Aaron nodded. Tom Garson was one of his most efficient agents; an Englishman, come over in '95 with a down-at-the-heels theatrical company, and stranded in Philadelphia, where Aaron, ever on the alert for useful men, had picked him up. Garson's training as an actor made him invaluable, as did his cockney shrewdness.

Aaron leaned forward. 'You posed as a peddler this time, did you not?'

'That I did—and a pleasant trade it is. I took care to fill my pack with gewgaws for the women, and there was many a fine opportunity for trying the fit of a fichu over a tempting white bosom, or even sometimes a garter around a rosy thigh'. He smacked his lips as Aaron laughed.

'I'm willing to believe you made the most of such opportunities, but what of the men? How is the temper of the people? Will they vote for the right party? Will they vote for Aaron Burr?'

Garson drained his rum, wolfed a chunk of steaming pie, wiped the gravy off his mouth with the back of his hand, and sat back, while Aaron waited.

'The Republicans are gaining down there,' said Garson at last, 'but they know little about you in the South.'

'So Timothy Green writes me,' said Aaron dryly'. We must remedy that. Go on...'

'South Carolina will be the crux; its decision will tell the tale. And it is controlled by a few families, the Middletons, the Rutledges, and the Alstons. Especially the Alstons; they have great plantations up on the Waccamaw River. Gain them and I wager you will gain the state. The small fry will follow their lead.'

'The Alstons. Yes'. Aaron flashed his brilliant smile. 'You've done well, Garson. Your information confirms what I have already heard. It so happens that young Joseph Alston is in New York, is coming'—he paused for the fraction of a second and went on smoothly—'to my house for dinner this afternoon.'

Garson stared. Rum fumes had mounted to his brain, clouding its usual acuteness. Then, as the Colonel's words penetrated, he slapped the table until the mugs rattled, guffawing.

'By God, you're a sly one, you are! I see what you're up to ... Young Alston to dinner, and the beautiful Theodosia there, too, turning her great eyes his way. She'll use them to good purpose, I warrant, under her father's promptings.'

'Sir!' Aaron leapt to his feet. 'You forget yourself!' His voice, scarce raised, yet sounded through the tavern like a thunderclap.

Men sat up, murmuring. Garson shrank, his dark skin glistening.

'I—I meant no harm, Colonel,' he babbled. 'I apologize. It was the spirits.'

Aaron's nostrils dilated, but his look became less menacing 'I accept your excuse. Remember'—his piercing gaze swept the whole company—'no man may make light of my daughter's name without having me to reckon with. And I am not unhandy with the pistols.'