“You will have trouble in proving that mistake, Mr. Askew,” I said; “great trouble, I fear. But that is for the future; your present risk is in standing here, where some one who knows you as well or better than I, may chance to come along.” He had been casting furtive glances over his shoulder, as if picking out the way to run; but now that I had him at bay, the time was ripe for an escape from the dangerous neighborhood of the general headquarters. “Come with me,” I commanded hurriedly, linking an arm in one of his. “You have a piece of news to tell--but not to Sir Henry Clinton. There is a better market, and a much safer one.” He yielded, reluctantly, only because he had good reason to be afraid of every one. I could feel the fear tremor shaking him all the way to the tavern to which I led him, and a great contempt for the paltry villain made my gorge rise and the touch of his arm seem like pollution. He was silent and furtively watchful till I got him into the inn and up the stair. But on the threshold of my room he hung back and showed his teeth in a snarl. “I don’t know who you are, or where you are taking me!” he burst out; and then he tried to twist his arm free, developing sudden and unlooked-for strength in the momentary struggle. “Quiet, you dog!” I ordered, and then I thrust him in ahead of me and followed to shut and bar the door. He stood where I had pushed him, in the middle of the floor, and made no resistance when I felt him over for weapons and found two dueling pistols and a keen-edged flesher’s knife hidden under his waistcoat. For a man so well provided, he was surely the abjectest craven I ever saw. “Now you can go a little more comfortably into that matter I spoke of,” I remarked, breaking the blade of the knife over an andiron, and shaking the powder primings out of the pans of the pistols. “You were saying that you had news to sell--” “I said nothing of the kind,” he flashed back. “Let me out of this, or I--I swear I’ll raise the house on you!” “No, you won’t,” I replied coolly. “Nothing is farther from your present intentions, Mr. James Askew, and the fact that I know this is your best assurance of safety.” “I don’t know you,” he raged. “What have you got me here for?” “That is better,” I said, pushing him into a chair and drawing up another for myself. “First, I brought you here to tell you that your news outran you. I can repeat to you, word for word, the information you were going to try to sell to Sir Henry Clinton.” I saw, the moment the words were uttered, that I had made the rashest blunder. This spy was no ordinary tale-bearer to be hoodwinked or bullied out of his cunning. The lines of his face grew more hatchet-like and the sharp little eyes dwindled to pin-points.