Secret Service

“The Dumonts of West Virginia?” interrupted Mrs. Varney, who was now keenly attentive to all that was said.

“The very same.”

“Why, their father is a General in the Yankee Army.”

“Yes; and they are in the Federal Secret Service, and they are the boldest, most desperately determined men in the whole Yankee Army. They’ve already done us more harm than an army corps.”

“Yes?”

“They have volunteered to do some desperate piece of work here in Richmond, we have learned. We have close descriptions of both these men, but we have never been able to get our hands on either of them until last night.”

“Have you captured them?”

“We’ve got one of them, and it won’t take long to get the other,” said Arrelsford, in a fierce, truculent whisper.

“The one you caught, was he here in Richmond?” asked Mrs. Varney, greatly affected by the other’s overwhelming emotion.

“No, he was brought in last night with a lot of men we captured in a little sortie.”

“Taken prisoner?”

“Yes, but without resistance.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He let himself be taken. That’s one of their tricks for getting into our lines when they want to bring a message or give some signal.”

“You mean that they deliberately allow themselves to be taken to Libby Prison?”

“Yes, damn them!” said Arrelsford harshly. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, but – ”

Mrs. Varney waved her hand as if Mr. Arrelsford’s oaths, like his presence, were nothing to her.

“We were on the lookout for this man, and we spotted him pretty quickly. I gave orders not to search him, and not to have his clothes taken away from him, but to put him in with the others and keep the closest watch on him that was ever kept on a man. We knew from his coming in that his brother must be here in the city, and he’d send a message to him the first chance he got.”

“But Jonas, how could he – ”

“Easily enough. He comes down to the prison to sell things to the prisoners with other negroes. We let him pass in, watching him as we watch them all. He fools around a while, until he gets a chance to brush against this man Dumont. My men are keeping that fellow under close observation, and they saw a piece of paper pass between them. By my orders they gave no sign. We want to catch the man to whom he is to deliver the paper. He has the paper on him now.”

“I will never believe it.”

“It is true, and that is the reason for these men on the back porch that you see. I have put others at every window at the back of the house. He can’t get away; he will have to give it up.”

“And the man he gives it to will be the man you want?” said Mrs. Varney.

“Yes; but I can’t wait long. If that nigger sees my men or hears a sound, he will destroy it before we can jump in on him. I want the man, but I want the paper, too. Excuse me.” He stepped to the back window. “Corporal!” he said softly. The long porch window was open on account of the balmy air of the night, and a soldier, tattered and dusty, instantly appeared and saluted. “How are things now?” asked Arrelsford.

“All quiet now, sir.”

“Very good,” said Arrelsford. “I was afraid he would get away. We’ve got to get the paper. If we have the paper, perhaps we can get the man. It is the key to the game they are trying to play against us, and without it the man is helpless.”

“No, no,” urged Mrs. Varney. “The man he is going to give it to, get him.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” assented Arrelsford; “but that paper might give us a clue. If not, I’ll make the nigger tell. Damn him, I’ll shoot it out of him. How quickly can you get at him from that door, Corporal?”

“In no time at all, sir. It’s through a hallway and across the dining-room. He is in the pantry.”

“Well,” said Arrelsford, “take two men, and – ”

“Wait,” said Mrs. Varney; “I still doubt your story, but I am glad to help. Why don’t you keep your men out of sight and let me send for him here, and then – ”

Arrelsford thought a moment.

“That may be the better plan,” he admitted. “Get him in here and, while you are talking to him, they can seize him from behind. He won’t be able to do a thing. Do you hear, Corporal?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep your men out of sight; get them back there in the hall, and while we’re making him talk, send a man down each side and pin him. Hold him stiff. He mustn’t destroy any paper he’s got.”

The Corporal raised his hand in salute and left the room. The men disappeared from the windows, and the back porch looked as empty as before. The whole discussion and the movements of the men had been practically noiseless.

“Now, Mr. Arrelsford, are you ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Varney rang the bell on the instant. The two watched each other intently, and in a moment old Martha appeared at the door.

“Did you-all ring, ma’am?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Varney; “I want some one to send to the hospital.”

“Luthah is out heah, ma’am.”

“Luther? He’s too small, I don’t want a boy.”

“Well, den, Jonas – ”

“Yes, Jonas will do; tell him to come in here immediately.”

“Yas’m.”

“Perhaps you had better sit down, Mrs. Varney,” said Arrelsford; “and if you will permit me, I will stand back by the front window yonder.”

“That will be just as well,” said Mrs. Varney, seating herself near the table, while Arrelsford, making no effort at concealment, stepped over to the window. Old Jonas entered the door just as they had placed themselves. He bowed low before Mrs. Varney, entirely unsuspicious of anything out of the ordinary until his eye fell on the tall form of Arrelsford. He glanced furtively at the man for a moment, stiffened imperceptibly, but, as there was nothing else to do, came on.

“Jonas,” said Mrs. Varney, her voice low and level in spite of her agitation.

“Yes’m.”

“Have you any idea why I sent for you?”

“Ah heahd you was gwine send me to de hossiple, ma’am.”

“Oh, then Martha told you,” said Mrs. Varney.

While the little dialogue was taking place, Mr. Arrelsford had made a signal, and the Corporal and two men had entered the room silently, and now swiftly advanced to the side of the still unobserving old negro.

“She didn’t ezzactly say whut you – ” he began.

The next instant the two men fell upon him. He might have made some struggle, although it would have been useless. The windows were instantly filled with men, and an order would have called them into the room. He was an old man, and the two soldiers that seized him were young. He was too surprised to fight, and stood as helpless as a lamb about to be slaughtered, his face fairly grey with sudden terror. The Corporal flung open the butler’s faded livery coat, and for the moment Jonas, menaced now by a search, and knowing what the result would be, struggled furiously, but the men soon mastered him, and the Corporal, continuing his search, presently drew from an inside pocket a small folded paper.

“Jonas! Jonas!” said Mrs. Varney, in bitter disappointment; “how could you?”

“I told you so,” said Mr. Arrelsford truthfully, triumphantly, and most aggravatingly under the circumstances, taking the folded paper. “Corporal,” he added, “while I read this, see if he has got anything more.”

A further search, however, revealed nothing. Arrelsford had scarcely completed the reading of the brief note when the Corporal reported:

“That is all he has, sir.”

Arrelsford nodded. The men had released Jonas, but stood by his side, and the Secret Service Agent now approached him.

“Who was this for?” he asked sharply and tensely.

The negro stared at him stolidly and silently, his face ashen with fright.

“Look here,” continued the other, “if you don’t tell me it is going to make it pretty bad for you.”

The words apparently made no further impression upon the servant. Arrelsford tried another tack. He turned to Mrs. Varney, who was completely dismayed at this breach of trust by one who had been attached to the family fortunes for so many years.

“I am right sorry, ma’am,” he said very distinctly, “but it looks like we have got to shoot him.”

“Oh!” cried Mrs. Varney at that. “Jonas, speak!”

But even to that appeal he remained silent. Arrelsford waited a moment and then:

“Corporal,” he said; “take him outside and get it out of him. String him up until he talks. But don’t let him yell or give any alarm; gag him until he’s ready to tell. You understand?”

The Corporal nodded and turned toward the hall door.

“Not that way,” said Arrelsford; “take him to the back of the house and keep him quiet, whatever you do. Nobody must know about this, not a soul.”

“Very good, sir,” said the Corporal, saluting. He gave an order to the men, and they marched Jonas off, swiftly and silently. Nothing that had been said or done had disturbed the women across the hall. Mrs. Varney glanced up at the unfolded piece of paper in Mr. Arrelsford’s hand. He was smiling triumphantly.

“Was there anything in that?” she asked.

“Yes, there was. We know the trick they meant to play.”

“But not the man who was to play it?”

“I didn’t say that, ma’am.”

“Does it give you a clue to it?”

“It does.”

“Will it answer?”

“It will.”

“Then you know – ”

“As plain as if we had his name.”

“Thank God for that,” exclaimed the woman. “May I see it?”

Arrelsford hesitated.

“I see no reason why you should not.”

He extended his hand toward her, and she glanced at the paper.

“Attack to-night. Plan 3. Use telegraph!” she read. She looked up.

“What does it mean?” she asked tremulously.

“They are to attack to-night, and the place where they are to strike is indicated by Plan 3.”

“Plan 3?” questioned the woman.

“Yes; the man this is sent to will know what is meant by that. It has been arranged beforehand, and – ”

“But the last words,” said Mrs. Varney. “Use telegraph?”

“That is plain, too. He is to use our War Department Telegraph and send some false order to weaken that position, the one they indicate by ‘Plan 3,’ so that when they assault it, they will find it feebly defended or not at all, and break through and come down on the city and swamp us.”

“But,” exclaimed Mrs. Varney in deepest indignation and excitement, “the man who was to do this? Who is he? There is nothing about him that I can see.”

“But I can see something.”

“What? Where?”

“In the words, ‘Use Telegraph.’ We know every man on the telegraph service, and every one of them is true. There is some one who will try to get into that service if the game is carried out, and – ”

“Then he will be the man,” said Mrs. Varney.

“Yes; there aren’t so many men in Richmond that can do that. It isn’t every man that’s expert enough – Mrs. Varney, Jonas brought this paper to your house, and – ”

“To my house?” exclaimed the woman in great astonishment, and then she stopped, appalled by a sudden thought which came to her.

“At the same time,” said Arrelsford, “your daughter has been trying to get an appointment for some one on the telegraph service. Perhaps she could give us some idea, and – ”

Mrs. Varney rose and stood as if rooted to the spot.

“You mean – ”

“Captain Thorne,” said Arrelsford impressively.

CHAPTER VI

THE CONFIDENCE OF EDITH VARNEY

Mrs. Varney had, of course, divined toward whom Arrelsford’s suspicion pointed. She had been entirely certain before he had mentioned the name that the alleged spy or traitor could be none other than her daughter’s friend; indeed, it would not be stretching the truth to say that Thorne was her friend as well as her daughter’s, and her keen mother’s wit was not without suspicion that if he were left to himself, or if he were permitted to follow his own inclinations, the relation between himself and the two women might have been a nearer one still and a dearer one, yet, nevertheless, the shocking announcement came to her with sudden, sharp surprise.

We may be perfectly certain, absolutely sure, of a coming event, but when it does occur its shock is felt in spite of previous assurance. We may watch the dying and pray for death to end anguish, and know that it is coming, but when the last low breath has gone, it is as much of a shock to us as if it had not been expected, or even dreamed of.

The announcement of the name was shattering to her composure. She knew very well why Arrelsford would rejoice to find Thorne guilty of anything, and she would have discounted any ordinary accusation that he brought against him, but the train of the circumstances was so complete in this case and the coincidences so unexplainable upon any other theory, the evidence so convincing, that she was forced to admit that Arrelsford was fully justified in his suspicion, and that without regard to the fact that he was a rejected suitor of her daughter’s.

Surprise, horror, and conviction lodged in her soul, and were mirrored in her face. Arrelsford saw and divined what was passing in her mind, and, eager to strike while the iron was hot, bent forward open-mouthed to continue his line of reasoning and denunciation, but Mrs. Varney checked him. She laid her finger upon her lips and pointed with the other hand to the front of the house.

“What!” exclaimed the Confederate Secret Service agent; “is he there?”

Mrs. Varney nodded.

“He may be. He went out to the summerhouse some time ago to wait for Edith; they were going over to Caroline Mitford’s later on. I saw him go down the walk.”

“Do you suppose my men could have alarmed him?” asked Arrelsford, greatly perturbed at this unexpected development.

“I don’t know. They were all at the back windows. They didn’t seem to make much noise. I suppose not. You have a description of the man for whom the letter was intended?”

“Yes, at the office; but I remember it perfectly.”

“Does it fit this – this Captain Thorne?”

“You might as well know sooner as later, Mrs. Varney, that there is no Captain Thorne. This is an assumed name, and the man you have in your house is Lewis Dumont.”

“Do you mean that he came here to – ”

“He came to this town, to this house,” said Arrelsford vindictively, his voice still subdued but full of fury, “knowing your position, the influence of your name, your husband’s rank and service, for the sole purpose of getting recognised as a reputable person, so that he would be less likely to be suspected. He has corrupted your servants – you saw old Jonas – and he has contrived to enlist the powerful support of your daughter. His aim is the War Department Telegraph Office. He is friends with the men at that office. What else he hasn’t done or what he has, the Lord only knows. But Washington is not the only place where they have a secret service; we have one at Richmond. Whatever game he plays, it is one that two can play; and now it is my play.”

The patter of light footsteps was heard on the stairs, a flash of white seen through the open door into the hall dimly lighted, and Edith Varney came rapidly, almost breathlessly, into the room. She had changed her dress, and if Caroline Mitford had been there, she would have known certainly from the little air of festivity about her clean but faded and darned, sprigged and flowered white muslin frock that she was going to accept the invitation. In one hand she held her hat, which she swung carelessly by its long faded ribbons, and in the other that official envelope which had come to her from the President of the Confederacy. She called to her mother as she ran down.

“Mamma!” Her face was white and her voice pitched high, fraught with excited intensity. “Under my window, in the rosebushes, at the back of the house! They’re hurting somebody frightfully, I am sure!”

She burst into the room with the last word. Mrs. Varney stared at her, understanding fully who, in all probability, was being roughly dealt with in the rosebushes, and realising what a terrible effect such disclosures as she had listened to would produce upon the mind of the girl.

“Come,” said Edith, turning rapidly toward the rear window; “we must stop it.”

Mrs. Varney stood as if rooted to the floor.

“Well,” said the girl, in great surprise, “if you aren’t coming, I will go myself.”

These words awakened her mother to action.

“Wait, Edith,” she said.

Now, and for the first time, Edith noticed Mr. Arrelsford, who had stepped back and away from her mother. She replied to his salutation with a cold and distant bow. The man’s face flushed; he turned away.

“But, mamma, the men outside,” persisted the girl.

“Wait, my dear,” said her mother, taking her gently by the arm; “I must tell you something. It will be a great shock to you, I am afraid.”

“What is it, mamma? Has father or – ”

“No, no, not that,” said Mrs. Varney. “A man we have trusted as a friend has shown himself a conspirator, a spy, a traitor.”

“Who is it?” cried the girl, at the same time instinctively divining – how or why she could not tell, and that thought smote her afterward – to whom the reference was being made.

Mrs. Varney naturally hesitated to say the name. Arrelsford, carried away by his passion for the girl and his hatred for Thorne, was not so reticent. He stepped toward her.

“It is the gentleman, Miss Varney, whose attentions you have been pleased to accept in the place of mine,” he burst out bitterly.

His manner and his meaning were unmistakable. The girl stared at him with a white, haughty face, in spite of her trembling lips. Mechanically she thrust the envelope with the commission into her belt, and confronted the man who loved her and whom she did not love, who accused of this hateful thing the man whom, in the twinkling of an eye, she realised she did love. Then the daughter turned to her mother.

“Is it Mr Arrelsford who makes this accusation?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Arrelsford, again answering for Mrs. Varney, “since you wish to know. From the first I have had my suspicions about this – ”

But Edith did not wait for him to finish his sentence. She turned away from him with loathing, and moved rapidly toward the front window.

“Where are you going!” asked Arrelsford.

“For Captain Thorne.”

“Not now,” he said peremptorily.

The colour flamed in the girl’s cheek again.

“Mr. Arrelsford, you have said something to me about Captain Thorne. Are you afraid to say it to him?”

“Miss Varney,” answered Arrelsford hotly, “if you – if you – ”

“Edith,” said Mrs. Varney, “Mr. Arrelsford has good reasons for not meeting Captain Thorne now.”

“I should think he had,” returned the girl swiftly; “for a man who made such a charge to his face would not live to make it again.”

“My dear, my dear,” said her mother, gently but firmly, “you don’t understand, you don’t – ”

“Mamma,” said the girl, “this man has left his desk in the War Department so that he can have the pleasure of persecuting me.”

Both the mother and the rejected suitor noticed her identification of herself with Captain Thorne in the pronoun “me,” one with sinking heart and the other with suppressed fury.

“He has never attempted anything active in the service before,” continued Edith, “and when I ask him to face the man he accuses, he turns like a coward!”

“Mrs. Varney, if she thinks – ”

“I think nothing,” said the girl furiously; “I know that Captain Thorne’s character is above suspicion.”

Arrelsford sneered.

“His character! Where did he come from – what is he?”

“For that matter,” said Edith intensely, “where did you come from, and what are you?”

“That is not the question,” was the abrupt reply.

“Neither,” said the girl, “is it the question who he is. If it were, I’d answer it – I’d tell you that he is a soldier who has fought and been wounded in service, while you – ”

Arrelsford made a violent effort to control himself under this bitter jibing and goading, and to his credit, succeeded in part.

“We are not so sure of that, Miss Varney,” he said more coolly.

“But I am sure,” answered the girl. “Why, he brought us letters from Stonewall Jackson himself.”

“Has it occurred to you that General Jackson was dead before his letters were presented?” asked Arrelsford quickly.

“What does that signify if he wrote them before he was killed?”

“Nothing certainly,” assented the other, “if he wrote them.”

“The signatures and the letters were verified.”

“They may have been written for some one else and this Thorne may have possessed himself of them by fraud, or – ”

“Mr. Arrelsford,” cried the girl, more and more angry, “if you mean – ”

“My dear child,” said Mrs Varney, “you don’t understand. They have proofs of a conspiracy. The Yankees are going to try to break through our lines to-night, some one is going to use the telegraph, and two men in the Northern Secret Service have been sent here to do this work. One is in Libby Prison. Our faithful Jonas has been corrupted. He went there to-day and took a message from one and brought it here to deliver it to the other. They are trying to make him speak out there to tell who – Our country, our cause, is at stake.”

“Is this Mr. Arrelsford’s story?” asked the daughter stubbornly, apparently entirely unconvinced.

“No; these are facts. We had Jonas in here,” answered her mother; “caught him off his guard, and found the incriminating paper on him.”

“But he has not said it was for – ” persisted Edith desperately.

“Not yet,” whispered Mr. Arrelsford, “but he will. You may be sure of that; we have means to – Oh, Corporal,” he broke off eagerly, looking toward the door where the Corporal stood, his hand at salute. “Well, speak out, what does he say?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“What have you done with him?”

“Strung him up three times, and – ”

“Well, string him up again,” snarled Arrelsford. “If he won’t speak, shoot it out of him, kill the dog. We don’t need his evidence any way, there’s enough without it.”

“There is nothing,” said Edith tersely.

“By midnight,” answered Arrelsford, “you shall have all the proof – ”

“There is no proof to have,” persisted the girl.

“I will show it to you at the telegraph office, if you dare to go with me.”

“Dare! I will go anywhere, even with you, for that – ”

“I will call for you in half an hour then,” said Arrelsford, going toward the door.

“Wait,” interrupted Edith; “what are you going to do?”

“I am going to let him get this paper,” said Arrelsford, coming back to the table. “He will know what they want him to do, and then we’ll see him try to do it.”

“You are going to spy on him, are you?”

“I am going to prove what he is.”

“Then prove it openly at once. It is shameful to let such a suspicion rest upon an honourable man. Let him come in here, and – ”

“It is impossible.”

“Then do something, something, but do it now!” cried the girl. “You will soon know that he is innocent, you must know it. Wait! You say the prisoner in Libby is his brother – that’s what you said – his brother. Bring him here. Go to the prison and bring that man here.”

“What?”

“Let them meet. Bring them face to face, then you can see whether – ”

“You mean bring them together here?”

“Yes.”

“As if the prisoner were trying to escape?”

“Exactly.”

“There is something in that,” said Arrelsford; “when do you suggest – ”

“Now.”

“I am willing to try it, but it depends upon you. Can you keep Thorne here?”

“I can.”

“It won’t take more than half an hour. Be out there on the veranda. When I tap on the glass bring him into this room and leave him alone. And I can rely upon you to give him no hint or sign that we suspect – ”

“Mr. Arrelsford!” said the girl, indignant and haughty, and her mother stepped swiftly toward her, looking at him contemptuously, as if he should have known that such an action would be impossible for either of them.

Arrelsford gazed at them a minute or two, smiled triumphantly, and passed out of the room.

“Mamma, mamma!” moaned the girl, her eyes shut, her hand extended. “Mamma,” she repeated in anguish.

“I am here, Edith dear; I am here,” said Mrs. Varney, coming toward her and taking her tenderly in her arms.

“Do you think – do you think – that he – he could be what they say?” Her hand fell upon the commission in her belt “This commission I got for him this afternoon – ”

“Yes?”

“The commission, you know, from the President, for the Telegraph Service – why, he refused to take it,” her voice rose and rang triumphantly through the room; “he refused to take it! That doesn’t look as if he wanted to use the telegraph to betray us.”