THE SIGNAL LIGHT

“Are you sure you have made no mistake, Lloyd?” whispered Colonel Baker in his companion’s ear.

“Positive, Colonel; I have laid my plans too carefully for that.”

The two men were crouching behind a corner of a tumbled-down stone wall. Their position commanded a full view of an old square mansion standing some little distance from B Street. The galleries on the south side of the house overlooked a low, rolling meadow which ran down to the Potomac River.

“Have you no proof against the girl?”

“No tangible proof so far, though I am morally certain she is the cleverest spy of them all.”

“Why not arrest her on suspicion?”

“What good would that accomplish? Her family and friends are the most influential in the District. Without actual proof of her guilt, you could not hold her forty-eight hours.”

Colonel Baker moved restlessly. Such tactics were foreign to his nature. He believed in arresting first and investigating afterward. But his department had gone too far in a recent case, and he had been warned by no less a person than the President himself that his high-handed methods would no longer be tolerated.

“My idea is to make her convict herself,” resumed Lloyd, after a slight pause.

“And you think your plot is going to work?”

“It has succeeded so far. I found out that Colonel Mitchell was entertaining Senator and Mrs. Warren, and that Miss Newton was to be of the party. The colonel’s sentiments for her have changed within the last few days. I shouldn’t be surprised if she had snubbed him, and wounded his vanity. Anyway he was quite willing to enter into a little scheme I suggested. I put it on purely patriotic motives, mind you,” Lloyd smiled grimly to himself, “that, as a loyal Union officer, it was his duty to assist me. So he wrote a bogus despatch, purporting to come from the adjutant-general, which he was to drop accidentally before Miss Newton, and then give her an opportunity to pick it up.”

“Did she do it?”

“I am positive she did, although I did not actually see her. I saw Mitchell, who managed it very cleverly, drop the paper, and as they left their table I walked over to it. The paper had disappeared from the floor.”

“Why didn’t you arrest her then?”

“Because I want to find out her method of passing information on to the rebels. She may have a confederate who would carry out her schemes while she is in prison, and we would be none the wiser and still unable to stop the leak. I judged that the moment Miss Newton had time to read that paper she would instantly try to communicate with the rebels. And I judged rightly.” He paused to look up and down the silent street.

“Go on,” whispered Baker impatiently.

“Symonds and I shadowed her home. She stayed in the house just long enough to change her dress, then came on here by a circuitous route. She has been in there about ten minutes,” nodding his head in the direction of the house.

“I am glad I met you,” rejoined Baker grimly. “I enjoy being in at the death. Sure she cannot escape you?”

“The house is surrounded by my men. I am going to give her a few more minutes before I interrupt her little game.”

Somewhere in the neighborhood a dog bayed, but there was no sign of life about the house, except a loose shutter banged dismally to and fro in the cutting east wind. No stars were out, and the men had to strain their eyes to make out objects in the dark. Suddenly Baker clutched Lloyd’s arm and pointed to the south. A faint light had appeared from a window over the south portico, which grew brighter as it moved once to the left, then to the right, and then was raised, shedding a brilliant gleam on the deserted galleries.

“Signaling, by God!” swore Baker. “Come, man, in with you.”

He started to his feet, but Lloyd pulled him down again.

“Wait,” he cautioned. “We can interfere there at any moment.” Reluctantly Baker followed his advice. Five minutes, ten minutes passed on leaden feet to the anxious watchers. But their vigil was rewarded. Lloyd touched his companion on the shoulder, and muttered: “If my eyes don’t deceive me, here comes some one in answer to that signal.”

Baker glanced up the deserted street, and dimly saw a man slowly approaching, apparently picking his way with care. The newcomer was nearly opposite the dilapidated entrance gate, when the side door of the house was cautiously opened and a figure stole out, and, making a quick dash through the gate, collided violently against him.

The Secret Service men were too far away to catch what was said, but they saw the two shake hands. Lloyd’s men to the west of the house had witnessed the meeting, and, without waiting for a signal, were closing in on the pair, who stood still for a moment, then turned and walked straight toward the place where the two officers were crouching.

“Given into our hands,” muttered Baker exultingly; then, as the newcomer stepped almost in front of him, he sprang forward, and seized him in no uncertain grip. “I’ve got you,” he shouted in triumph.

The man straightened his bent shoulders to his full height; then stood passive.

“Well, well, so you have,” said a quiet voice, “and what are you going to do about it?”

“A light here,” roared Baker.

Obediently one of the soldiers who had come running up struck a match, and held it in the hollow of his hand so the wind would not extinguish it. As the tiny flame grew brighter, he raised the match, and the light fell full on the face of Baker’s prisoner.

“Good God! The President!” gasped the colonel, and his hands fell nerveless by his side.