It was a hot, close morning, and the padded Ranger's coat heavy and tight-fitting. I took it off, flinging it across the saddle pommel. As I did so a folded paper came into view, and I drew it forth, curiously. My eye caught the signature at the bottom of a brief note, and I stared at it in surprise. Fagin! How came Fagin to be writing to Captain Grant? He pretended to be a Tory to be sure, yet both armies knew him as a murderous outlaw, plundering loyalists and patriots alike. There came to me a memory of Farrell's chance remark that Grant had some connection with this fellow's marauding. I had not seriously considered it then, but now--why, possibly it was true. I read the lines almost at a glance, scarcely comprehending at first, and then suddenly realized the base villainy revealed:
"Have the money and papers, but the girl got away. Will wait for you at Lone Tree to-night. Don't fail, for the whole country will be after me as soon as the news gets out about Elmhurst. _Fagin_."
So that was the reason for this raid--Grant's personal affair. He had returned to Elmhurst, leaving his men to trudge on into Philadelphia under their Hessian officers so that he might communicate with Fagin. He had contrived to get Colonel Mortimer to detail him, after the main column had been started on a false trail, and then he had left his detail to another, and rode alone to the rendezvous at Lone Tree. There, doubtless, he had received Fagin's report, with the papers whatever they were, and then returned to Elmhurst, determined to force his will with the girl. What had happened then I knew well, for I had been part of it. What a pity it was I had failed to kill the fellow, instead of leaving him unconscious.
The papers! Perhaps they were in the coat also. Surely Grant had no time to change or destroy them, as he must have ridden directly to Elmhurst. I searched the pockets of the garment hastily, finding a note or two, his orders to escort Delavan, and a small packet tied securely by a cord. I felt no hesitancy in opening this, and ascertaining its contents. The lines I read hastily seemed to blur before my eyes; I could barely comprehend their purport. Little by little I grasped the meaning of it all, and then my mind leaped to recognition of Grant's purpose. They were notes of instruction, brief orders, suggestions, memoranda, such as might be issued to a secret agent greatly trusted. These were addressed simply "Mortimer," many unsigned, others marked by initials, but I instantly recognized the handwriting of Washington, Hamilton, and Lee. Without question this packet was the property of Eric Mortimer, but why had the boy preserved these private instructions, covering months of operations, I should judge, although scarcely one was dated? And what caused them to be of such value to Captain Grant?