The last Somers had known of Coles, he was a prisoner in Fort Lafayette. Probably he had been released by the same influence which set Phil Kennedy at liberty, and permitted him to continue his career of treason and plunder. Coles had lost eighty thousand dollars by his speculation in the Snowden, for one half of which Kennedy was holden to him; but the bond had been effectually cancelled by the death of the principal. Coles wanted his money back. It was a very natural desire; but Somers could not help considering it as a very extravagant one, under present circumstances. The listener could not help regarding it as a most remarkable thing, that he should again be within hearing of Coles, engaged in plotting treason. Such an event might happen once; but that it should occur a second time was absolutely marvellous. If our readers are of the opinion that the writer is too severely taxing their credulity in imposing the situation just described upon them, he begs they will suspend their judgment till the sequel justifies him. It was so strange to Somers, that he could not help thinking he had been brought there by some mysterious power to listen to and defeat the intentions of the conspirators. He was not so far wrong as he might have been. It was Coles who spoke; it was Coles who had been in Fort Lafayette; and it was Coles who had lost eighty thousand dollars by the Snowden. All these things were real, and Somers had no suspicion that he had inhaled some of the vile compounds in the bar below, which might have thrown him into a stupor wherein he dreamed the astounding situation in which he was actually placed. Somers listened, and when Coles had mixed and drank his dram, he spoke again. "I can and will get my money back," said he, with an oath which froze the blood of the listener. "Don't believe it, Coles." "You know me, Langdon," added the plotter, with a peculiar emphasis. Langdon acknowledged that he did know him; and as there was, therefore, no need of an introduction, Coles proceeded. "You know me, Langdon; I don't make any mistakes myself." Perhaps Langdon knew it; but Somers had some doubts, which, however, he did not purpose to urge on this occasion. "Phil Kennedy was a fool," added Coles, with another oath. "He spoiled all my plans before, and I was glad when I heard that he was killed, though I lost forty thousand dollars when he slipped out. He spilt the milk for me." Somers thought not. "Phil was smart about some things; but he couldn't keep a hotel. Why, that young pup that finally gave him his quietus, twirled him around his fingers, like he had been a school girl." "Thank you, Mr. Coles; but I shall have the pleasure of serving you in the same way before many weeks," thought Somers, flattered by this warm and disinterested tribute to his strategetic ability. "You mean Somers?" said Langdon.