OUTWITTED

For once Lloyd had overslept, and he kicked a chair viciously out of his way as he stooped to find an elusive collar button. A loud knock at his door interrupted his search. On opening it he found one of the chambermaids leaning against the opposite wall.

“Well, what is it?” he demanded sharply.

“Dis hyar gen’man’s down to de do’ an’ wants ter see yo’ to onst,” and she thrust a card into his hand.

“Tell Colonel Mitchell I will be down in a minute. No, stay show him up here.” Lloyd retreated into his room. He had just completed his toilet when a second knock sounded on his door.

“Good morning, Mitchell,” he said cordially, admitting the officer. “I had you come up here because we can be more private. Sit down and have a cigar,” and he pulled forward a chair; then opened his cigar case.

But the colonel remained standing, and waved aside the proffered cigar. “Did you catch Miss Newton?” he asked eagerly.

“We found her, yes; but my plan missed fire.”

“You mean?”

“She did not try to communicate with the rebels last night.”

“Then you did not arrest her as a spy?”

“No I had not sufficient evidence against her to do so.”

“Is she at large?”

“Yes; but closely watched.”

“Did you take the despatch from her?”

“No.”

“She still has it?”

“I suppose so. Good God! man, what’s the matter?”

Mitchell, white faced and trembling, collapsed into a chair.

“Pull yourself together,” continued Lloyd sternly. “She cannot do any harm even if she does manage to send that despatch to Lee; it is false information.”

Twice Mitchell tried to speak. “Man, man,” he gasped finally. “By some fearful mischance I dropped a real despatch and not the bogus one.”

With eyes starting from his head, Lloyd regarded the unfortunate officer while he slowly digested his startling news. Then he picked up his overcoat and hat and made for the closed door. “To think I let that girl go into Virginia under the President’s pass with that despatch in her pocket. Damnation!” and the door slammed violently on his retreating figure.

Goddard rose bright and early that morning. He did not awaken Lloyd, for he had bidden him good-bye the night before, so after scrawling a few lines to his friend thanking him for his hospitality and leaving the note on the bureau, he hastened down to the Newtons’. Nancy and her aunt did not keep him waiting long, and with the help of their butler he got them into the waiting hack, tossed in their numerous hand luggage, and jumped up by the driver. On their arrival at the depot he found they had but three minutes in which to catch the train, so he unceremoniously bundled Miss Metoaca and Nancy through the gates and to the train; while the hackman brought up the rear with two carpet bags and a lunch hamper.

They found they had the car practically to themselves, so Miss Metoaca picked out the cleanest seat, and insisted that all the luggage be put by her side where it would be directly under her eye. Then she announced she was going to take “forty winks,” as she had been up most of the night and needed sleep. With a sigh of satisfaction, Goddard settled himself next to Nancy in the seat directly across the aisle from Miss Metoaca. As the train pulled out from the depot a man swung himself aboard the back platform and slipped into a seat in the rear of the last car unseen by Goddard.

“You look tired,” said Goddard, glancing keenly at Nancy’s pale face.

“I am; for I spent most of the night with a sick servant. But you, Major Goddard, don’t look any too fresh yourself,” replied Nancy quickly.

It was true. Goddard had spent a sleepless night. He could not believe would not believe Lloyd’s charge against Nancy. After all, she was not the only girl, or woman, with red-gold hair in the world. Lloyd had nothing to go upon but theories no absolute proof and an innocent act might easily be construed into a guilty one by a suspicious mind. Perhaps Lloyd’s wish had proved father to the thought; he showed extraordinary animosity toward Nancy. All the chivalry of his nature revolted at the Secret Service officer’s cold-blooded scheme to ensnare her, and Goddard determined in his own mind she should have fair play.

“Are you a Washingtonian by birth, Miss Newton?” he inquired, as she moved restlessly under his intent gaze.

“No, by adoption. I was born and raised in Richmond. I do not remember my mother. She died when I was very young. After my father’s death I came north in charge of my black mammy, Aunt Polly, to live with Aunt Metoaca. My dear father,” Nancy’s eyes filled with unbidden tears, and she hastily tried to wink them away. “I wish you could have known each other, Major. Dad’s courtly greeting and warm heart won him so many, many friends.”

“I second the wish,” said Goddard gently. “Pardon the question, but has he been dead long?”

“Three years now; but time has not lessened my sorrow. We were all in all to each other, notwithstanding I was his greatest disappointment.”

“How so?”

“He wanted a son and heir; but I was his only child, the last of a long line of fighting men. Dad was my constant companion as well as my teacher,” she sighed involuntarily. “I miss him more and more as the years go on.”

Goddard nodded sympathetically. “’Oh, for the touch of a vanished hand, and the sound of a voice that is still,’” he quoted softly. Nancy started, and, as her lips quivered, Goddard added more lightly, “I have a fellow feeling with you, for I am an orphan, too, Miss Nancy; but I cannot say I had so agreeable a guardian as you have.”

“Aunt Metoaca has been both mother and father to me. Bless her dear kind heart!” and Nancy glanced with deep affection at the nodding gray head on the opposite seat. “She and Doctor John Boyd are the only friends I have.”

“Oh, come, you know you have legions of...”

“Of acquaintances yes,” interpolated Nancy swiftly. “It is my fault. I do not make friends easily, and lately...”

“Yes, and lately?” asked Goddard, as she hesitated.

“I have noticed a change in my acquaintances. Oh, nothing tangible; but there is a coolness in their greeting, and I hear innuendoes.”

“What do you care? Women will say anything when jealous, which I suspect is the cause of their behavior. Hasn’t your mirror told you that?” and Goddard smiled, as he looked with admiration at her winsome face.

“It is not always the women who throw the first stone, Major,” again Nancy hesitated. “There is a man in Washington he chose to consider himself in love with me, and because I did not encourage his suit he he insinuates ”

“The beast! Why don’t you tell him he is a liar and a coward?”

“Because I am only a woman.”

“I wish you would give me the right to protect you,” whispered Goddard, carried away by the wistful appeal in her large, eloquent eyes.

“Major Goddard,” Nancy drew back, frightened by the intensity of his manner. “This is very wrong. You you forget we have not known each other long.”

“I am getting on as fast as I can,” retorted Goddard sturdily; his heart thumping as he saw her confusion. “Miss Newton Nancy I mean every word I have said. Tell me that scoundrel’s name!”

Unconsciously Goddard raised his voice, and Miss Metoaca awoke from her slumbers, which had long exceeded the “forty winks.” That limit existed only in her imagination.

“Well, young people, are you hungry?” to attract Goddard’s attention she prodded him with her umbrella. “Suppose we open our lunch basket.”

Reluctantly Goddard rose and assisted Miss Metoaca in handing the sandwiches, cakes, and cold coffee to Nancy. They did full justice to the good things provided by Miss Metoaca’s excellent cook, and lingered over the improvised lunch table. Finally Nancy commenced putting the remains of the lunch into the hamper just as the train reached the railroad bridge which spanned the Potomac at the juncture of the Shenandoah River.

As the train came to a stop before the depot at Harper’s Ferry their car was surrounded by a squad of soldiers, and a lieutenant of infantry swung on board the forward platform and consulted with the conductor.

“There’s the party,” said the latter, pointing through the open door to Miss Metoaca and Nancy, who were sitting together. The officer stepped into the car and addressed them.

“Miss Newton?” he asked, touching his cap, “and Miss Nancy Newton, from Washington?”

“Yes, sir,” said Miss Metoaca. “What then?”

“I have orders to detain you both in Harper’s Ferry. Kindly follow me,” and he turned as if to leave the car.

“By whose order, and under what charge?” asked Goddard hotly, stepping in front of the two indignant women.

“Are you Major Goddard, of the th United States cavalry?” demanded the younger officer.

“I am.”

“General Stevenson received orders by telegraph from Washington to detain these ladies here on their arrival. I do not know the charge, Major,” replied the lieutenant courteously.

“How long do you propose keeping us here?” asked Nancy, slowly recovering from her astonishment.

“Until further orders are received from Washington.”

“I haven’t the faintest intention of staying here,” announced Miss Metoaca, with rising indignation. “We have passes from President Lincoln to go to Winchester, and to Winchester I am going.”

The lieutenant shook his head. “These orders supersede your passes. You will both have to come with me.”

“Indeed?” Miss Metoaca settled herself comfortably in her seat. “Then, young man, you will have the pleasure of carrying me; for I do not intend to walk out of this car until I reach my proper destination.”

The lieutenant was equal to the occasion. “Go forward, conductor,” he ordered, “and tell the engineer to back this car on a siding in the yard, then uncouple it from the train. Sergeant, conduct these passengers,” indicating the men who had gathered about them, “into the next car.”

“Wait,” called Nancy, and the conductor stopped. “I am sure this extraordinary order can be satisfactorily explained; so let us go quietly with this officer, Aunt Metoaca. We must be dignified under our arrest.”

“Dignity? Who cares about dignity when one’s personal liberty is in question? I decline to leave this seat.”

Nancy bent and whispered rapidly in her aunt’s ear. At first her communication was not taken in good part; then the spinster’s face cleared, and she rose.

“I will come with you,” she volunteered graciously. “Go on ahead, Lieutenant.”

Bewildered by her sudden change of front, the young officer led the way to the door, followed by both women, Goddard, and the sergeant. As Miss Metoaca stepped from the car the guard closed round them. The conductor deposited their hand luggage on the platform. “All aboard!” he shouted; then signaled to his engineer, and with a rattle and roar the belated train thundered out of the station.

“Where do you propose taking these ladies?” demanded Goddard.

“To the waiting room. They are to be detained here under guard until an officer arrives from Washington on a special train to examine them.”

“Do you know who this officer is?”

“Captain Lloyd, of the Secret Service. In there, ladies.” He opened the door of the empty waiting room, and with flashing eyes and heightened color Miss Metoaca and Nancy disappeared inside the door. Goddard started to follow them, but the lieutenant laid a detaining hand on his arm as he closed the door. “Will you come with me, Major. I have orders not to allow you to hold communication with the ladies.”

Goddard stopped as if shot and glared at the embarrassed officer. The silent passenger, who had carefully remained in the background during the scene in the car, was following the two men, intent on listening to their conversation, and he bumped into Goddard when he stopped so abruptly. Goddard instantly turned and collared him.

“What the devil!” giving vent to his rage. “Why, Symonds,” releasing the Secret Service agent. “What brings you here?”

“Captain Lloyd’s orders, sir,” and Symonds saluted respectfully.