The Lost Despatch

"Why, Doctor Boyd," exclaimed Mrs. Arnold; "you here! I hope it means that you are giving up night work, and so can come to our house-warming on Monday night."

"As much as I should like to, I am afraid I cannot," rejoined Boyd. "I expect to be called out of town at any time, but"—as her face fell—"if I am in the city I will surely go to you."

"It is a shame if you do have to go away just then," declared Mrs. Arnold,

"because my husband counted on you to help him through the evening, as he detests social gatherings."

"Ah, there comes that charming Monsieur Mercier," chimed in Mrs. Bennett, as

the French Minister strove to make his way through the crowded room.

"Mercier has never recovered from his disappointment at his failure to induce his government to recognize the Confederacy, "[2] laughed Colonel Bennett. "It hurt his amour propre."

"Men are not flattered by being shown that there has been a difference of purpose between the Almighty and them," was Lincoln's noncommittal reply. He turned to cross the room, but Mrs. Arnold, who had been an interested listener, detained him for a moment.

"Do you speak French, Mr. President?" she inquired.

There was a quizzical gleam in Lincoln's eyes as he replied slowly and with emphasis: "No, Mrs. Arnold; only English, and that not very well," and he moved on up the room.

Disconcerted by the expression on Doctor Boyd's face, Mrs. Arnold asked hastily, "How is poor Major Goddard? I hear he is under your care now."

"He is badly shaken up physically," returned Boyd.

"Is there no prospect of his regaining his sight, Doctor?" inquired Mrs. Bennett.

"Only time can tell."

"It is too dreadful," commented Mrs. Bennett. "I like Major Goddard so much, and to think of his being helpless the rest of his life is most distressing. Will you let him receive company, Doctor? Because I would like to go and read to him."

Boyd scanned Mrs. Bennett intently, without replying to her last remark. Why this sudden interest in Goddard? It behooved him to find out.

"And I want to send him some jellies," volunteered Mrs. Arnold. "What is his address, Doctor?"

"At present he is occupying Captain Lloyd's rooms at Mrs. Lane's boarding

house on F Street across from the Ebbitt." Boyd hesitated for a perceptible moment. Would it be wise to allow Mrs. Bennett to interview Goddard? Would she be able to worm any information about Nancy's adventures in Winchester from the Major?

"Perhaps Captain Lloyd would not like our calling," suggested Mrs. Arnold, breaking the slight pause.

"Oh, Lloyd is not in town now, though Goddard expects him back some time next week."

"Did Major Goddard make the trip from Winchester alone?" asked Mrs. Bennett in surprise.

"No. Miss Newton and her niece looked after him, with the assistance of a man they called 'Symonds.' I met them at the station, and took Goddard to his rooms, and engaged an attendant for him, as he cannot get about without a body-servant now."

"From last accounts, Nancy Newton has behaved abominably to John," began Mrs. Arnold angrily. "She is a miserable flirt...."

"You mustn't run down my friend Nancy," said Lincoln, who had returned in time to hear the last remark. "She and Tad are great chums; he is devoted to her."

"I was only going to say," stammered Mrs. Arnold, "that Nancy has treated my nephew very shabbily; first encouraged his suit, then threw him over in the most bare-faced manner for—Major Goddard."

1 A true story.

2 See "Abraham Lincoln," by Nicholay and Hay.

CHAPTER XV

NEMESIS

"Come up, Symonds; come up!" called Lloyd from the head of the stairs. The old colored cook, protesting under her breath at having to mount to the second story to announce visitors, had not waited to take a message to Symonds, but returned at once to her domain by way of the back stairs. Lloyd's voice was so imperative that Symonds took the steps two at a time, and arrived breathless at the top, to find Lloyd, booted and spurred, and covered from head to foot with a thick layer of mud, waiting impatiently for him.

"I have caught her, Symonds," he cried exultingly. "By God! I've caught her this time." Then, more calmly: "I have absolute proof here," tapping his chest, "that she is a rebel spy. Come in, and I will tell you about it." And half dragging Symonds into his sitting room, he slammed to the door. "It's been a long chase and a stern chase, but I have won at last." He dropped heavily into an armchair, and signed to Symonds to take the one opposite him.

"That is splendid!" said Symonds, with satisfaction. "I was afraid something had happened to you, Captain, and have just been over to the Bureau to find out if they had news of you. They told me they knew nothing of your whereabouts, so I stopped here to ask Major Goddard if he could tell me where you were."

"Was Colonel Baker at the Bureau?"

"No, sir; he is in Baltimore, but will be back to-night."

"What has Miss Newton been doing since her return to Washington?"

"Nothing of a suspicious character. I hear that she is going to Mrs. Arnold's ball

to-night."

"Well, we will put an end to her masterly inactivity." Lloyd chuckled so vindictively that Symonds glanced at him in surprise.

"You seem to hate Miss Newton, Captain?"

"Hate? Well, perhaps that is too strong a word, Symonds, though I can be a good hater of those who have wronged me. Miss Newton's cleverness put me on my mettle. I cannot say I enjoyed being outwitted by a girl, but I could forgive her that. What has roused my dislike, my bitter dislike, is that she has turned Major Goddard against me. I can never forgive her for that. He has been my lifelong friend; now, he avoids me—and it cuts deep!" Lloyd spoke with intense feeling.

"How comes it, then, that you have the same rooms here?"

"Probably Major Goddard is planning to move to another boarding house; I have not seen him since my return. Mrs. Lane told me he had gone for a drive, accompanied by his attendant. I am glad he is out, for I do not relish telling him Miss Newton will be arrested to-night. I prefer to have him learn it from some one else."

"You say you have absolute proof of her guilt?" questioned Symonds.

"Absolute. She will not slip through my fingers this time. As I told you in Winchester, Symonds, I was convinced that Major Goddard, to shield Miss Newton, told a deliberate lie when he said he had been in that room over half an hour. I was sure she had seen and talked with that rebel spy; so I wasted no time making further inquiries at the house, but, with Colonel Young's permission, took Belden and started in pursuit of him.

"Belden knows that country like a book, and he guessed the route the rebel would take. We had two of the best horses in the cavalry, and, to cut a long story short, we headed him off, and forced him back toward our lines. His horse was almost spent when we came up with him. It was two to one. He died bravely. We found his name on an envelope, 'George Pegram, —th Virginia Cavalry,' and this

paper." Lloyd unbuttoned his coat, and drew out a leather wallet. "Here it is—

see"—he opened a small crumpled paper—"not only the cipher message verbatim, as received that afternoon in Winchester, but the key to our code. It is damning evidence, and it will hang her." He folded the paper, replaced it in his pocketbook, which he slipped back in his inside coat pocket; then resumed his story:

"We were returning to Winchester when we almost ran slam-bang into some of Mosby's guerillas. To avoid them, we had to go miles out of our way. Twice we were nearly captured by scouting parties of Early's forces; then some of Lomax'

cavalry chased us still deeper inside the rebel lines. It took us four days to reach Snicker's Gap, and so on to Washington. Since I last saw you, I have been constantly in the saddle without rest and without sufficient food." Lloyd's face was drawn and haggard, and his eyes inflamed and heavy from lack of sleep.

Seeing Symonds' look of concern, he added: "Mrs. Lane brought me up a cold lunch. I intended going at once to see Colonel Baker, but, as he is away, I will let you apply for the necessary papers to arrest her. I must get some sleep. I cannot stay awake another moment. Stay," as Symonds hastened to the hall door. "You meet Colonel Baker; tell him what I have told you, and have him arrest the girl.

And send a messenger to me when she is taken to the provost marshal's, and I will join you there." He stretched himself and yawned. "Be sure and send for me, Symonds," he called, "for I shall sleep like the dead."

"All right, Captain; I will have you called."

Lloyd went thoughtfully back into his sitting room, stood for a moment undecided, then walked through the communicating door into the next room.

The two single beds, bureaus, table and chairs but partially filled the bedroom, which was unusually large. There were two side windows, and two doors, one of which opened directly into the back hall, and the other into the sitting room.

Lloyd did not trouble to undress. He kicked off his muddy boots, and tossed them into a corner of the room; removed his coat and hung it on the back of a chair; then threw himself on the outside of one of the beds, drawing a quilt over him. His head had hardly touched the pillow before his regular breathing

testified that he had fallen into the heavy slumber of utter exhaustion.

Mrs. Arnold's ball was in full swing when Nancy and her aunt arrived. Nancy did not look well, to Miss Metoaca's concern, who tersely advised her to pull herself together, or else stay at home. If she had followed the latter course, Miss Metoaca would have been bitterly disappointed, for she greatly enjoyed going to parties and watching Nancy's belleship.

Nancy much preferred staying quietly at home. Dull care dogged her footsteps; Goddard's pathetic face haunted her memory. Do what she could; go where she would, she could never banish from her mind his halting, passionate words spoken on that never-forgotten day in Winchester. After all, did she wish to?

Mrs. Arnold's spacious new house was filled with members of the cabinet and their wives; some of the foreign ministers and their secretaries, and Washington's residential circle, which consisted of about forty-five persons, all told, who religiously attended each other's parties, and occasionally went to the President's levees, and the entertainments of the diplomatic corps and the cabinet officers. A

"social column" in the daily paper was never heard of; but, notwithstanding, each person knew when the other was giving a party or entertaining house guests. Occasionally a paragraph was slipped in the National Intelligencer, saying: "Miss H—— attended Mrs. R——'s reception," but even that was considered very bad form, though initials only were given.

Mrs. Arnold received Nancy and her aunt with some reserve. She did not want her nephew to marry Nancy, but still less, with true feminine inconsistency, did she want him to be jilted by such a chit of a girl. She also stood very much in awe of Miss Metoaca's ready wit and formidable tongue.

Nancy was immediately carried off by an impatient partner for the next dance, and Miss Metoaca was left chatting with Senator Warren and Lord Lyons, the British minister. Mrs. Arnold, flushed with her labors as hostess, stopped near them, and the Englishman turned at once and complimented her on the

decorations of her ball-room.

"I am delighted you approve of my taste, your Excellency," she said complacently. "Have you seen our new oil painting which my husband has just purchased at Goupil's in New York?"

"No, I have not had that pleasure," replied the diplomat courteously.

"Then come with me. You, too, Miss Metoaca, and Senator Warren. I would very much like your opinion of the painting. It is called 'Jupiter and Ten.' What 'Ten'

has to do with it is beyond me. There are not ten figures in the picture; nor did we pay ten dollars for it."

By that time they had reached the painting, a fine work by a famous artist.

Underneath, on the brass name plate, were the words: "JUPITER AND IO."

"The technique is fine," murmured Lord Lyons feebly, adjusting his monocle.

Whereat Mrs. Arnold beamed with delight.

"It is indeed an excellent painting," exclaimed Miss Metoaca, her eyes twinkling.

"You are to be congratulated, Mrs. Arnold. I must go and find Nancy, as I want to introduce her to Mrs. Scott, the wife of the new member from Pennsylvania."

"Let me escort you, Miss Metoaca," said the Senator gallantly.

Nancy was not hard to find, and, after she had met Mrs. Scott, Senator Warren asked her to sit out a dance with him.

"If I can escape my next partner, I will do so with pleasure."

"Suppose we sit in that alcove by the palms, he will never find us there,"

suggested the senator, and he led the way to the sofa, which was partially concealed from view, only to find Mrs. Bennett comfortably installed on one end of it.

"There is plenty of room for all," she declared, as Nancy drew back. "Colonel Bennett has gone with Mr. Arnold, and, being partnerless, I came over here to

enjoy watching the dancers. Where is Mrs. Warren this evening, Senator?"

"Sick in bed with a bad headache," returned Warren, sitting down between the two women. "I would not have come to-night, but she insisted it would not be neighborly to back out at the last moment."

"So, like an obedient American husband, you sacrificed yourself," laughed Nancy, her small foot keeping time to the dreamy strains of the waltz, "Brightest Eyes."

"I am managing to have a very comfortable time," retorted the Senator. He ceased speaking as a man in uniform stepped to Nancy's side and touched her on the shoulder.

"Miss Newton, you are to come with me."

Nancy turned quickly, and her face whitened. The sword of Damocles had fallen.

"What do you mean, Baker?" demanded Warren sharply.

"That Miss Newton is under arrest, Mr. Senator. I advise the young lady to come quietly."

Nancy rose. "I shall make no scene," she said haughtily. "Go on, sir, and I will follow."

"I prefer that you should go first," said Baker quickly.

"One moment," interrupted Warren. "Where are you taking Miss Newton?"

Baker hesitated. "I insist on an answer."

Senator Warren was a power on Capitol Hill, and the Secret Service officer did not care to offend him.

"She is to be taken to the War Department. Secretary Stanton wishes to interview her," he answered at last.

"My dear! My dear!" ejaculated Mrs. Bennett, who had sat speechless with surprise. "This is too dreadful. Can I not accompany you? or my husband? We know the secretary well, and will use our influence to secure your immediate release."

"Miss Newton goes with me alone," interposed Baker harshly. "I will allow no outside interference." And he looked significantly at Mrs. Bennett.

"Many thanks, Mrs. Bennett." The older woman colored hotly under her scrutiny, and Nancy's suspicions were instantly aroused. Had she and Lloyd planned her arrest? "I will not trouble you, however, to exert your influence in my behalf, because I am convinced I shall be set free the moment I have talked this affair over with Secretary Stanton. Senator Warren, will you take Aunt Metoaca home, and explain to her about this ridiculous arrest."

"I will, and will join you afterward at the War Department. There is undoubtedly some explanation, and, as your friend, I will investigate the matter at once."

Nancy impulsively extended her hand; she could not voice her thanks. It was some seconds before she regained her self-control; then she addressed Baker.

"Now, Colonel, I am ready to go with you." She turned disdainfully, and walked proudly across the room, spoke to Mrs. Arnold, then went directly into the hall.

"May I go for my wrap?" she asked the Secret Service officer, who followed at her heels.

"No, send the maid for it," was the surly reply.

It did not take the colored girl long to find the wrap, and, escorted by Baker, Nancy ran down the steps and entered the waiting hack. They drove in absolute silence, Nancy gazing straight before her with brooding eyes. Never had he escorted so quiet a prisoner, and Baker was glad when they reached the War Department. He wasted no time, but took her at once to the private office of the Secretary of War.

"Here is Miss Newton, Mr. Secretary," he announced, signing to Nancy to enter the room first.

"To what do I owe my arrest, Secretary Stanton?" asked Nancy, walking quietly up to his desk.

Stanton glanced piercingly at her. Her proud, cold beauty and distinguished appearance stirred a momentary feeling of admiration in the "Iron Secretary's"

breast. He half rose, then sank again into his chair.

"Be seated," he directed shortly. "Baker, close that door." He took off his spectacles, wiped them carefully, then replaced them am his nose. "You asked me?"

"Why I am arrested?" steadily.

"Isn't that an unnecessary question?"

"No. I am not a mind reader."

"You need not strain your imagination. Do you know Major George Pegram, of the —th Virginia Cavalry?"

"I do. He is my cousin."

"He was." Stanton stopped and eyed Nancy intently; but she sat as if carved from stone. Not by cry or sign did she betray the shock his words gave her. "Major Pegram was killed last Wednesday, when trying to get through our lines about Winchester."

"Poor fellow!" Nancy's tone was keyed to express simply natural sorrow and regret. "I am sure his death became him."

Stanton looked baffled, as his bomb shell exploded without apparent effect. Was there no vulnerable spot in her armor of iron self-control? After a moment he continued his examination.

"Your cousin was killed by Captain Lloyd, of the Secret Service, who took from his dead body the cipher despatch which you secured under the noses of a room full of my officers at Winchester." He paused to let the meaning of his words

sink in.

Nancy thought for a second; then shook her head. "I fail to recall any such incident."

"You have a poor memory," retorted Stanton. "Possibly it will be improved when I show you the despatch in your handwriting."

Nancy's face never altered. "May I see the despatch?"

The Secretary paid no attention to her question. "There is no use denying it any longer, Miss Newton. I know you are a rebel spy."

"Indeed. And may I ask on what grounds you base so serious a charge?"

"No, madam, you may not. That will come out at your trial. I had you brought here that I might find out how you secured the key to our secret cipher code."

Nancy started to reply, when the door opened, and the President, followed by Senator Warren, walked quietly in.

"Good evening, Miss Nancy." The President bowed gravely to her. "Keep your seat. Now, Stanton, what's all this about?" And he threw himself into a vacant chair.

The Secretary, surprised by Lincoln's entrance, pulled himself together. He was not pleased by the interruption.

"I was examining Miss Newton, Mr. President, as to how she gained possession of the key to our cipher code. Pardon me if I suggest that it would be better to conduct the interview in private." And he glanced significantly at Warren.

"What do you mean by that insinuation, Mr. Secretary?" demanded Warren hotly.

"Now, now," interposed the President patiently. "Nobody has insinuated anything, Warren. It is perfectly proper that the senator be present, Stanton. You forget he is a member of the Military Commission in Congress."

"And I am also here as Miss Newton's legal representative," added Warren warmly, still ruffled by Stanton's manner.

Nancy shot him a grateful glance, but Stanton frowned. He did not like the turn things were taking.

"What is Miss Nancy accused of?" inquired Lincoln.

"Of being a rebel spy."

Lincoln's face grew grave. He inspected Nancy keenly, as his mind flew back to the scene before the deserted house on B Street. It might be.... "And what have you to say to that accusation, Miss Nancy?" he asked sternly.

"I deny it."

"The girl lies," declared Stanton.

Nancy's eyes flashed her indignation, and she turned squarely and faced the Secretary.

"The honorable Secretary," she said, with biting scorn, "has three times announced that I am a rebel spy. Is it not time that he produce evidence to prove that he is not lying."

Stanton turned purple with suppressed wrath. To be bearded by a slip of a girl, and before the President! "Blustering will not help your cause," he snarled.

"You have made a serious charge," interrupted Lincoln thoughtfully. "I agree with Miss Nancy, Stanton, that it is time you produce your evidence against her."

The Secretary wheeled on Baker. "Where is Captain Lloyd?"

Lincoln, who was covertly studying Nancy, saw her move ever so slightly and her eyes dilate.

"I sent word to him that I was bringing Miss Newton to see you, instead of

taking her to the provost marshal, and to join us here. I think this is he coming now," as the sound of hurrying footsteps sounded outside in the corridor. Baker stepped to the door, and pulled it open. "Come in, Lloyd."

But the man who entered was not Lloyd. He breathed heavily, as if spent with running, and, despite the cold winter night, beads of perspiration trickled down his face.

"Symonds!" exclaimed Baker. "Did you go for Captain Lloyd, as I ordered?"

Symonds nodded, gazing past Baker with frightened eyes at Nancy.

"Then, why didn't he return here with you?"

"Because"—Symonds took a long breath—"because—he's dead!"

CHAPTER XVI

A TANGLED SKEIN

The President and his companions sat looking at Symonds in stupefied silence.

Secretary Stanton was the first to speak.

"Dead!" he thundered. "Who killed him?"

"I don't know, sir."

"What killed him?"

"I don't know, sir," reiterated Symonds stupidly.

"Was he shot or stabbed?"

"Neither, sir."

"Well, damn my soul!" The exasperated and hot-tempered Secretary clutched the inkstand with the evident intention of hurling it at Symonds. " What did he die of?"

"I don't know, sir." Symonds passed a trembling hand over his pale face. "He was just lying there in bed—dead."

"Had Captain Lloyd been ill?" asked the President.

"No, Mr. President; not to my knowledge. He appeared to be in good health and spirits when I left him this afternoon; only exhausted from five days in the saddle. He told me he was going to lie down and rest, and that I was to send for him after I had seen Colonel Baker, who was then in Baltimore, and arranged for

this lady's arrest."

"Take that chair, Symonds," said the President, "and tell us all you know of this affair."

Obediently Symonds pulled forward the chair indicated, and faced the President, much perturbed in mind.

"I met Colonel Baker, as Captain Lloyd directed, and gave him the information he had been waiting for. We came here, and, after consulting the Secretary, Colonel Baker ordered me to bring Captain Lloyd to this room.

"When I reached Mrs. Lane's boarding house, I went directly up to the captain's sitting room. I rapped and rapped on his door, but could get no response."

Symonds paused impressively, and five pairs of eyes watched him almost without blinking. "The captain had told me he was a heavy sleeper; so, thinking I would have to shake him awake, I tried the door knob. It turned, and I entered.

The room was dark except for the moonlight which came through the front windows.

"I saw that the communicating door leading to the captain's bedroom was open; so I went over to it and called Captain Lloyd's name. Not getting any answer, I walked into the room. It was pitch dark, and the next thing I knew I had tripped and fallen over a body...."

"You just stated that you found Captain Lloyd dead in bed," interposed the Secretary sharply.

"And so I did, sir."

"Then, what do you mean by saying you fell over his body on the floor?"

"It wasn't his body, sir."

"Get on, get on!" Stanton glared impatiently at Symonds, who had stopped and was nervously twirling his cap in his fingers. The President was intently

watching Nancy, who sat on the edge of her chair listening to Symonds' slow speech with bated breath.

"I picked myself up, sir, considerably shaken, struck a match, found a burner and lighted the gas. Then I leaned over and looked at the man on the floor ... it was Major Goddard!"

A low cry of terror broke from Nancy. She reeled in her seat. Stanton viewed her emotion with grim satisfaction. He had found the vulnerable heel of Achilles.

"He wasn't ... Symonds, don't say it...."

Nancy pleaded. "Don't say he was——" Her hands were raised, as if to push some over-mastering horror from her.

"No, no, ma'am; he was only unconscious from a blow on his head." Symonds, shocked by her look of agony, spoke with unusual rapidity.

Nancy bowed her head in her hands; then, realizing that the four men were noting her every movement, she straightened herself and faced them with regained self-control.

"What next, Symonds?" exclaimed Stanton.

"I turned to the bed, and was astounded to see Captain Lloyd sleeping peacefully

—at least, I thought so then. I rushed over and shook and shook him. The Lord forgive me! I was so excited over Major Goddard that I never thought, never suspected. I had pushed Captain Lloyd up in bed by that time in my efforts to rouse him. To my unutterable horror, he fell back in my arms a dead weight, and my hand accidentally touched his cold face. I quickly unbuttoned his shirt and placed my ear over his heart, but could detect no action there, nor any pulse when I clutched his wrist.

"It took me a few minutes to collect myself; then I called the landlady, Mrs.

Lane. She sent one of her boarders for the provost marshal. When he arrived, I turned the rooms over to him, and came on here to report to the Secretary."

"Did you send for a physician, Symonds?" asked Lincoln.

"Yes, Mr. President. Doctor Ward reached the boarding house a few minutes before the provost marshal. He declared Captain Lloyd had apparently been dead for some hours, and that Major Goddard was unconscious from a blow on the head."

"Did he make an examination as to the cause of Captain Lloyd's death?" inquired Stanton.

"No, Mr. Secretary. He said that the captain was beyond his help, and that Major Goddard needed immediate attention. He dressed the major's wound at once, and then I helped him lift the still unconscious officer onto the other bed."

"Had Major Goddard regained consciousness before you left?"

"No, Mr. Secretary. He had lost a great deal of blood, and Doctor Ward said it might be hours before he came to himself. The doctor seemed to fear concussion of the brain," he added thoughtfully.

A low sigh escaped Nancy. Only the President noticed her agitation. The other men had forgotten her presence, so absorbed were they in Symonds' story.

"The provost marshal stationed a guard about the house," resumed Symonds, before the Secretary could frame another question. "He placed Mrs. Lane and her whole household under arrest pending an investigation."

"He did right," was Stanton's brief comment. "The affair is certainly mysterious.

Did the room look as if there had been a fight?"

"No, Mr. Secretary. There was a good deal of blood collected on the floor about Major Goddard's head; but not even a chair was overturned. When I first reached him, Captain Lloyd lay as if asleep, covered by a bed quilt."

"Strange!" muttered Stanton, and he looked at the President, who sat tilted back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, gazing through lowered lids at the scene before him. As Lincoln made no comment, and Warren was equally silent, he continued his questions more briskly. "Undoubtedly Major Goddard will satisfactorily explain what took place in the room before Captain Lloyd's death, and who his assailant was, as soon as he regains consciousness. Now, we have a more pressing matter to attend to to-night." With a wave of his hand, he indicated Nancy. "This afternoon Captain Lloyd showed you a paper, a cipher despatch, written by this young lady..."

"I protest," interrupted Nancy vehemently, "against such a base accusation."

"...taken by him from Major George Pegram, a rebel spy, did he not?" continued Stanton, paying no heed to Nancy.

"Yes, Mr. Secretary; he showed me such a paper," admitted Symonds.

"Did it occur to you, Symonds, to take possession of that paper before it fell into other hands?"

"It did, sir."

"Good. Give it to me." And Stanton stretched out an eager hand.

"I—I—can't, Mr. Secretary," stammered the Secret Service agent. "I searched all the captain's belongings before the provost marshal arrived; but the pocketbook containing the despatch had disappeared."

CHAPTER XVII

IN CLOSE CONFINEMENT

Stanton's face hardened, and he wheeled on Nancy.

"Where is that paper?" he demanded curtly.

"I do not know."

The Secretary's eyes were the first to fall before the girl's steady gaze.

"I have wasted quite enough time with you," he snapped. "Baker, conduct Miss Newton to Old Capitol Prison, and have her placed in close confinement."

"Wait." Senator Warren rose. "Your pardon, Mr. Secretary; but so far you have produced no direct evidence to prove your charge against Miss Newton.

Therefore, I demand her immediate release."

"It is impossible to grant your request. Miss Newton is too dangerous a character to leave at large. She will have an opportunity to prove her innocence of the charges against her before a military commission."

"Charges?" said Nancy inquiringly, as she picked up her wrap in obedience to a sign from Baker. "Charges, did you say, Mr. Secretary? Your threats multiply with lightning rapidity."

"Charges, madam," sternly, "as a rebel spy, and, as such, conniving at the death of Captain Lloyd and stealing the paper which proves your guilt."

"It is monstrous!" cried Nancy hotly. "Symonds' own words prove Captain Lloyd died naturally in his bed. As to the paper, I have repeatedly told you I know

nothing of it. It may be simply a fabrication of this man's excited imagination.

You have only his word against mine that it ever existed."

"Very true, madam; but I prefer to take his word." Stanton's tone of overbearing finality made Nancy clench her hands with rage. She turned appealingly to Lincoln.

"Mr. President, in the name of justice I ask for fair play."

Lincoln unlocked his big, bony hands, brought his chair softly down on its four legs, and rose awkwardly.

"There is much to be explained, Miss Nancy; and Secretary Stanton is right in the stand he is taking," he said unwillingly. How gladly would he have spoken otherwise! "I cannot interfere." Nancy blanched, and bit her lips to hide their trembling. Nothing escaped the President, and his worn, unlovely face grew tender. "I give you my word, you shall have a fair and impartial trial. Warren, go with Baker and see what you can do to soften Miss Nancy's imprisonment."

"Thanks, Mr. President." But he had turned back to the desk and did not see Nancy's half-extended hand, or hear her faltering voice. Her hand dropped to her side, and, choking back a sob, she followed Senator Warren and Baker out of the room.

Nancy had only a confused idea of what followed: the drive to the provost marshal's office, his questions and cross-questions, the signing of papers, all were but the hazy outlines of some fearful nightmare from which she must soon awake. She was hurried from the provost marshal's and into the carriage again.

The rapid hoof beats of the horses kept pace with the pounding of her heart.

"Here we are, Nancy." Warren touched her on the shoulder as their carriage stopped in front of the Old Capitol Prison.

Baker sprang out, and beckoned to a soldier standing before the doorway. Nancy followed the Secret Service officer more slowly and paused, as the guard gathered about her, to gaze at the twinkling stars and fill her lungs with the cold,

fresh air which fanned her hot cheeks.

"Come!" Nancy shuddered involuntarily as Baker's hand closed over her arm in no gentle grip. "This way." And they entered a wide hall.

A number of soldiers lounged on the benches which lined the walls on both sides. Recognizing Baker, they rose, and stood at attention.

"This way, Colonel," said the corporal of the guard. "Superintendent Wood is still in his office." And he preceded them down the hall.

Nancy answered apathetically all the questions the superintendent shot at her.

"Room No. 10, second floor, women's section," said the latter to an orderly, as he closed the register and filed his papers away. "See that clean bedding is taken there at once." The soldier saluted and hastened out of the room. "Now, Miss Newton, follow me." He led her into a smaller apartment where a stout woman and two colored assistants stood waiting. "The matron has to search you. Let me know when you have finished," he directed, and banged to the door.

Nancy submitted quietly to the ordeal. Her thoughts were elsewhere; she hardly noticed what the others did. She was soon told to put on her clothes, and the matron, leaving her under the watchful eyes of the other women, stepped out of the room. In a few minutes she returned and beckoned Nancy to the door. She found Senator Warren and the superintendent waiting in the hall.

"I sent to your aunt for some necessary clothes for you, Nancy, and the superintendent, here, says they will be brought to you as soon as my messenger returns with them."

"After they have been examined by me," put in Wood gruffly. "Your quarters are in Carrol Prison, where the women are confined."

He pointed up the dirty staircase, and Nancy, preceded by the corporal of the guard, climbed wearily up them, and turned down a long corridor. The corporal stopped before an open door midway down the hall, and signed to her to enter.

Senator Warren, who had accompanied her by Wood's permission, stepped forward.

"I must perforce leave you here," he said; then, seeing the hunted look in Nancy's weary eyes, he added pityingly: "Don't be so worried, child; keep a brave heart. Your aunt and I will have you out of here in no time."

Nancy turned and impulsively kissed him. "You dear, faithful friend," she murmured brokenly.

"There, there." The senator's own eyes were moist. He thought of his little daughter at home under a watchful mother's care. What if she were in prison, suspected of grave crimes? He patted Nancy's wavy hair with tender hand.

"Senator"—her voice was so low he barely caught her halting words—"won't you get word to me to-morrow without fail about—about——"

"About what, child?"

"About Major Goddard's condition. I—I—must know."

Bravely and unashamed, she looked squarely at Warren. His shrewd eyes softened as he read the story of an untold love in her blushing face.

One second more and the door slammed to; the bolt was shot, and Nancy, with wide, curious eyes, stood gazing at her new surroundings by the aid of a half-burnt candle. The room was small and unspeakably dirty. A wooden cot with its straw mattress stood in the corner farthest from the window; a broken-down wash stand with a tin basin was in another corner, and a wooden chair without a back occupied the center of the room.

While Nancy was taking stock of her furniture, the door was opened and a bundle of clothes tossed unceremoniously inside. She waited until she heard the door relocked; then took up her belongings, which were well tumbled by the inspection they had undergone. There were some pegs in the walls, and Nancy hung her wrap on one of them; then walked over to the window.

Her room looked out on a court formed by the wings of the buildings. A high platform wide enough for two men to pass each other had been erected on the top of the fence at the back, and she caught the gleam of the moonlight on the sentries' bayonets as it was reflected back by the burnished steel. There was no curtain of any kind in the window. The dirt on the window-panes was her only protection against prying eyes. So Nancy pushed the stool over by the bed, piled her extra clothing on the foot of the bed, and carefully blew out the candle before undressing.

It was a relief to get her clothes off, and she sat on the edge of the bed listening to the sentry's unceasing tramp up and down the corridor. Suddenly the silence was broken by the sentry's call from outside: "Post No. 1! Two o'clock, and all's well!"

As the call sounded from post to post, Nancy threw herself face down on the hard mattress.

"Bob, Bob," she moaned, "what evil fortune led you into that room!"

CHAPTER XVIII

WHEN DOCTORS DISAGREE

The next morning all Washington was agog over the news of Nancy's arrest as a rebel spy, and Captain Lloyd's sudden death. All day long Miss Metoaca's negro butler kept trotting to the front door in answer to the frantic ringing of the bell, and to every anxious inquiry he invariably replied: "Miss Turkey's only tol'able, thank yo', and she begs to be 'scused."

Late in the afternoon Senator Warren walked heavily up the steps. Old Jonas, who had seen him coming along C Street, stood waiting on the threshold, and without a word took his hat and cane.

"Dis way, Marse Senator." He helped him off with his overcoat. "We's been

'spectin' yo' all day, suh."

Miss Metoaca, hollow-eyed and weary, dropped the shawl she was pretending to knit, and rose quickly when she caught sight of Warren.

"What news?" she asked, scanning his face anxiously.

The senator motioned her to resume her seat, and drew up a chair by her. He hesitated perceptibly for a second; then answered her query with another: "Have you seen Nancy?"

"No. I went to the Old Capitol Prison the first thing this morning, and saw Superintendent Wood. He told me I would have to get a permit from the judge advocate general before he could allow me to talk with Nancy. I immediately went to see Judge Holt, and he curtly refused my request. Then I went to the President, who told me he would talk it over with Stanton. I knew what that

meant; so did not waste any time waiting, but came straight home."

Warren nodded his head gravely. "That is about what I expected. Nancy is in close confinement, charged with the most serious offense possible in war times. I doubt if I, her legal representative, am allowed to see her until this mystery is a little more cleared up.

"Stanton is already wrought up over the fact that the key to his cipher code is known outside of his office. He will move heaven and earth to discover how Nancy secured the key to the information she is accused of giving to Pegram.

She can expect no leniency there. Baker also is determined to prove that she stole the recovered despatch from Lloyd. He insists she is implicated in some way in the captain's mysterious death."

Miss Metoaca drew a long breath. "It looks as if the odds were against Nancy having a fair chance to prove her innocence," she sighed. "Have you any idea when she will be brought to trial?"

"When I saw him just now, Judge Holt was busy selecting officers to serve on a military commission."

"I was told it would be a court-martial."

"Not necessarily." Warren drew out a sheet of paper. "I asked Judge Holt about it, and he gave this copy of the eighty-second article of war, enacted in 1862, which reads: 'All persons, who in time of war, or of rebellion against the supreme authority of the United States, shall be found lurking or acting as spies in or about any of the fortifications, posts, quarters, or encampments of any of the armies of the United States, or elsewhere, shall be triable by a general court-martial, or by a military commission, and shall, on conviction, suffer death.'"

His voice unconsciously deepened on the last solemn word, and Miss Metoaca's face went gray.

"I wish you men were not so fond of plain language," she exclaimed irritably.

"Please remember they have not yet proved anything against Nancy."

"Quite true. But you must also recollect, Miss Metoaca, that a military commission will accept evidence which a civil court would throw out."

"But, Senator, the despatch which Stanton claims Nancy wrote cannot be found.

Therefore, it is impossible for them to bring it up as proof against her."

"I am not so sure of that."

"Tut! They have only Symonds' word that such a paper ever existed."

"True; but Symonds is a man whose word can be relied on. His story will be accepted as direct evidence, and it will, I fear, be hard to shake his testimony."

"Have you learned anything that throws light on Captain Lloyd's death?"

inquired Miss Metoaca, after a slight pause.

Warren moved his chair nearer the sofa, and glanced about to see that he was not overheard.

"The mystery deepens," he said gravely. "By order of the President, I was allowed to hear the result of the autopsy held this morning."

"What was it?" demanded Miss Metoaca breathlessly.

"After a prolonged and careful examination, the surgeons declare that they could find no wound or mark of violence on Captain Lloyd's body; nor any trace of poison in his system. Therefore, they were forced to believe, in the absence of any particular symptom, or pathological appearance, that he died from some cause, or causes, to them unknown." Warren paused in the rapid reading of his notes in his memorandum book; then resumed dryly: "In my state, the country people would describe Lloyd's death as 'a visitation of God.'"

"Well, Providence might have been worse employed," said Miss Metoaca abruptly, and her face cleared. "Doesn't the autopsy settle that preposterous charge against Nancy?"

"I have not finished telling you all that I heard from the surgeons," went on

Warren patiently. "They also said that it was just possible that the last five days in the saddle without sufficient food or sleep might have produced heart failure, but they judged that extremely unlikely——"

"I don't call that bad news," broke in Miss Metoaca. "Seems to me that statement clears Nancy absolutely."

"Unfortunately, Doctor Ward contends that the symptoms would be the same if Lloyd had been suffocated by some anæsthetic, chloroform, for instance."

"Suffocated!" ejaculated Miss Metoaca, half rising in her surprise. "What nonsense! They would have detected the smell of chloroform."

"Not necessarily," again returned Warren. "Lloyd had been dead some hours before they found him; secondly, one of the windows was open top and bottom, which ventilated the room. The chloroform probably evaporated quickly, and left no tell-tale odor behind."

"And do you mean to tell me that those idiots believe on such flimsy evidence as that that Nancy killed Lloyd!" exclaimed Miss Metoaca wrathfully. "Do you believe a young, delicate, high-strung girl, like Nancy, could commit such a cold-blooded murder?"

"Nancy's sex will not protect her when the passions of men are roused. Do you suppose that a suspected spy will not be an object of hatred in these days?"

Miss Metoaca nodded sullenly in agreement. She knew the opprobrium and scorn which were heaped on rebel sympathizers in Baltimore and Washington, and realized the justice of Warren's comment.

"This is not the day of miracles," continued the senator, "and it is stretching probability to the breaking point to believe that Lloyd died from natural causes at the very moment when his death would be of benefit to Nancy. In addition to this, there is the disappearance of that important despatch."

Miss Metoaca made no remark, so Warren resumed his argument.

"The first and most important thing in solving a murder mystery is to find a motive for the crime. When that is once established, the means are easy to prove.

The thing that will militate the most against Nancy is the timeliness of Captain Lloyd's death.

"The military commission will undoubtedly believe that Nancy, realizing that Lloyd could prove she was a rebel spy, resorted to murder to silence the one man whose evidence would hang her. I fear, I greatly fear, Nancy will have a hard time convincing the commission that, if not actually the criminal, she did not connive at Captain Lloyd's death."

"It is an outrage!" fumed Miss Metoaca. "I am willing to stake my immortal soul that Nancy had nothing to do with the captain's mysterious death, nor with the disappearance of that miserable despatch."

"My wife and I also believe in Nancy's innocence," declared Warren warmly;

"and I give you my solemn word of honor, Miss Metoaca, that I will do everything within my power to assist her."

"God forever bless you!" Miss Metoaca leaned forward, and impulsively clasped his hand in both of hers. "You give me renewed courage. Tell me," as Warren's eyes strayed to the clock on the mantel, "have you heard how Major Goddard is getting on?"

"I stopped at Mrs. Lane's this morning, but the corporal of the provost marshal's guard stationed about the house refused to admit me. Fortunately I met Doctor Ward on his way out from seeing Goddard, and he told me that the major had regained consciousness, but was very weak and unable to talk. I drove at once to the Old Capitol Prison, and induced Wood to promise to tell Nancy that Major Goddard was recovering. I hope the message gave her some comfort, poor girl!"

"Senator," Miss Metoaca lowered her voice until she almost whispered, "Major Goddard and Nancy were thrown together day after day while we were in Winchester. We both felt so sorry for him, and Nancy used to talk or read to him continually during his convalescence. I watched them both, and it gradually dawned on me that the major worshipped the ground Nancy walked on. Now, is

it not possible that he overheard Lloyd tell Symonds he had secured a paper which might hang Nancy?"

"Yes," agreed the senator, seeing she paused for a reply.

"Men have thrown worlds away before now to win a woman's love," went on Miss Metoaca so rapidly that her words tumbled over each other. "God knows, I don't want to turn suspicion against an innocent man; but do you not think it possible that Major Goddard...?"

"Killed his friend and secured the paper," finished Warren, as she hesitated.

"Possible, but not probable."

"Why not?" demanded Miss Metoaca heatedly. "It is more probable than that Nancy should have committed the murder."

"Men have done many mad deeds for love," pursued Warren, paying no attention to her interruption, "but they cannot accomplish the impossible. You think Goddard stepped into that bedroom, chloroformed Lloyd, and then stole the wallet containing that despatch?"

Miss Metoaca nodded her head without speaking.

"How could a blind man do all that and not overturn one thing in the room?"

asked Warren quietly.

CHAPTER XIX

GROPING IN THE DARK

"How do you know he didn't?" snapped Miss Metoaca, sticking to her theory with grim determination.

"Because Symonds declares there was no sign of confusion in the room when he found the two men—one dead—one unconscious."

"Always Symonds!" grumbled Miss Metoaca disgustedly. "He is a regular Jack-in-the-box. I don't care what he says. I firmly believe Major Goddard is responsible for Lloyd's death, if he really was killed, which I think is open to doubt."

"I thought as you do at first," agreed the senator, "but I found on closer examination that the theory would not hold water. In the first place, Goddard, being blind, had, and has, to feel his way about—probably had to grope around Lloyd's body to locate his face—which would undoubtedly have aroused the sleeping man...."

"Wait a bit," interrupted Miss Metoaca. "Even if he did awaken Lloyd, the latter would have thought nothing of finding his friend by his bedside. They were roommates—and probably, after speaking to Goddard, he rolled over and went to sleep again.

"Then there's another thing," pursued Miss Metoaca eagerly, as Warren nodded a silent agreement to her statement. "Symonds declares Lloyd's wallet was stolen.

Why should Nancy take the book when all she needed was the one single paper, which Stanton contends concerned her?

"Now, Major Goddard is blind. It was impossible for him to pick out that paper from others; therefore, he would have been forced to steal the pocketbook."

"That appears plausible," admitted Warren, "but it is just as plausible to suppose that Nancy, fearing she would be discovered in Lloyd's room, did not dare to stop and open the pocketbook there, and so took it away with her."

"You seem mighty anxious to believe Nancy took the despatch," commented Miss Metoaca, and disappointment lent bitterness to her voice.

"You mistake me," protested Warren warmly. "I will do my utmost to clear Nancy of these terrible charges; but I fear there is no use trying to prove Goddard guilty. After Symonds discovered the pocketbook was missing, he and Doctor Ward searched Goddard's clothing, as well as the room, but found no trace of the book or the despatch."