“I said that Burgoyne’s chance of ultimate victory was impossible, because after his defeat he retreated upon Saratoga. Finding himself surrounded he surrendered his entire force to General Gates.” A cry of delight went up; the Americans were congratulated heartily. “It was such news as this that we have been waiting for,” whispered the minister of foreign affairs to the aged commissioner. “From now on things will take a turn; success will await your negotiations now, where only delay and disappointment met you in the past.” When all had gone save Captain Jones and Ethan Carlyle, Dr. Franklin said: “You will pardon me, I’m sure. These letters spoke of a document of much importance as being in this packet.” He broke the great red seals and tore off the covering; then, as they watched him, they saw his face take on a bewildered look. “What is it?” cried Captain Jones. “Strange,” said Dr. Franklin. “The entire page is blank save only for one word. Look.” He held out the sheet, and they found staring them in the face, scrawled in huge, sprawling letters, the name: “Siki.” “Robbed!” exclaimed John Paul Jones. “He got the packet after all,” cried Ethan, with a great leap at his heart. “Explain your meaning,” said Dr. Franklin, still bewildered. “I do not understand.” In as few words as possible the entire story of the attempt made to steal the papers was told him. He listened intently, and shook his head gloomily at the end. “He was a cunning rascal, indeed, that Lascar,” said he. “He took the packet and substituted another resembling it in order to delay the alarm long enough to permit him to get safe away.” “But,” cried Paul Jones, “how could he know anything about the appearance of the packet?” “You forget our young friend’s statement that the Lascar saw it lying upon the table between him and Mr. Hancock. For a fellow as keen as he it only required a glance and he carried away a picture of it in his mind.” “The attack at the inn is more than I can understand,” said Ethan. “If they already had the dispatch why should they set upon us after demanding it? The matter has a queer look.” “Most queer,” agreed the sage, wrinkling his brows. “And, to me, there seems to be only one explanation: The Lascar stole the dispatch and kept the fact hidden from his employer and comrades. He had come to understand that it was a very valuable thing and made up his mind that the profit to come from it was to be all his own.” “Bravo,” cried John Paul Jones. “That must be it--and that fact holds out a promise.” “Of what nature?” “We may recover the dispatch! The Lascar will be forced to sound every step of his way toward the disposal of the paper. He may know that it is valuable but he will not know to whom.” “A good thought,” said Mr. Franklin. “As long as it does not reach the British ministers, who alone would understand it, the paper can do no harm.”