“A thief is here,” answered another voice, which, somehow, sounded familiar.
“A thief? Where?”
“I believe he is in the cellar.”
“After him, men. He must not escape. There has already been too much looting here.”
There was the tramping of half a dozen soldiers on the floor overhead, and then the flash of a bull’s-eye lantern. As the light reached Henry he staggered up the cedar stairs.
“Ha! here he is!”
“Up with your hands, you rascal, or we’ll fire on you!”
“Don’t fire,” gasped the young soldier. “I—I am no thief.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“I was after a thief. I followed——”