“And pray how did he get the Secretary’s signature to a forged telegram?” asked General Randolph. “He tore it off a genuine despatch. Why, General, look at that despatch in your hand yourself. The Secretary’s signature is pasted on, I saw him do it.” “They often come that way, sir,” said Thorne nonchalantly. “He is a liar!” cried Arrelsford. “They never do!” Thorne stepped forward impulsively, his face flushed at the word “liar,” but he controlled himself. “General,” he said, “if you have any doubt about that despatch, send it back to the War Office and have it verified.” It was a splendid, magnificent bluff. So overwhelming in its assurance that even Arrelsford himself was petrified with astonishment. He was morally certain that Thorne was a Federal Secret Service Agent and that the despatch was a forgery, yet it would take but a few minutes to send it over to the Secretary’s office and convict him out of his own mouth. What could the man mean! “That’s a good idea,” said General Randolph. He hesitated a moment and then turned to the guard. “Sergeant,” he said, “take this despatch over to the Secretary’s office and——” At that moment, the key which had been silent began a lively clicking. General Randolph turned toward it, and Thorne made a quick step in the same direction. “What’s that?” asked the General. Thorne stood by the desk listening while the key clicked out the message. “Adjutant General Chesney,” he spelt out slowly. “Oh, from the front, then?” said Randolph. “Yes, sir,” answered Thorne. “What is he saying!” Thorne stepped to the table and bent over the clicking key. “His compliments, sir,” he read off slowly. “He asks”—waiting for a few minutes—“for the rest,”—still another pause—“of that despatch—he says it’s of vital importance, sir, and——” The communication which Thorne had made to General Randolph was in itself of vital importance. The General was too good a soldier not to know the danger of delay in the carrying out of a military manœuvre which was probably part of some general plan of attack or defence to which he was not privy. He made up his mind instantly. He took the despatch from the hand of the Sergeant and turned it over to Thorne again. “Let him have it,” he said decisively. The Captain with his heart pounding like mad sat down at the table and seized the key. Was he going to complete the despatch? Was the plan to be carried out? Had he triumphed in the bold and desperately played game by his splendid courage, resourcefulness, and assurance? His eyes shone, the colour came back into his pale cheeks as his hands trembled on the key. “General!” cried Arrelsford, “if you——” “That’s enough, sir. We will have you examined at headquarters.” At that instant Lieutenant Foray came rapidly into the room. “Thank God!” cried Arrelsford, as he caught sight of him. “There’s a witness, he was sent away on a forged order, ask him?”