"Neither, sir." "Well, damn my soul!" The exasperated and hot-tempered Secretary clutched the inkstand with the evident intention of hurling it at Symonds. "_What_ did he die of?" "I don't know, sir." Symonds passed a trembling hand over his pale face. "He was just lying there in bed--dead." "Had Captain Lloyd been ill?" asked the President. "No, Mr. President; not to my knowledge. He appeared to be in good health and spirits when I left him this afternoon; only exhausted from five days in the saddle. He told me he was going to lie down and rest, and that I was to send for him after I had seen Colonel Baker, who was then in Baltimore, and arranged for this lady's arrest." "Take that chair, Symonds," said the President, "and tell us all you know of this affair." Obediently Symonds pulled forward the chair indicated, and faced the President, much perturbed in mind. "I met Colonel Baker, as Captain Lloyd directed, and gave him the information he had been waiting for. We came here, and, after consulting the Secretary, Colonel Baker ordered me to bring Captain Lloyd to this room. "When I reached Mrs. Lane's boarding house, I went directly up to the captain's sitting room. I rapped and rapped on his door, but could get no response." Symonds paused impressively, and five pairs of eyes watched him almost without blinking. "The captain had told me he was a heavy sleeper; so, thinking I would have to shake him awake, I tried the door knob. It turned, and I entered. The room was dark except for the moonlight which came through the front windows. "I saw that the communicating door leading to the captain's bedroom was open; so I went over to it and called Captain Lloyd's name. Not getting any answer, I walked into the room. It was pitch dark, and the next thing I knew I had tripped and fallen over a body...." "You just stated that you found Captain Lloyd dead in bed," interposed the Secretary sharply. "And so I did, sir." "Then, what do you mean by saying you fell over his body on the floor?" "It wasn't his body, sir." "Get on, get on!" Stanton glared impatiently at Symonds, who had stopped and was nervously twirling his cap in his fingers. The President was intently watching Nancy, who sat on the edge of her chair listening to Symonds' slow speech with bated breath. "I picked myself up, sir, considerably shaken, struck a match, found a burner and lighted the gas. Then I leaned over and looked at the man on the floor ... it was Major Goddard!" A low cry of terror broke from Nancy. She reeled in her seat. Stanton viewed her emotion with grim satisfaction. He had found the vulnerable heel of Achilles. "He wasn't ... Symonds, don't say it...." Nancy pleaded. "Don't say he was----" Her hands were raised, as if to push some over-mastering horror from her. "No, no, ma'am; he was only unconscious from a blow on his head." Symonds, shocked by her look of agony, spoke with unusual rapidity.