"What the devil's all the noise about?" its owner demanded. "Don't you know this is General Stoughton's headquarters?" "I'd hoped it was; I almost killed a horse getting here," Mosby retorted. "Come down and open up; dispatches from Washington." In a few moments, a light appeared inside on the first floor, and the door opened. A man in a nightshirt, holding a candle, stood in the doorway. "I'm Lieutenant Prentiss, on General Stoughton's staff. The general's asleep. If you'll give me the dispatches ..." Mosby caught the man by the throat with his left hand and shoved a Colt into his face with his right. Dan Thomas, beside him, lifted the candle out of the other man's hand. "And I'm Captain Mosby, General Stuart's staff. We've just taken Fairfax Courthouse. Inside, now, and take me to the general at once." The general was in bed, lying on his face in a tangle of bedclothes. Mosby pulled the sheets off of him, lifted the tail of his nightshirt and slapped him across the bare rump. The effect was electric. Stoughton sat up in bed, gobbling in fury. In the dim candlelight, he mistook the gray of Mosby's tunic for blue, and began a string of bloodthirsty threats of court-martial and firing squad, interspersed with oaths. "Easy, now, General," the perpetrator of the outrage soothed. "You've heard of John Mosby, haven't you?" "Yes; have you captured him?" In the face of such tidings, Stoughton would gladly forget the assault on his person. Mosby shook his head, smiling seraphically. "No, General. He's captured you. I'm Mosby." "Oh my God!" Stoughton sank back on the pillow and closed his eyes, overcome. Knowing the precarious nature of his present advantage, Mosby then undertook to deprive Stoughton of any hope of rescue or will to resist. "Stuart's cavalry is occupying Fairfax Courthouse," he invented, "and Stonewall Jackson's at Chantilly with his whole force. We're all moving to occupy Alexandria by morning. You'll have to hurry and dress, General." "Is Fitzhugh Lee here?" Stoughton asked. "He's a friend of mine; we were classmates at West Point." "Why, no; he's with Jackson at Chantilly. Do you want me to take you to him? I can do so easily if you hurry." It does not appear that Stoughton doubted as much as one syllable of this remarkable set of prevarications. The Union Army had learned by bitter experience that Stonewall Jackson was capable of materializing almost anywhere. So he climbed out of bed, putting on his clothes. * * * * *