“Tobias Hawkins,” spoke Ben.
“Excellent,” approved the man. “Once more.”
“A long man with an evil smile; his name is Sugden.”
“Better than ever,” applauded Johnson Quinsey. “It is something indeed to know two such as these, especially,” with a nod of the head, “when they hold such thoughts as I’ve heard them express of you.”
“But,” said Ben, “there were some others, I believe, judging from your tone.”
“A very few, but quite select enough to please any one,” said the man. “You have no need to feel ashamed of the quality of the enemies you have made. A member of Congress or two, a colonel much thought of in certain circles, and some gentlemen of note who are not openly connected with the affairs of the nation.”
“They honor me too much,” said Ben. “But,” in another tone, “as you know, I am summoned to headquarters, and must not delay. At another time I will see you and speak with you on this subject.”
“Another time may not come for many a day,” said the man. “And then, doubtless, it would be too late. What I have to say must be said now if it’s to do you any good, for I ride north at daylight to rejoin Gates.”
Ben looked at the speaker inquiringly; the man’s aspect was grave; indeed, he had all the appearance of one who bore sober tidings. After a little space, Johnson Quinsey resumed:
“To relate in detail all that has come to my knowledge would take more time than you now can give, and, perhaps, would be of no benefit either. So, then, I will tell you what I must tell, in a very few words.” He laid his hand upon the boy’s shoulder. “These men fear you for the things that you know, and to which you alone can testify. There is a plot which is intended to place you in their power. What it is I do not know. But its workings will be secret, and the lure will be one totally unexpected by you.”