"The subject upon which we have called you is not new to us nor to you," said the Secretary in expressionless tones. "We revert to the question of a spy—a woman. It is now known that it was a woman who stole the important papers from the office of the President. The secret service of General Winder has learned that she has been in this city all the while—that is, until the last night or two."
He paused here a few moments as if he would mark the effect of his words, and his eyes and those of Prescott met. Prescott tried to read what he saw there—to pierce the subconscious depths, and he felt as if he perceived the soul of this man—a mighty ambition under a silky exterior, and a character in which a dual nature struggled. Then his eyes wandered a moment to Wood. Both he and Sefton were mountaineers in the beginning, and what a contrast now! But he stood waiting for the Secretary to proceed.
"It has become known to us," continued the Secretary, "that this dangerous spy—dangerous because of the example she has set, and because of the connections that she may have here—has just escaped from the city. She was concealed in the house of Miss Charlotte Grayson, a well-known Northern sympathizer—a house which you are now known, Captain Prescott, to have visited more than once."
Prescott looked again into the Secretary's eyes and a flash of intelligence passed between them. He read once more in their depths the desire of this man to torture him—to drag him to the edge of the abyss, but not to push him over.
"There is a suspicion—or perhaps I ought to say a fear—that you have given aid and comfort to the enemy, this spy, Captain Prescott," said the Secretary.
Prescott's eyes flashed with indignant fire.
"I have been wounded five times in the service of the Confederacy," he replied, "and I have here an arm not fully recovered from the impact of a Northern bullet." He turned his left arm as he spoke. "If that was giving aid and comfort to the enemy, then I am guilty."
A murmur of approval arose. He had made an impression.
"It was by my side at Chancellorsville that he received one of his wounds," said Wood in his peculiar slow, drawling tones.
Prescott shot him a swift and grateful glance.