"Depends on what it is," growled Jenkins, his suspicions suddenly awakened. "It is nothing harmful, sir; quite the contrary. Does not my face inspire confidence? Then you shall have my name. It is Noah Waxpenny, and I have the honor to be confidential clerk to the firm of Sharswood & Feeman, solicitors, Lincoln Inn, London." "It's no odds if you were the king himself," imprudently replied Jenkins. "Ha, very clever! A neat joke," laughed Mr. Waxpenny. "God save King George, and all his loyal subjects!" "Amen to that!" muttered the landlord, aloud. "And God forgive the lie," he added to himself. Mr. Noah Waxpenny chuckled, and half emptied the pewter at a draught. Then he leaned toward Jenkins in a confidential manner, and his next words were of so startling a nature that Nathan very nearly toppled against the door that separated him from the tap-room. CHAPTER II IN WHICH A BRITISH OFFICER LOSES A FINE HORSE "I wish to learn the present whereabouts of Richard Stanbury," said Mr. Waxpenny, slowly and deliberately. "Under that name he came from England to America in 1760, and a year later he was known to be residing in Philadelphia with a wife and infant son. Can you give me any information about him?" With a heightened color Jenkins stared first at the ceiling, and then shot a glance of apprehension at the hall door. "Stanbury ain't a common name," he replied, by way of gaining time, "but it seems like I've heard it somewheres or other. It might'n be Stanwix, now?" "No, Stanbury--Richard Stanbury." The landlord propped his elbows on the counter and looked meditatively into vacancy. "I've heard of Bow Street runners," he said to himself, "and I misdoubt but this chap is one of the snaky varmints in disguise. It ain't likely Dick Stanbury is wanted over in England, but there's no telling. What am I going to do about it? I'll bet a ha'penny the lad's listening out yonder with both ears. I'll just lie low till I get my bearings--that's the safest plan." During the course of this mental soliloquy he was cocking his head this way and that, and now he shook it in a manner that indicated profound and hopeless ignorance. "If a golden guinea would jog your memory, why, here it is," suggested Mr. Waxpenny, displaying the coin. "The gold wouldn't come amiss," said Jenkins, with a sigh, "but it ain't possible for me to earn it." The law clerk pocketed the guinea. "It's unlikely that Richard Stanbury was in your walk of life, my man," said he, with quiet scorn. "Your ignorance is excusable." "My what?" "Your disability to remember," corrected Mr. Waxpenny. "And now we'll try again. Can you tell me if Major Gerald Langdon, of the British cavalry, is stationed in this town?" "I seen by the 'Royal Gazette,' a fortnight ago, that he was in New York," replied Jenkins, truthfully enough. "What on earth is the game?" he asked himself in amazement.