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.