XXV. — THE APPOINTMENT.
As I entered, Mr. Nighthawk rose politely, without exhibiting the least mark of astonishment.
“Good evening, colonel,” he said, smiling, “I am glad to see you.”
“And I, never more surprised to see any one than you, here, Nighthawk!”
“Why so, colonel?”
I could not help laughing at his air of mild inquiry.
“Did I not leave you at our head-quarters?”
“That was two days ago, colonel.”
“And this is your residence, perhaps?”
“I have no residence, colonel; but am here, temporarily, on a little matter of business.”
“Ah! a matter of business!”
“I think it might be called so, colonel.”
“Which it would be indiscreet to reveal to me, however. That is a pity, for I am terribly curious, my dear Nighthawk!”
Nighthawk looked at me benignly, with a philanthropic smile.
“I have not the least objection to informing you, colonel. You are a gentleman of discretion, and have another claim on my respect.”
“What is that?”
“You are a friend of Colonel Mohun’s.”
“A very warm one.”
“Then you can command me; and I will tell you at once that I am awaiting the advance of General Grant.”
“Ah! Now I begin to understand.”
“I was sure you would at the first word I uttered, colonel. General Grant will cross the Rapidan to-night—by to-morrow evening his whole force will probably be over—and I expect to procure some important information before I return to General Stuart. To you I am Mr. Nighthawk, an humble friend of the cause, employed in secret business,—to General Grant I shall be an honest farmer, of Union opinions, who has suffered from the depredations of his troops, and goes to head-quarters for redress. You see they have already stripped me of every thing,” continued Mr. Nighthawk, waving his arm and smiling; “not a cow, a hog, a mule, or a mouthful of food has been left me. They have destroyed the very furniture of my modest dwelling, and I am cast, a mere pauper, on the cold charities of the world!”
Mr. Nighthawk had ceased smiling, and looked grave; while it was I who burst into laughter. His eyes were raised toward heaven, with an expression of meek resignation; he spread out both hands with the eloquence of Mr. Pecksniff; and presented the appearance of a virtuous citizen accepting meekly the most trying misfortunes.
When I had ceased laughing, I said:—
“I congratulate you on your histrionic abilities, Nighthawk. They deserve to be crowned with success. But how did you discover this house?”
“I was acquainted with its former owner, Mrs. Parkins. She was a sister of a friend of mine, whom I think you have seen, colonel.”
“What friend?”
“His name is Swartz, colonel.”
“Not the Federal spy?”
“The same, colonel.”
“Whom we saw last in the house between Carlisle and Gettysburg?”
“I saw him the other day,” returned Mr. Nighthawk, smiling sweetly.
“Is it possible!”
“Near Culpeper Court-House, colonel. And, to let you into a little secret, I expect to see him to-night.”
I looked at the speaker with bewilderment.
“That man will be here!”
“If he keeps his appointment, colonel.”
“You have an appointment?”
“Yes, colonel.”
“In this house?”
“To-night.”
“With what object, in heaven’s name!”
Nighthawk hesitated for some moments before replying.
“The fact is, colonel,” he said, “that I inadvertently mentioned my appointment with Swartz without reflecting how singular it must appear to you, unless I gave you some explanation. But I am quite at my ease with you—you are a friend of Colonel Mohun’s—and I will explain, as much of my business as propriety will permit. To be brief, I am anxious to procure a certain document in Swartz’s possession.”
“A certain document?” I said, looking intently at the speaker.
“Exactly, colonel.”
“Which Swartz has?”
“Precisely, colonel.”
“And which he stole from the papers of Colonel Darke on the night of Mohun’s combat with Darke, in the house near Carlisle?”
Mr. Nighthawk looked keenly at me, in turn.
“Ah! you know that!” he said, quickly.
“I saw him steal it, through the window, while the woman’s back was turned.”
“I am deeply indebted to you, colonel,” said Mr. Nighthawk, gravely, “for informing me of this fact, which, I assure you, is important. Swartz swore to me that he had the paper, and had procured it in that manner, but I doubted seriously whether he was not deceiving me. He is a very consummate rascal, knows the value of that document, and my appointment with him to-night is with an eye to its purchase from him.”
“Do you think he will come?”
“I think so. He would sell his soul for gold.”
“And that woman? he seems to be her friend.”
“He would sell her for silver!”
After uttering which bon mot, Mr. Nighthawk smiled.
This man puzzled me beyond expression. His stealthy movements were strange enough—it was singular to meet him in this lonely house—but more singular still was the business which had brought him. What was that paper? Why did Nighthawk wish to secure it? I gave up the inquiry in despair.
“Well,” I said, “I will not remain longer; I might scare off your friend, and to eaves-drop is out of the question, even if you were willing that I should be present.”
“In fact, colonel, I shall probably discuss some very private matters with my friend Swartz, so that—”
“You prefer I should go.”
Mr. Nighthawk smiled; he was too polite to say “yes.”
“You are not afraid to meet your friend in this lonely place?” I said, rising.
“Not at all, colonel.”
“You are armed?”
Mr. Nighthawk opened his coat, and showed me a brace of revolvers.
“I have these; but they are unnecessary, colonel.”
“Unnecessary?”
“I have an understanding with Swartz, and he with me.”
“What is that?”
“That we shall not employ the carnal weapon; only destroy each other by superior generalship.”
“You speak in enigmas, Nighthawk!”
“And yet, my meaning is very simple. If I can have Swartz arrested and hung, or he me, it is all fair. But we have agreed not to fight.”
“So, if you caught him to-night, you could have him hung as a spy?”
“Yes, colonel; but nothing would induce me to betray him.”
“Ah!”
“I have given him my parol, that he shall have safe conduct!”
I laughed, bade Nighthawk good-bye, and left him smiling as I had found him. In ten minutes I was again on the Brock road, riding on through the darkness, between the impenetrable thickets.