Pluto stared at him in stupid wonder, and Judithe arose from her chair.
“Go, by all means, Pluto,” she said, quietly, “Captain Masterson’s errand is, no doubt, more important than a lady’s could be,” and she moved towards the door.
“I apologize, Madame Caron, for countermanding your orders,” said Masterson, quickly, “but circumstances make it necessary that no person and no paper leave this room until this man’s identity is determined,” and he pointed to the messenger. “Do you know him?”
“Certainly I know him; he is in my employ, the sailing master of my yacht.”
Pluto came in again and announced, “Mahs Kenneth 296 not in the house; he gone somewhere out to the quarters.” Masterson received the news with evident annoyance. There was a moment of indecision as he glanced from the stranger to Monroe, who had sauntered through the open window, and across to Judithe, who gave him one glance which he interpreted to mean she wished he was somewhere else. But he only smiled and––remained.
“There is only one thing left for me to do in Colonel McVeigh’s absence,” said Masterson, addressing the group in general, “and that is to investigate this affair myself, as every minute’s delay may mean danger. Madame Caron, we are forced to believe this man is a spy.” Judithe smiled incredulously, and he watched her keenly as he continued: “More, he is associated with a clever French creole called Louise Trouvelot, who says she is your maid and who is at present under surveillance in Savannah, and they both are suspected of being only agents for a very accomplished spy, who has been doing dangerous work in the South for many months. I explain so you will comprehend that investigation is necessary. This man,” and he pointed to the other stranger, who now stepped inside, “has followed him from the coast under special orders.”
“What a dangerous character you have become!” said Judithe, turning to her messenger with an amused smile. “I feared that beard would make you look like a pirate, but I never suspected this of you––and you say,” she added, turning to Masterson, “that my poor maid is also under suspicion? It is ridiculous, abominable! I must see to it at once. The girl will be frightened horribly among such evidences of your Southern chivalry,” and she shrugged her shoulders with a little gesture of disdain. “And what, pray, do you intend doing with my sailor here?”
The man had been staring at Masterson as though astounded 297 at the accusations. But he did not speak, and the Confederate agent never took his eyes off him.
“Ask him his name,” he suggested, softly, to Masterson, who took paper and pencil from the desk and handed it to the suspect. “Write your name there,” he said, and when it was quickly, good naturedly done, the self-appointed judge read it and turned to Judithe.
“Madame Caron, will you please tell me this man’s name?” and the messenger himself stared when she replied, haughtily: