Ned's eyes suddenly flashed and his figure unconsciously stiffened.
"I thought so!" the officer laughed.
The door was closed and the guard stepped before it.
And then, with quick sure touch as if he saw the object of his search through the flesh, the detective lifted Ned Vaughan's upper lip and drew from between his lips and teeth the long, thin, delicately folded tinfoil within which lay the tissue drawing of the fort.
The drumhead court-martial which followed was brief and formal. The prisoner refused to give his name or any clue to his identity. He was condemned to be hanged as a spy at noon the next day and locked in a cell in the Old Capitol Prison.
On his way they passed Senator Winter's house. Six hours' delay just to look into her face had cost him his life, but his one hopeless regret now was that he had failed to see her.
Betty Winter read the account of the sensational arrest and death sentence. He had been arrested at the trysting place he had appointed. She dropped the paper with a cry and hurried to the White House. She thanked God for the loving heart that dwelt there.
Without a moment's hesitation the President ordered a suspension of sentence and directed that the papers be sent to him for review.
In vain Stanton raged. He shook his fist in the calm, rugged face at last:
"Dare to interfere with the final execution of this sentence and I shall resign in five minutes after you issue that pardon! I'll stand for some things—but not for this—I warn you!"