His brain grew hot with the thought, and he walked about the city, not wishing yet to return to his home. He had been walking, he knew not how long, when a hand fell lightly upon his arm and, turning, he beheld the bland face of Mr. Sefton.
"May I walk a little with you, Captain Prescott?" he said. "Two heads are sometimes better than one."
Prescott was hot alike with his idea and with wrath over his recent ordeal; moreover, he hated secret and underhand parts, and spoke impulsively:
"Mr. Secretary, I have you to thank for this task, and I do not thank you at all!"
"Why not? Most young officers wish a chance for promotion."
"But you set me spying to catch a spy! There are few things in the world that I would rather not do."
"You say 'you set me spying'! My dear sir, it was the Secretary of War, not I."
"Mr. Sefton," exclaimed Prescott angrily, "why should we fence with words any longer? It is you and you alone who are at the bottom of this!"
"Since that is your theory, my dear Captain, what motive would you assign?"
Prescott was slow to wrath, but when moved at last he had little fear of consequences, and it was so with him now. He faced the Secretary and gazed at him steadily, even inquiringly. But, as usual, he read nothing in the bland, unspeaking countenance before him.