ponding with the rebels, and sent some to Old
Capitol Prison, and others through the lines to Richmond, where they
can do us no harm. Most of these spies gave themselves away by their
secesh talk, or by boasting of their ability to run the blockade.

"But information of our armies' intended movements is still being
carried out of Washington right under Baker's nose. It is imperative
that this leak be stopped at once, or the Union forces may suffer
another Bull Run. Baker and the provost marshal of the district have
tried every means in their power to learn the methods and the identity
of this spy, but so far without success."

"But have you found no trace in your search?" inquired Goddard eagerly.

"Until to-day I had only a theory; now I have a clue, a faint one,
but----" Lloyd paused and glanced about the room to see that he was not
overheard. They had the place to themselves, save for their waiter,
Sam, who was busy resetting a table in the opposite corner. "I have
told you, Bob, how I came to get this wound"--Lloyd touched his
temple--"when on my way to Poolesville." Goddard nodded assent. "But I
did not tell you that before the supposed trooper made good his escape
his hat was knocked off and Symonds saw that the spy was a woman."

"A woman!" Goddard nearly dropped his cigar in his astonishment. "How
did he find that out?"

"Her hair fell down her back when her hat was knocked off."

Goddard stared at his companion. "Well, I'll be--blessed!" he muttered.

"I have been looking for such a woman for some time, and until to-day
without success," declared Lloyd calmly.

"Did she by chance leave any trace, any clues, behind her in her
flight?"

"One." Lloyd pulled out his leather wallet. "On examining the hat,
which he picked up on his return to where I was lying unconscious,
Symonds found these hairs adhering to the lining. He put them in an
envelope and brought them to me at the hospital." Lloyd drew out a
small paper, which he opened with care. "Have you ever seen hair of
that color before?"

Goddard took the opened paper, and glanced at its contents. A few
red-gold hairs confronted him. Instantly his thoughts flew to the scene
of that morning. In his mind's eye he saw the laughing face, the lovely
curly Titian hair, and heard the mocking, alluring voice say: "I'm
company." He slowly raised his head in time to see the steady gaze of
their negro waiter fixed full upon the paper in his hand.

CHAPTER