It was Swartz. The fat person, the small eyes, the immense double chin, and the chubby fingers covered with pinchbeck rings, were unmistakable. He was clad in citizens’ clothes, and covered with dust as from a long ride. Mohun rose. “Come in, my dear Mr. Swartz,” he said coolly; “you see we await you.” The spy recoiled. It was plain that he was astonished beyond measure at seeing us. He threw a glance behind him in the direction of his horse, and seemed about to fly. Mohun quietly drew his revolver, and cocked it. “Fear nothing, my dear sir,” he said, “and, above all, do not attempt to escape.” Swartz hesitated, and cast an uneasy glance upon the weapon. “Does the sight of this little instrument annoy you?” said Mohun, laughing. “It shall not be guilty of that impoliteness, Mr. Swartz.” And he uncocked the weapon, and replaced it in its holster. “Now,” he continued, “sit down, and let us talk.” Swartz obeyed. Before Mohun’s penetrating glance, his own sank. He took his seat in a broken-backed chair; drew forth a huge red bandanna handkerchief; wiped his forehead; and said quietly:-- “I expected to meet a friend here to-night, gentlemen, instead of--” “Enemies?” interrupted Mohun. “We are such, it is true, my dear sir, but you are quite safe. Your friend Nighthawk is called away; he is even ignorant of our presence here.” “But meeting him would have been different, gentlemen. I had his safe conduct!” “You shall have it from me.” “May I ask from whom?” said Swartz. “From General Mohun, of the Confederate army.” Swartz smiled this time; then making a grotesque bow, he replied:-- “I knew you very well, general--that is why I am so much at my ease. I am pleased to hear that you are promoted. When I last saw you, you were only a colonel, but I was certain that you would soon be promoted or killed.” There was a queer accent of politeness in the voice of the speaker. He did not seem to have uttered these words in order to flatter his listener, but to express his real sentiment. He was evidently a character. “Good!” said Mohun, with his habitual accent of satire. “These little compliments are charming. But I am in haste to-night--let us come to business, my dear sir. I came hither to ask you some questions, and to these I expect plain replies.” Swartz looked at the speaker intently, but without suspicion. His glance, on the contrary, had in it something strangely open and unreserved. “I will reply to all your questions, general,” he said, “and reply truthfully. I have long expected this interview, and will even say that I wished it. You look on me as a Yankee spy, and will have but little confidence in what I say. Nevertheless, I am going to tell you the whole truth about every thing. Ask your questions, general, I will answer them.” Mohun was leaning one elbow on the broken table. His glance, calm and yet fiery, seemed bent on penetrating to the most secret recess of the spy’s heart.