rst thought
was for his papers. These were in their pigeon-holes, undisturbed. Two
drawers had been pulled open; one was now half closed, while the other
remained with almost its full length, lying, tipped out, upon the
shelving desk. It was filled with Lynchburg tobacco, a bright-colored,
fragrant brand much affected by pipe-smokers at that time, and an idea
occurred to him. He stepped out into the hall and shouted up the
stairs,--

"Hat!--O-o-o, Hatton! You been here?"

No answer.

Mr. McLean shook his head in perplexity. He and his comrade, Lieutenant
Hatton, were intimates who smoked many a pipe together out of that same
drawer. He had many a time bidden the latter to come in and help
himself whenever he wanted to. Bachelor doors are always open in the
army, and the desk key was generally in the lock. Still it was not like
Hatton to leave things in disorder behind him, even if he were to take
McLean at his word. No! It wasn't Hatton, unless something very
unforeseen had suddenly called him away. Stepping quickly back into the
room he felt a draught of cool air, and saw that the portiere that hung
between the two rooms was bulging slightly toward him. Instantly he
stepped into his bedroom, where all was dark, struck a match, and saw,
the moment its flash illumined surrounding objects, that the one door
he generally kept locked was now ajar. It led into the hall, and
thither strode McLean. Up to this instant not a sound had he heard.
Now, fairly flying up the old, creaky stairs, light as kittens', quick
as terriers', yet stealthy, almost noiseless, he distinctly heard
slippered footfalls. They whirled at the head of the stairs, and
flashed through the hall-way overhead and out on the front veranda, and
he, instead of pursuing, stood stone still, rooted to the floor, his
heart beating hard, his hands clinching in amaze. What stunned him was
the fact that with the footfalls went the swish of dainty silken
skirts.

II.

It was full ten minutes before Mr. McLean reissued from his quarters on
his return to the major's house. In the mean time he had searched his
desk and summed up his losses. They amounted to mere trifles--a few
postage-stamps and perhaps five dollars in currency--which happened to
be lying in the drawer above his tobacco receptacle. "Lucky I hadn't
got my April pay yet!" thought he. There were some handsome
sleeve-buttons and a scarf-pin or two in another drawer, but these had
not been touc