“Ready here,” cried Thorne, looking at the other messenger. “This is for the Secretary of the Treasury, marked private. Take it to his home.” “He was down at the Cabinet meeting a little while ago, sir,” said the second messenger. “No difference, take it to his house and wait until he comes.” The instant the departing messenger left him alone in the room, Thorne leaped to his feet and ran with cat-like swiftness to the door, opened it, and quickly but carefully examined the corridor to make sure that no one was there on duty. Then he closed the door and turned to the nearest window, which he opened also, and looked out on the balcony, which he saw was empty. He closed the window and came back to the table, unbuckling his belt and coat as he came. These he threw on the table. The coat fell back, and he glanced in the breast pocket to see that a certain document was in sight and at hand, where he could get it quickly. Then he took his revolver, which he had previously slipped from his belt to his hip pocket, and laid it down beside the instrument. After a final glance around him to see that he was still alone and unobserved, he seized the key on which he sounded a certain call. An expert telegrapher would have recognised it, a dash, four dots in rapid succession, then two dots together, and then two more (—.... .. ..). He waited a few moments, and when no answer came he signalled the call a second time, and after another longer wait he sent it a third time. After this effort he made a longer pause, and just as he had about reached the end of his patience—he was in a fever of anxiety, for upon what happened in the next moment the failure or the success of the whole plan absolutely turned—the silent key clicked out an answer, repeating the same signal which he himself had made. The next moment he made a leap upon the key, but before he could send a single letter steps were heard outside in the corridor. Thorne released the key, leaned back in his chair, seized a match from the little holder on the table and struck it, and when another messenger entered he seemed to be lazily lighting his cigar. He cursed in his heart at the inopportune arrival. Another uninterrupted moment and he would have sent the order, but as usual he gave no outward evidence of his extreme annoyance. The messenger came rapidly down toward the table and handed Captain Thorne a message. “From the Secretary of War, Captain Thorne,” he said saluting, “and he wants it to go out right away.” “Here, here,” said Thorne, as the messenger turned away, “what’s all this?” He ran his fingers through the envelope, tore it open, and spread out the despatch. “Is that the Secretary’s signature?” he asked. The messenger came back. “Yes, sir; I saw him sign it myself. I’m his personal messenger.” “Oh!” said Thorne, spreading the despatch out on the table and O.K.’ing it, “you saw him sign it yourself, did you?” “Yes, sir.”