[CHAPTER XI.]
OFF THE SCENT.
THE Admiral and the Lieutenant met face to face in the Army and Navy Club at Washington, and each looked as if he were a rogue about to tumble into the clutches of the law. After a moment of mute inquiry of each other's faces the Admiral asked:
"Jermyn, how on earth did you reach here? I thought I left you at Fort Monroe?"
"And I," said Jermyn, "supposed I had left you at Old Point, when I suddenly ran up here on a matter of personal business."
"Ah! Trying to be transferred to some other branch of the service, where there's more chance of promotion? Well, I can't blame you. In time of peace a man must wait a long while for his just deserts, and in time of war he may be killed before they can reach him. 'Tis a queer world."
"It certainly is, or some things in it are very queer."
"Excuse a plain question, please. That letter upon which you and I sketched a day or two ago at the club—was it——"
"Bless my soul, Jermyn, is that letter on your mind too? My dear boy, my sole purpose in hurrying off to Washington last night was to recover that letter. I can't imagine where it is unless our enterprising friend Blogsham took it with him."
"You knew its contents?"