“Never mind, madam,” replied Barclugh, and handing over a sovereign to pay his fare, continued, “I can take care of myself.”
At that instant a burly fellow in the uniform of a Continental walked in.
“Any strangers here to-night, Mrs. Puffer?” came in heavy tones from the soldier.
“There’s one gentleman here, Mr. La Fitte. I believe he can give a good account of himself,” replied the landlady.
“What’s your business here, Mr. La Fitte? Where are you going?” demanded the soldier.
“Here’s my passport, sir,” was the reply, and Barclugh handed out the Colonel’s document.
“You’re the sort of a party we want!” remarked the fellow, as he went to the door and whistled, meanwhile holding his pistol ready and eying Barclugh.
Four of his companions came into the room, and at once the spokesman ordered:
“Fasten his arms, men. He’s a spy.”
Barclugh submitted while wondering why his passport was not sufficient.