BRAINS VS. BRAWN
Up Thirteenth Street came the measured tread of marching feet, and two
companies of infantry turned the corner into New York Avenue. The
soldiers marched with guns reversed and colors furled. A few passers-by
stopped to watch the sad procession. Suddenly they were startled by
peal on peal of merry laughter, which came from a bevy of girls
standing in front of Stuntz's notion store. Instantly two officers left
their places by the curb and walked over to the little group.
"Your pardon, ladies," said Lloyd sternly. "Why do you laugh at a
soldier's funeral?"
The young girl nearest him wheeled around, and inspected Lloyd from
head to foot.
"What's that to you, Mr. Yank?" she demanded impudently.
"Nothing to me, madam; but for you, perhaps, Old Capitol Prison."
"Nonsense, Lloyd," exclaimed his companion, Major Goddard. "I am sure
the young ladies meant no intentional offense."
Lloyd's lips closed in a thin line, but before he could reply a girl
standing in the background stepped forward and addressed him.
"We meant no disrespect to the dead," she said, and her clear,
bell-like voice instantly caught both men's attention. "In fact, we did
not notice the funeral; they are, alas, of too frequent occurrence
these days to attract much attention."
"Ah, indeed." Lloyd's tone betrayed his disbelief. "And may I ask what
you were laughing at?"
"Certainly; at Misery."
"Misery?" Lloyd's color rose. He hated to be made ridiculous, and a
titter from the listening girls roused his temper. "Is that another
name for a funeral?"
"No, sir," demurely; "it is the name of my dog."
"Your dog?"
"Yes, my pet dog. You know, 'Misery loves company.'" The soft, hazel
eyes lighted with a mocking smile as she looked full at the two
perplexed men. "I'm 'company,'" she added softly.
In silence Lloyd studied the girl's face with growing interest, A
vague, elusive likeness haunted him. Where had he heard that voice
before? At that instant the glint of her red-gold hair in the winter
sunshine caught his eye. His unspoken question was answered.
"Who's being arrested now?" asked a quiet voice behind Lloyd, and a
man, leaning heavily on his cane, pushed his way through the crowd that
had collected about the girls. The slight, limping figure was well
known in every section of Washington, and Lloyd stepped back
respectfully to make room for Doctor John Boyd. It was the first time
he had seen the famous surgeon at such close quarters, and he examined
the grotesque old face with interest.
Doctor Boyd had lost none of the briskness of youth, despite his
lameness, nor his fingers their skill, but his face was a mass of
wrinkles. His keen, black eyes, bristling gray beard, predatory nose,
and saturnine wit, together with his brusque manner, made strangers
fear him. But their aversion was apt to change to idolatry when he
became their physician.
"What, Nancy Newton, you here?" continued the surgeon, addressing the
last speaker, "and Belle Cary? Have you two girls been sassing our
military friends?" indicating the two officers with a wave of his hand.
"Indeed, no, Doctor John," protested Nancy; "such an idea never entered
our heads. But these gentlemen don't seem to believe me."
Major Goddard stepped forward, and raised his cap.
"The young lady is mistaken, doctor," he said gravely. "We do believe
her, notwithstanding," glancing quizzically at Nancy, "that we have not
yet seen her dog."
"Misery!" exclaimed the surgeon, laughing. "So my four-footed friend
has gotten you into hot water again, Nancy? I might have known it.
Here's the rascal now."
Around the corner of Twelfth Street, with an air of conscious virtue,
trotted the cause of all the trouble--a handsome, red-brown field
spaniel. Robert Goddard, a lover of dogs, snapped his fingers and
whistled, but Misery paid not the slightest attention to his
blandishments. Wagging his tail frantically, he tore up to Nancy, and
frisked about her.
"Misery, give me that bone." Nancy stooped over, and endeavored to take
it from the struggling dog. "I cannot stop his eating in the streets.
Oh, he's swallowed it!" Misery choked violently, and looked with
reproachful eyes at his mistress. "You sinner," patting the soft brown
body, "come along--that is," addressing Lloyd, "if you do not wish to
detain us any longer."
"You are at liberty to go." Lloyd bowed stiffly.
"Hold on, Nancy; if you have no particular engagement, come with me to
my office. I have a bottle of medicine to send your aunt," exclaimed
Doctor Boyd hastily. "Good evening, gentlemen." And he bowed curtly to
Lloyd and his friend.
On reaching F Street, the group of girls separated, and Nancy
accompanied Doctor Boyd to his office.
"Go into the waiting room, Nancy," directed the surgeon. "It won't take
me a moment to write the directions on the label of the bottle."
Obediently Nancy entered the room, followed by Misery, and as the
surgeon disappeared into his consulting office, she glanced keenly
about her. The room was empty. Quickly she bent over her dog, and took
off his round leather collar. Another searching glance about the room;
then from a hollow cavity in the round collar, the opening of which was
cleverly concealed by the buckle, she drew a tiny roll of tissue paper.
Opening it, she read:
Find out Sheridan's future movements. Imperative.
Nancy dropped on her knees before the open grate, tossed the paper into
the glowing embers, and watched it burn to the last scrap. A cold, wet
nose against her hand roused her.
"Misery, you darling." She stooped, and buried her face in the wriggling
body. "My little retriever!" Misery licked her face ecstatically. "If I
only knew which way Sam went after giving you that message for me, much
valuable time could be saved. As it is----" Doctor Boyd's entrance cut
short her whispered words.
* * * * *
Lloyd and his friend, Major Goddard, watched Nancy and her companions
out of sight; then continued on their way to Wormley's Hotel, each busy
with his own thoughts. The grill room of that famous hostelry was half
empty when they reached there, and they had no difficulty in securing a
table in a secluded corner. While Lloyd was giving his order to the
waiter, Colonel Baker stopped at their table.
"Heard the news?" he asked eagerly; then not waiting for an answer:
"They say at the department General Joe Johnston has been captured."
His words were overheard by Wormley, the colored proprietor, who was
speaking to the head waiter.
"'Scuse me, Colonel Baker," he said deferentially. "You all ain't
captured General Johnston. No, sah. I knows Marse Joe too well to
b'lieve that."
Wormley was a privileged character, and his remark was received with
good-natured laughter. Under cover of the noise, Baker whispered to
Lloyd: "_Stanton has discovered his cipher code book has been tampered
with._ Meet me at my office at five o'clock."
"All right, Colonel," and Baker departed.
By the time they had reached dessert, the grill room was deserted.
Goddard lighted a cigar, and, lounging back in his chair, contemplated
his host with keen interest.
"I can't understand it, Lloyd," he said finally.
"Understand what?" replied Lloyd, roused from his abstraction.
"Why you became a professional detective. With your social position,
talents..."
"That's just it!"
"What?"
"My talents. If it had not been for them, I would have gone to West
Point with you, Bob. But, above all else in the world I enjoy pitting
my wits against another's--enjoy unravelling mysteries that baffle
others. To me there is no excitement equal to a man hunt. I suppose in
a way it is an inheritance; my father was a great criminal lawyer, and
his father before him. When Pinkerton organized the Secret Service
division of the army in '61, I went with him, thinking I could follow
my chosen profession and serve my country at the same time. Besides,"
with a trace of bitterness in his voice, "I owe society nothing; nor do
I desire to associate with society people."
Goddard gazed sorrowfully at his friend. "Hasn't the old wound healed,
Lloyd?" he asked softly.
"No; nor ever will," was the brief response, and Lloyd's face grew
stern with the pain of other years. "As I told you, Bob, I was detailed
here to solve a very serious problem for our government," he resumed,
after a slight pause. "Baker has rounded up and arrested all persons
suspected of corresponding with the rebels, and sent some to Old
Capitol Prison, and others through the lines to Richmond, where they
can do us no harm. Most of these spies gave themselves away by their
secesh talk, or by boasting of their ability to run the blockade.
"But information of our armies' intended movements is still being
carried out of Washington right under Baker's nose. It is imperative
that this leak be stopped at once, or the Union forces may suffer
another Bull Run. Baker and the provost marshal of the district have
tried every means in their power to learn the methods and the identity
of this spy, but so far without success."
"But have you found no trace in your search?" inquired Goddard eagerly.
"Until to-day I had only a theory; now I have a clue, a faint one,
but----" Lloyd paused and glanced about the room to see that he was not
overheard. They had the place to themselves, save for their waiter,
Sam, who was busy resetting a table in the opposite corner. "I have
told you, Bob, how I came to get this wound"--Lloyd touched his
temple--"when on my way to Poolesville." Goddard nodded assent. "But I
did not tell you that before the supposed trooper made good his escape
his hat was knocked off and Symonds saw that the spy was a woman."
"A woman!" Goddard nearly dropped his cigar in his astonishment. "How
did he find that out?"
"Her hair fell down her back when her hat was knocked off."
Goddard stared at his companion. "Well, I'll be--blessed!" he muttered.
"I have been looking for such a woman for some time, and until to-day
without success," declared Lloyd calmly.
"Did she by chance leave any trace, any clues, behind her in her
flight?"
"One." Lloyd pulled out his leather wallet. "On examining the hat,
which he picked up on his return to where I was lying unconscious,
Symonds found these hairs adhering to the lining. He put them in an
envelope and brought them to me at the hospital." Lloyd drew out a
small paper, which he opened with care. "Have you ever seen hair of
that color before?"
Goddard took the opened paper, and glanced at its contents. A few
red-gold hairs confronted him. Instantly his thoughts flew to the scene
of that morning. In his mind's eye he saw the laughing face, the lovely
curly Titian hair, and heard the mocking, alluring voice say: "I'm
company." He slowly raised his head in time to see the steady gaze of
their negro waiter fixed full upon the paper in his hand.