“Beggars mustn’t be choosers. And as for my country’s enemies; my country is the king’s, or at least, he says it is, though you must confess, Mr. Castner, that the standing-places where a Loyalist may hear the whipping of the royal standard above his head have become sadly few and restricted.” Once again the lieutenant was shaking his head in mild deprecation. “You must teach your tongue a better trade, Captain Page,” he said quite good-naturedly. “There are those in this town who would find fault with that last speech of yours.” I saw at once, what I should have seen at the outset; that this frank-faced lieutenant was not one to be played with in double-meaning rashnesses. So I went back to Arnold and his “American Loyalists,” or “Loyal Americans,” or whatever lying phrase it was that headed his regimental book. “You have not told me yet of Mr. Arnold’s conscript lists,” I reminded him. “Nor do I know,” he replied, and was going on to say more when a tall, harsh-visaged fellow, wearing the insignia of a recruiting sergeant, looked in at the door, swept the apartment with a shrewd glance, as if in search of material for his trade of whipper-in, and was turning away when the lieutenant marked him and said to me: “There is a man who can tell you more than I can.” And then to the soldier: “Hey, Sergeant, a word with you!” It was not until the man stood at our table-end and was near enough to shock me heartily that I recognized him as Major Lee’s emissary, John Champe; the man I had come to drag out of the peril he had blundered into. Lieutenant Castner smiled at my start of surprise, and he was further edified, I suppose, by Champe’s drawing back with a muttered oath at his recognition of me. There was humor in the situation, but I was in no frame of mind to appreciate it just then. It was Champe who first broke the awkward little silence. “You called me, sir?” he asked, saluting Castner, and turning his back on me. I shall never forget how the young redcoat lieutenant played the gentleman at this crisis. Had there been a trace of malice in his heart he might have flung us two flag-changers at each other’s throats and stood aside to see the sport. Instead, he replied to Champe, quite gravely. “Yes; your lists for the Loyal Americans--are they filling well, Sergeant?” “They are closed,” said Champe, with his dour face as expressionless as a slab of wood. “Ah,” said Castner; and then, with a hand-wave of dismissal for the sergeant, which Champe obeyed instantly: “That answers your question, Captain Page. I hope it does not seriously change your plans.” I assured him that it did not; telling him that I had no plan beyond seeking an audience with Sir Henry Clinton at the earliest possible hour. “Then your inclination matches with the necessities,” laughed my jailor. “I should be obliged to put you under guard, conveying you to Sir Henry forcibly, if you were not minded to go of your own accord.”