earing of the despatch to Arnold was
mere routine, involving only steady riding, but the relations existing
between Claire, Grant, and Eric Mortimer were full of mystery. There were
connecting links I could not understand; no doubt had the girl been
permitted to conclude her story I might fit it together, but as it was I
was left groping in the darkness. Yet my mind tenaciously held to its
original theory as to Eric's strange disappearance--he had been betrayed
by Grant, and was being held prisoner. But where? By whom? And for what
purpose?

I pondered on this problem as my horse ploughed forward through the dust,
my eyes unconsciously scanning the dark road. Grant could not have known
that Colonel Mortimer was being taken home. His meeting with the
ambulance party was altogether an accident. Yet I had no faith the man
was out seeking British stragglers, for had he been despatched on such a
mission he would have had at least a squad of soldiers with him. Then
what? The probability was that he was either riding to Elmhurst, or to
some rendezvous with Fagin. Some plan had been interrupted by Clinton's
sudden march, by the British defeat at Monmouth, and Grant was risking
his commission, braving the charge of desertion, for some private
purpose. This might be love of Claire, revenge upon Eric, or possibly
both combined. The latter would seem most probable. He would use Eric in
some way to threaten the sister, to compel her to sacrifice herself. She
was of a nature to do this, as was already abundantly proved by her
assumption of male attire to save Eric's reputation. My own
responsibility loomed large as I reached this conclusion, and remembered
her appeal for help. She, also, must suspect the truth, and had turned to
me as the only one capable of unravelling the mystery. She trusted me,
loved me, I now believed--and, under God, I would prove worthy her faith.
With teeth clinched in sudden determination I caught up with my little
squad of plodding horsemen, and, with word of command, hurried them into
a sharp trot.

Riding ahead, boot to boot with Conroy, I thought out a plan for action,
and finally, in the gray of the morning, told him enough of the story to
arouse his interest. Just before sunrise we passed Elmhurst, the great
white mansion appearing silent and deserted. There was no halting,
although we turned in the saddle to look, and my eyes swept over the
troopers trotting behind us. They were a sturdy lot, their f