The fellow came up the steps hurriedly, almost ignoring the sentry at the door.
"I haven't time to stand here, you fool," he exclaimed roughly. "My uniform is pass enough. I wish to see Colonel Mortimer at once--at once." There was a pause, and then the same voice, and I recognized it now as Grant's beyond a doubt. "Ah, Colonel, what in God's name has happened here? I heard that you were out hunting us at Farrell's blacksmith shop, and came back as swiftly as I could ride. But I never suspected this. Who were the miscreants?"
"That is a question not yet answered, Captain Grant," replied Mortimer slowly. "It looks like the work of Pine Robbers. Do you recognize this fellow?"
"Ay," and from the muffled tone he must have been bending over the body, "that is 'Tough' Sims, a lieutenant of 'Red' Fagin; there's one more devil gone to hell. But when did the attack occur? We left here after dark, and all was quiet enough then. Claire--"
"She was here then? I hardly believed it possible."
"I talked with her--quarrelled with her, indeed. Perhaps that was why she refused to accompany us to Philadelphia. But what did you mean, Colonel, when you said you hardly believed it possible she was here? Did some one tell you?"
"Yes; we caught a fellow in the house when we arrived. He had no time for escape--rough-looking miscreant, claiming to be a Continental. We have him under guard in the library."
"Not a word; claimed to know nothing except that Claire was here. Said he saw you, and then went away, not getting back again until this morning."
"The fellow is a liar, Colonel. Let me see him; I'll lash the truth out of his lips. Where did you say he was--in the library?"
I had barely time to rise to my feet when he entered. His eyes swept across the guard, and then centred upon me. Instantly they blazed with excitement, although I noticed he took a sudden step backward in the first shock of surprise, his hand dropping to the butt of a pistol in his belt.
"By all the gods!" he exclaimed sharply. "If it isn't the spy! I miss the red jacket, but I know the face, Mister Lieutenant Fortesque."
"Major Lawrence, if you please," I returned quietly.
"We'll not quarrel over the name. I've had occasion to know you under both; bearing one you was a spy, beneath the other a leader of banditti. I'll hang you with equal pleasure under either." Suddenly he seemed to remember where we were, and his face flushed with newly aroused rage. "But first you'll explain what you are doing here at Elmhurst. Do you know whose home this is?"