It was eleven o’clock at night and when they arrived at the house occupied by “G. D.” they discovered a light burning in the second-story room. It was evident that the spy was continuing his habits of industry. The Chief gained admission without any difficulty, and, followed by the others, made for the upper room. The supposed Alexander Cree was sitting at his desk engaged in writing. He seemed surprised at the intrusion, but received his callers politely. Evidently his calling had accustomed him to visits at all hours of the day and night.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “what can I do for you?”
“To start with,” said the spokesman of the invading party, “we would like to have the letter you are writing and all of the documents you have in that desk.”
For the first time he showed surprise. He smiled faintly and then rejoined:
“Perhaps you will let me know the cause of this unexpected visit.”
“Certainly. We have come to arrest you as a spy!”
Cree turned very white. He steadied himself by resting against the side of a bureau. It was some moments before he was able to speak, and then moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue he murmured:
“Who are you, and what authority have you got for talking in this manner?”
“It’s no use, young man,” was the quick retort, “we have the goods on you, and if you have any doubt about it we can show you the letter which you mailed to Montreal and which has been intercepted by the United States Government.”
The spy looked at the speaker helplessly. His white face contrasted sharply with his black moustache. For a moment he swayed uncertainly, and fell to the floor in a heap. He was a most abject spectacle, and it was necessary to carry him out of the room. That night he spent in a cell, facing a charge of treason against the Government, and wondering what his fate would be.