"What of that?" asked the commandant. "It may lead to something else that I have in mind," replied Belfort, with tenacity. "Proceed then," said the commandant, wonderingly. "Do you not know some one of us?" asked Belfort of Alloway. His face showed the eagerness with which he put the question. "Yes," replied Alloway. Perhaps I had no right to expect anything else, but the answer came like a thunderbolt, and my heart fell. Alloway would betray us, and after all there was no reason why he should not. Belfort's eyes flashed with triumph, and his hopes overran his caution. "Who is it? who is it?" he cried. "Is it not he?" and he pointed his finger straight at me. Alloway examined me critically, and then said, "No, I never saw him before in my life. There's the man I meant!" He pointed at Moore and continued: "He was a prisoner with us for a while after White Plains, and I was one of the escort that took him to the British lines when we exchanged him and others." "It's true! It's true!" said Moore. "I remember you very well since you have spoken of it; and polite you were to me, for which I thank you. Right sorry am I to see you here." It was another release from the hangman's rope, and Belfort was defeated for the second time. He recognized the fact and fell back, looking at me in a puzzled and mortified way. I believe he was convinced then that his suspicions were wrong. Why Alloway denied me I could not guess, for surely the look from me in the street was not sufficient to disclose such a complicated situation as ours. But it had happened so, and it was not for Marcel or me to complain. "Have you finished, Lieutenant Belfort?" asked the commandant. "I understood that something important was to follow these questions or I would not have consented to such an irregularity." "It is a mistake! I was upon the wrong path! I will explain another time!" said Belfort, hurriedly. Marcel tapped his forehead suggestively, and all looked curiously at Belfort. They seemed to think that there was something in Marcel's idea. Of course, Belfort might have accused us openly, but he had no proof whatever, and the chances seemed at least a hundred to one that he would make himself ridiculous by such a declaration. No, I was not afraid of that, unless something else to arouse his smouldering suspicions should occur. As we left the prison, Miss Desmond said to me, "I wish to ask Lieutenant Melville about Staffordshire." "Ah, Miss Desmond," spoke up Moore, "if you want to know the truth about any part of England, you should ask an Irishman." So saying, he placed his hand upon his heart and bowed. "An Irishman always talks best about the thing of which he knows least," said Vivian. But all walked on, and Miss Desmond and I were the last of the company. I wondered why she had chosen me thus. There was very little that I could tell her about Staffordshire, and in truth, it seemed a poor subject for conversation just then.