"I don' just 'member, sah," answered a negro, hesitatingly. "I was busy
over dar' cleanin' de side-boa'd."

"Well, he's not here now, that's certain," broke in Grant impatiently,
"and we've been in all the parlors? What next, MacHugh?"

"Try to head him off before he can get out of the city, of course. That's
his game, probably. Osborne, have Carter come here at once. Why didn't
you nab the fellow upstairs, Captain? Fool play that, sending him down
here."

"I didn't wish to create a row in the ball-room; he was with Claire
Mortimer--"

"Oh, I see," laughing coarsely. "Something besides military duty
involved, eh?"

"I'll trouble you to be a trifle more careful, MacHugh," Grant said
stiffly. "The fellow did her a small service in the afternoon, and she
couldn't refuse dancing with him, as he was in uniform, and apparently
all right. I advise you to drop that part of the affair. Here's Carter
now."

I could hear the click of the newcomer's spurs as he crossed the room.
MacHugh chuckled.

"Touchy about it just the same, I see; however we'll pass up the lady.
Carter, there has been a spy in here to-night, calling himself Lieutenant
Fortesque, of the 42nd Regiment. He came through the lines this morning
with despatches for Howe, I understand. Did you meet him?"