“Without leaving you their adieux?”
“No, they were at least polite. They left me a roll of bank notes—more than I thought they had about them.”
“You had searched them, of course, when they were lying in your cart,” said Mohun.
Swartz smiled.
“I acknowledge it, general—I forgot to mention the fact. I had found only a small amount in the gentleman’s pocket-book—nothing on the lady—and I never could understand where he or she had concealed about their persons such a considerable amount of money—though I suppose, in a secret pocket.”
Mohun nodded.
“That is often done—well, that was the last of them?”
Swartz smiled, and glanced at Mohun.
“What is the use of any concealment, my dear Mr. Swartz?” said the latter. “You may as well tell the whole story, as you have gone this far.”
“You are right, general, and I will finish. The war broke out, and I sold my truck patch, and invested in a better business—that is, running the blockade across the Potomac, and smuggling in goods for the Richmond market. On one of these trips, I met, plump, in the streets of Washington, no less a person than the lady whom I had rescued. She was richly dressed, and far more beautiful, but there was no mistaking her. I spoke to her; she recognized me, took me to her house, and here I found the gentleman, dressed in a fine new uniform. He was changed too—his wound had long healed, he was stout and strong, but I knew him, too, at a glance. Well, I spent the evening, and when I left the house had accepted an offer made me to combine a new business with that of blockade runner.”