiled in a sleepy way.
“Oh, yes,” he said amicably. “I know how it is. Or rather, I used to know how it was, back before you were born, I expect. And that’s all you did on Thursday nights?”
“Oh, occasionally a faculty meeting or some campus activity,” Bob Leffingwell said. “But in the main, that was it.”
“Who was Walker?” Seab asked abruptly, and for just a split second there was a slight hesitation in the nominee’s manner. But he smiled and shrugged.
“Walker?” he said. “Walker who?”
“All I know is Walker,” Seab told him.
“I had a cousin named Walker,” Bob Leffingwell said thoughtfully, “who is dead now. I had a friend named Bill Walker, and there was a head of department before my time whose name was Sherman Walker. Other than that, I’m plumb out of Walkers, Senator.”
“Who was James Morton?” Senator Cooley asked, and this time there was no hesitation at all.
“Who were Bill Jones and Bobby Smith and Susie Stone?” Bob Leffingwell asked. “I don’t know. I don’t know who James Morton was, either. That name I really don’t recognize in any connection at all, Senator. By the way,” he added in a suddenly icy voice, “just who was James Morton, and who was Walker, if you know, Senator?”
“Oh, Mr. Witness,” Seab said slowly. “You’re not asking the questions here. I’m asking the questions here.”
“I hope to some point, Senator,” John Winthrop said suddenly, and Seab turned upon him a slow and appraising glance.
“I thought you Yankees were patient people,” he said with a smile. “Just listen. Maybe you will find out something.”
“I hope so,” Senator Winthrop said. “I haven’t yet, except things the witness doesn’t know.”
“Says he doesn’t know,” Seab amended softly, and Bob Leffingwell leaned forward angrily.
“What are you trying to build up here, Senator?” he asked, “another of your little hate-feuds with me, or what?”
“That does it,” the Post whispered gleefully. “Now listen to the old bastard.” But Seab knew a better trick than that.
“Oh, Mr. Chairman,” he said pleasantly, “is the witness still worried about that? Is he still worried because we once had differences? I assure him, Mr. Chairman, I’ve forgotten all about it. If I ever said anything to hurt him or bother him, Mr. Chairman, I apologize now. It’s out of my mind, Mr. Chairman, it surely is.”
“That’s very handsome, Senator,” Bob Leffingwell said coldly, “and I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Are you implying I’m not telling you the truth, Mr. Witness?” Seab asked in a suddenly louder tone, and the Herald Tribune murmured, “Oh, oh, here we go.”
Bob Leffingwell gave his interrogator a long look and spoke with deliberation.
“I am,” he said, and everybody tensed with eager delight for the explosion to follow. But much to everybody’s bafflement it did not. Instead Seab smiled sleepily and gave a little dismissing wave of his hand.
“The witness is still suspicious of me, Mr. Chairman,” he said regretfully. “A most un-Christian attitude, which I shall not attempt to answer, Mr. Chairman. Time will show him the error of his ways, and right thinking will bring him to an ending of his bitter passions toward me, Mr. Chairman.” Then he leaned forward suddenly.
“What does ‘They’ll understand in Dubuque’ mean, Mr. Witness?”
Bob Leffingwell looked puzzled and then spread his hands before him in their candid, open gesture, and addressed himself directly to the Chair.
“Mr. Chairman,” he said in an amused tone, “what sort of nonsense is this?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” Brigham Anderson said. “It hasn’t been proved that it’s nonsense, yet.”
“They’ll understand in Dubuque,’” Bob Leffingwell said and shook his head in a baffled way. “Well, I hope, Mr. Chairman, they’ll understand this that’s going on here today, in Dubuque.”
“Maybe,” the chairman said. “Senator Cooley, do you have any further questions of the witness?”
Seab looked long and thoughtfully at the nominee, who looked right back without a quiver. Then he turned half away in a slow, deliberate manner and half over his shoulder said, “No, sir, Mr. Chairman, I do not.”
“Well,” Verne Cramer murmured to Tom August, “there’s a surprise.”
“A good omen, I trust,” Senator August said hopefully.
“Then if there are no more questions,” Brigham Anderson began in a businesslike way, “I think we can consider these hearings cl—”
“Mr. Chairman,” Senator Cooley said softly, turning back. “Mr. Chairman.”
The room suddenly became still, and the wire-service reporters who were preparing to run downstairs with their bulletins on the end of the hearings stopped and slowly sat down again.
“Mr. Chairman,” Seab said slowly, “I have a witness of my own I should like to call if I may, Mr. Chairman.”
“Very well, Senator,” Brigham Anderson said impersonally. “That is your privilege and the subcommittee is ready to hear him.”
“You don’t suppose—” the Herald Tribune whispered excitedly with a look of wild surmise as on a peak in Darien.
“I’ll bet it is,” the Times said hurriedly.
“It couldn’t be,” the Post-Dispatch exclaimed.
“I’ll bet it is,” the Times repeated.
And so it was.
“Mr. Herbert Gelman, please,” Senator Cooley said slowly. “Mr. Herbert Gelman, if you will come forward, please.”
The room exploded into sound, the audience talking excitedly, the photographers rushing forward to get their pictures of the little man who was coming up from the rear of the room, the press standing at its tables to get a better view.
“God damn,” Lafe Smith said to Bob Munson, “that tears it.” The Majority Leader had time only to nod, for he was watching the nominee with great intentness.
So, for that matter, were a number of other people, including the entire subcommittee, Dolly Harrison and her guests, and a good many of the press. What they saw was a picture of calm puzzlement as the nominee swung around, as anyone would, with a baffled expression on his face and watched the small, nervous figure of the next witness approaching. Bob Leffingwell did not look annoyed, as well he might in the presence of someone who had already, in his telegram to Senator Richardson, attempted to destroy his character; instead he looked as steady and reasonable and interested and attentive as though it didn’t really concern him at all. It was a look that made a very favorable impression on all but a very few who thought a trace of dislike might be a more human reaction.
“Mr. Leffingwell,” Senator Anderson said above the wild turmoil of the cameramen, pushing and shoving in their attempts to photograph the new witness, “if you will just move your chair over and let the witness bring a chair up beside you, we can proceed.”
“Very well, Mr. Chairman,” Bob Leffingwell said indifferently, complying with the request and then lighting a cigarette with a steady hand.
The man whom Seab had thus materialized out of Arly Richardson’s mysterious telegram and his fruitless check with the president of the University of Chicago was about five feet six, dark, stocky, perhaps forty years old; thinning hair, a neat gray suit, eyeglasses; an obvious intelligence, a diffident manner, the appearance of one who had spent much time in lib
raries. Observing these standard components, Verne Cramer could not resist nudging Tom August, and murmuring, “Well, well. An egghead.” But Tom looked too worried to reply.
“Be sworn,” Senator Anderson directed, rising to administer the oath. “Do you solemnly swear the testimony you are about to give this subcommittee is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do,” the witness said in a low voice with an obvious quaver.
“Give your name and address to the official reporter,” the chairman said.
“Herbert Gelman, 2021 Grove Place Northeast, Washington, D.C.,” the witness said almost inaudibly.
“Speak a little louder, Mr. Gelman,” Brigham Anderson said, not unkindly. “We all want to hear you. What is your occupation?”
“I work for the Commerce Department,” the witness said.
“In what capacity?” the chairman asked.
“I’m an analyst in the Bureau of International Economic Affairs,” Herbert Gelman said.
“Do you have a family here?” the chairman went on.
“Yes, sir,” the witness said. “Wife and two children.”
“How long have you been employed by the government?” Senator Anderson asked.
“For the past ten years,” the witness said.
“Always in Commerce?”
“No, sir,” the witness said, and hesitated.
“Where else?” Brigham Anderson asked.
“The Federal Power Commission,” Herbert Gelman said, and somebody at the press tables drew in his breath in a sound of explosive tension.
“In what capacity?” the chairman inquired.
“Until two years ago I was employed in an agency connected with the office of the chairman,” the witness said, looking with an almost desperate intensity at Brigham Anderson.
“How closely connected?” Senator Anderson asked.
“A subsidiary agency,” Herbert Gelman said.
“How subsidiary?” the chairman insisted.
“I wasn’t directly in the chairman’s office, if that’s what you mean,” Herbert Gelman said. Senator Anderson looked a little impatient.
“I don’t mean anything,” he said. “I’m just trying to find out what you mean. Did you know the chairman?”
“Yes,” Herbert Gelman said.
“Intimately?”
The witness hesitated.
“No,” he said finally.
“By sight,” Senator Anderson suggested. The witness nodded.
“You’ll have to answer verbally, Mr. Gelman,” the Senator said. “The official reporter doesn’t record nods. You knew him by sight.”
“Yes, sir,” Herbert Gelman said.
“Did he know you by sight?”
“Yes, sir,” the witness said.
“By name?” Senator Anderson asked.
For the first time the witness turned his head and looked quickly at the nominee, seated patient, composed, and gravely interested at his side.
“Yes, sir,” he said in a low voice.
“Under what circumstances did you leave the Federal Power Commission?” Senator Anderson asked.
Again the witness hesitated and the chairman went on.
“Unfriendly, were they?”
“Yes, sir,” the witness said in a low voice. “I was accused of doing something dishonest.”
“And had you?” Brigham Anderson asked.
“No, sir,” the witness said.
“But the chairman, I take it, thought you had.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you resented his action?” Brig said.
“Yes, sir,” the witness said. “I thought he just wanted to get rid of me.”
“Why?”
“Because of things I knew.”
“Of the nature expressed in your telegram to Senator Richardson?” Senator Anderson asked.
“Yes, sir,” the witness said.
“How did you get your new government employment after being discharged from another agency under those circumstances?” Senator Anderson asked.
“I believe the chairman arranged it for me,” the witness said.
“Very well, Senator Cooley,” Brigham Anderson said, “your witness.”
“Mr. Chairman,” Bob Leffingwell said quietly, “I assume I will have the opportunity to cross-examine this witness after direct examination is finished?”
“You certainly will,” Brigham Anderson said. “Proceed, Senator Cooley.”
“Good Christ, what do you make of that?” UPI demanded as the wire services went hurtling downstairs to file their bulletins. “Old story,” AP said. “Discharged employee with a grudge.” “Hope Bob can prove that,” UPI said. “He will,” AP said confidently. “I could see him sharpening those knives already.”
“Mr. Gelman,” Seab said, “I would like to establish first the circumstances under which you appear here today, sir. Your original intention was not to appear at all, is that right?”
“I didn’t think I would, no, sir,” the witness said.
“But you must have expected that after your telegram to Senator Richardson some attempt would be made to find you,” Seab suggested.
“I guess so,” Herbert Gelman said.
“So you really wanted to appear,” Senator Cooley said.
The witness gave a small, rather shy smile.
“I did and I didn’t,” he said.
“Well, sir,” Seab told him, “I think you really did. Yes, sir, I think so. Because after you read the news reports relating that Senator Richardson had tried to find you and failed, you put in motion events designed to bring you here, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” the witness said.
“What were they?” Senator Cooley asked.
“I came to your apartment at eleven o’clock last night.” Herbert Gelman said.
“Entirely without any initiative on my part?” Seab asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Like others here, I didn’t even know up to that moment that you existed, is that right?” Seab asked.
“Yes, sir,” Herbert Gelman said.
“In fact you had to show me your driving license and your social security card to prove it,” Seab said.
“Yes, sir,” Herbert Gelman said with a little smile.
“And you told me your entire story and volunteered to appear here as my witness today?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How did you come to pick me, Mr. Gelman?” Senator Cooley asked.
“You had the reputation of not liking Mr. Leffingwell,” Herbert Gelman said, and the nominee himself led the laughter that momentarily broke the tension in the room.
“Yes, sir,” Seab agreed with a little twinkle. “I have had that reputation, sure enough. So that was how it came about that I got to know you and you are here today. And why did you feel you must tell your story to this Senate, Mr. Gelman?”
“Because I don’t think he should be Secretary of State,” the witness said, shooting another quick glance at the nominee, who ignored it.
“Why not?” Seab asked. “Just because you think he discharged you unfairly from his agency and you want to get revenge on him, is that it, Mr. Gelman?”
“No, sir,” the witness said with a sudden surprising show of indignation. “I don’t think any man should be Secretary of State who is like Mr. Leffingwell.”
Seab Cooley paused for a moment while along the committee table his colleagues leaned forward intently and silence held the room.
“What is Mr. Leffingwell like, Mr. Gelman?” he asked softly.
“I don’t believe he is a loyal citizen of the United States,” Herbert Gelman said.
“And you are, Mr. Gelman?” Seab asked bluntly.
“Yes, sir,” the witness replied.
“How do we know that, sir?” Senator Cooley asked. “Just on your own say-so, is that how? Just because you say so?”
“I guess it comes down to that,” the witness said quietly.
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br /> “Some of us, you know,” Seab said, “may want more proof than that, Mr. Gelman.”
“Ask me about what I told you,” the witness suggested, “and maybe that will convince some people.”
“Yes, sir,” Senator Cooley said. “I just wanted you to know that it isn’t always easy to convince people when it’s a matter of matching your word against another man’s, particularly a man so popular and with so many friends in Washington and in the press as Mr. Leffingwell has. I’ve tried to match my word against his sometimes, myself,” he added with an amiable grin that again brought tension-lifting laughter to the room, “and I know.”
“It’s been about a draw, Senator,” the nominee offered with a smile, and Seab smiled back.
“About,” he said. “Where did you go to college, Mr. Gelman?”
“The University of Chicago,” the witness said.
“Did you take any courses from Mr. Leffingwell?”
“I did.”
“How many?”
“His administrative government course,” Herbert Gelman said, “and the following year a seminar for graduate students.”
“How many were in the seminar?” Senator Cooley asked.
“Ten,” the witness said.
“Oh,” Seab said with an air of sardonic surprise. “I thought there might have been three hundred. Did you get to know Mr. Leffingwell on a friendly basis in the seminar?”
“I did.”
“Had he asked you, in fact, to take the seminar?”
“Yes, he did,” Herbert Gelman said. “I had been one of his top students in the administrative government class the year before.”
“You know Mr. Leffingwell says he doesn’t know you and has never even heard of you,” Senator Cooley said.
“He is lying,” Herbert Gelman said quietly, and there was a startled gasp in the room.
“In fact, he knew you so well that he gave you top marks in one class and invited you to take another with him,” Seab said.
“Yes, sir.”
“What happened then?”