“Yet he condoned this—this——”
“The poltroonery?” I cut in, helping him out. “Yes, in a way. But his way made a just and even-handed discrimination between a brave man and a coward. You will observe that he did not billet me with his own people; he turned me over to Mr. Benedict Arnold. Now will you give me the cold shoulder, Mr. Castner?”
He took time to think about it, regarding me now a bit wistfully, I thought, and again, angrily. It was a test that a tried friend might have balked at, and he was only an acquaintance of a few hours.
“You have neither the face nor the carriage of a coward,” he said at length, speaking slowly. “Moreover, you are from the South, where your kinsmen would brand you for a deed such as you have described. No, Mr. Page, I shall not cold-shoulder you, because I know very well that you have carefully kept back the key to your riddle. Some day you will think well enough of me to let me have it.”
What could I do with this generous, noble-minded fellow who would not believe ill of me on my own word? There seemed to be nothing for it but to take him as he stood; to make the best of his abounding nobility of character and friendly loyalty. Yet it was now all the harder to deceive him and to play upon this very friendship, as I feared I might be obliged to. I have heard of those who are said to pray, sometimes, to be delivered from their friends, and I have always had a hot corner of despising saved for these cold-blooded ones. But now I found myself on the brink of saying the same unthankful prayer in my own behalf.
When we rose from the table, Castner asked me very kindly if I would walk abroad with him, saying that we might visit the fortification, if I wished. But here I laid down a rule which I meant to adhere to: a spy I might be; a spy I surely should be in every way that might in the future prove helpful to our side. But I did not need to make this friendly lieutenant a blind accomplice, and I would not.
So I pleaded my afternoon engagement with the arch traitor, and was glad I had it to plead; and I went to keep it, a little later, leaving Castner to smoke another pipe by himself before the fire in the tavern bar.
Arnold was writing at his table in the front room of the upper suite when his man, who, as I noted, wore the uniform of the new legion, marshaled me in. Though the event proved that I was expected, Arnold went on with his writing without so much as a look for me, and again I had a chance to mark the deepening furrows in his brow and the brooding look in the moody eyes.
When he was quite through he dropped the quill with a sigh and turned to me.
“Well, Mr. Page, you find me serving myself as I can,” he said. “None the less, I will serve you, too, as I may. Will you take a commission in the new legion?”