commence again where
he had left off. He was evidently very busy or very much preoccupied.
To leave his room and descend the stairs he would have to pass
McVeigh's room, which was on the first landing. The orderly was on
guard there, within. McVeigh sent him with a message to Masterson, who
was in the rear of the building. The man passed out along the back
corridor and the other two entered the room, but left the door ajar.

In the meantime a man who had been watching Monroe's movements in the
park for some time now crept closer to the house. He watched him enter
the house and the other two follow. He could not hear what they said,
but the closing of the door told him the house was closed for the
night. The wind was rising and low clouds were scurrying past. Now and
then the stars were allowed to peep through, showing a faint light,
and any one close to him would have seen that he wore a Confederate
uniform and that his gaze was concentrated on the upper balcony. At
last he fancied he could distinguish a white figure against the glass
door opening from the corridor. Assuring himself of the fact he
stepped forward into the open and was about to cross the little space
before the house when he was conscious of another figure, also in gray
uniform, and the unmistakable cavalry hat, coming stealthily from the
other side of the house.

The second figure also glanced upwards at the balcony, but was too
close to perceive the slender form above moving against one of the
vine-covered pillars when the figure draped in white bent over as
though trying to decipher the features under the big hat, and just as
the second comer made a smothered attempt to clear his throat,
something white fell at his feet.

"Sweet Evilena!" he said, picking it up. "Faith, the mother has told
her and the darling was waiting for me. Delaven's private post
office!" He laid down the guitar and fumbled for a match, when the
watcher from the shadows leaped upon him from behind, throttling him
that no sound be made, and while he pinned him to the ground with his
knee, kept one hand on his throat and with the other tried to loosen
the grasp of Delaven's hand on the papers.

"Give me that paper!" he whispered fiercely. "Give it to me or I'll
kill you where you lay! Give it to me!"

In the struggle Delaven struck the guitar with the heel of his boot,
there was a crash of resonant wood, and a wail of the strings, and it
reached the ears of Masterson and the