At Gage’s headquarters they drew up; dismounting, the officer led Nat past the sentries into a long room where sat the governor, a stout, bluff Englishman in undress uniform.
“Is this the fellow, Pitcairn?” demanded Gage of an immaculately dressed officer across the table from him.
Major Pitcairn surveyed Nat carefully.
“I’ve seen him among the workmen for some months past,” said he. “But I’m not sure of anything else.”
“Ask Lieutenant Chesbrook to step in,” said General Gage to an orderly who stood at the door. “And tell him to bring his friend.”
In a moment the tall naval lieutenant stalked into the apartment, and following him was young Prentiss. Nat met the latter’s eye with a steady, accusing gaze. But the Boston boy did not flinch. He merely gazed back with inquiring interest, nodded and smiled genially.
“Yes,” replied the hawk-nosed lieutenant, glancing at Nat and replying to a question of Major Pitcairn’s. “That is the person.”
“You are quite sure, lieutenant, that he is in sympathy with the rebels?” asked Gage.
“I am positive,” answered Chesbrook.
“And you?” turning to the other.