Arrelsford nodded. The men had released Jonas, but stood by his side, and the Secret Service Agent now approached him. “Who was this for?” he asked sharply and tensely. The negro stared at him stolidly and silently, his face ashen with fright. “Look here,” continued the other, “if you don’t tell me it is going to make it pretty bad for you.” The words apparently made no further impression upon the servant. Arrelsford tried another tack. He turned to Mrs. Varney, who was completely dismayed at this breach of trust by one who had been attached to the family fortunes for so many years. “I am right sorry, ma’am,” he said very distinctly, “but it looks like we have got to shoot him.” “Oh!” cried Mrs. Varney at that. “Jonas, speak!” But even to that appeal he remained silent. Arrelsford waited a moment and then: “Corporal,” he said; “take him outside and get it out of him. String him up until he talks. But don’t let him yell or give any alarm; gag him until he’s ready to tell. You understand?” The Corporal nodded and turned toward the hall door. “Not that way,” said Arrelsford; “take him to the back of the house and keep him quiet, whatever you do. Nobody must know about this, not a soul.” “Very good, sir,” said the Corporal, saluting. He gave an order to the men, and they marched Jonas off, swiftly and silently. Nothing that had been said or done had disturbed the women across the hall. Mrs. Varney glanced up at the unfolded piece of paper in Mr. Arrelsford’s hand. He was smiling triumphantly. “Was there anything in that?” she asked. “Yes, there was. We know the trick they meant to play.” “But not the man who was to play it?” “I didn’t say that, ma’am.” “Does it give you a clue to it?” “It does.” “Will it answer?” “It will.” “Then you know——” “As plain as if we had his name.” “Thank God for that,” exclaimed the woman. “May I see it?” Arrelsford hesitated. “I see no reason why you should not.” He extended his hand toward her, and she glanced at the paper. “_Attack to-night. Plan 3. Use telegraph!_” she read. She looked up. “What does it mean?” she asked tremulously. “They are to attack to-night, and the place where they are to strike is indicated by Plan 3.” “Plan 3?” questioned the woman. “Yes; the man this is sent to will know what is meant by that. It has been arranged beforehand, and——” “But the last words,” said Mrs. Varney. “Use telegraph?” “That is plain, too. He is to use our War Department Telegraph and send some false order to weaken that position, the one they indicate by ‘Plan 3,’ so that when they assault it, they will find it feebly defended or not at all, and break through and come down on the city and swamp us.” “But,” exclaimed Mrs. Varney in deepest indignation and excitement, “the man who was to do this? Who is he? There is nothing about him that I can see.” “But I can see something.” “What? Where?”