As soon as the door was closed behind the messenger Thorne laid his cigar down on the table. Then he picked up the despatch from the Secretary of War which the messenger had just brought in, and folded it very dexterously. Then with a pair of scissors which he found in a drawer he cut off the lower part of the Secretary’s despatch containing his signature. He put this between his teeth and tore the rest into pieces. He started to throw the pieces into the waste basket but after a moment’s reflection he stuffed them into his trouser pocket. Then he picked up his coat from the back of the chair and took from the inside breast pocket another document written on the same paper as that which had just come from the Secretary of War. Spreading this out on the table he cut off the signature and quickly pasted to it the piece of the real order bearing the real signature. He carefully wiped this pasted despatch with his handkerchief, making an exceedingly neat job of it.

As he did so, he smiled slightly. Fortune, which had dealt him so many rebuffs had evened up matters a little by giving him this opportunity. He had now in his possession a despatch bearing the genuine signature of the Secretary of War. Even if he were interrupted the chances were he would still be able to send it. So soon as he had doctored the despatch, he sat down at the instrument and once more essayed to send the message.

Now during all this rapid bit of manipulation Thorne had been under close observation, for Arrelsford and Edith Varney had come from the Commissary General’s Office, where they had concealed themselves while Thorne examined the porch, and had stepped back to the nearest window and were intently watching. Fortunately, his back partially concealed his actions and the watchers could not tell exactly what he had done, although it was quite evident that he was in some way altering some kind of a despatch.

Just as Thorne began to send the message, Arrelsford accidentally struck the window with his elbow, making a slight sound. The instant he did so, he and the girl vanished from sight. Once again Thorne released the key, and his hand moved quietly but rapidly from the instrument to the revolver. The instant it was in his hand he sprang to his feet, whirled about, leaped to the gas bracket and turned off the light. The room was left in darkness, save for the faint illumination of the moonlight through the windows.

Immediately he turned off the light he ran to the doors leading into the hall. They were provided with heavy old-fashioned bolts which he shot swiftly, locking them on the inside. Then with the utmost caution he edged around the wall until he came to the first window. He waited with his left hand on the catch of the window, and with his right advanced his revolver. After a moment’s pause he threw it open quickly and stepped out on the balcony. It was empty as before.

He must have made a mistake, he thought, since no one was there, and he blamed the whole incident to his over-agitated nerves. Indeed what he had gone through in the preceding two hours would have shaken any man’s nerves, might have broken most men’s. He was annoyed at having wasted precious time, and turned to the table again, stopping on his way to relight the light.

Once more he seized the key. He could telegraph equally well with either hand. He did not lay down his revolver on the table this time, but kept it in his right hand while the fingers of his left hand touched the button. He had scarcely made a dot or a dash when there was a sudden flash of light and the sound of an explosion, that of a heavy revolver, mingled with the crash of shattered glass. Captain Thorne’s fingers fell from the key and a jet of blood spurted out upon the table and the papers.

He rose to his feet with incredible swiftness, his revolver in his right hand, only to be confronted by Arrelsford at the front window. The latter held in his hand, pointed fairly and squarely at Thorne, the heavy service revolver with which he had just shot him in the left wrist. Thorne made a swift motion with his right hand but Arrelsford was too quick for him.

“Drop that gun!” he shouted. “Drop it quick, or you are a dead man!”

There was no possibility of disobedience. Thorne straightened up and laid his revolver on the table. The two confronted each other, and if looks could have killed they had both been dead men. The soldier shrugged his shoulders at last, took his handkerchief out of his pocket, put one end of it between his teeth, and with the other hand wrapped it tightly around his wounded wrist.

The civilian meantime advanced toward him, keeping him covered all the time with his revolver.

“Do you know why I didn’t kill you like the dog you are, just now?” he asked truculently, as he drew nearer.

“Because you are such a damned bad shot, I suppose,” coolly answered Thorne between his teeth, still tying the bandage, after which he calmly picked up his cigar and began smoking again with the utmost indifference.

Whatever fate had in store for him could better be met, he thought swiftly at this juncture, provided he kept his temper, and so he spoke as nonchalantly as before. Indeed his manner had always been most irritating and exacerbating to Arrelsford.

“Maybe you will change your mind about that later on,” the latter rejoined.

“Well, I hope so,” said Thorne, completing his bandage and tying the knot so as to leave the fingers of his left hand free. “You see, it isn’t pleasant to be riddled up this way.”

“Next time you’ll be riddled somewhere else beside the wrist. There’s only one reason why you are not lying there now with a bullet through your head.”

“Only one?” queried Thorne.

“Only one.”

“Do I hear it?”

“You do. I gave my word of honour to some one outside that I wouldn’t kill you, and——”

“Oh, then this isn’t a little tÊte-À-tÊte just between ourselves. You have some one with you?” asked Thorne, interested greatly in this new development, wondering who the some one was who had interfered in his behalf. Perhaps that evident friendship might be turned to account later on. For a moment not an idea of who was there entered Thorne’s mind.

“Yes, I have some one with me, Captain Thorne, who takes quite an interest in what you are doing to-night,” returned Arrelsford sneeringly.

“That is very kind, I am sure. Is the—er—gentleman going to stay out there all alone on the balcony or shall I have the pleasure of inviting him in here and having a charming little three-handed——”

The third party answered the question, for Edith Varney came through the window with the shattered pane through which Arrelsford had fired and entered. Thorne was shocked beyond measure by her arrival, not the slightest suspicion that she could have been there had crossed his mind. So she had been an eye witness to his treachery. He had faced Arrelsford’s pistol with the utmost composure, there was something in Edith Varney’s look that cut him to the heart, yet she did not look at him either. On the contrary, she carefully avoided his glance. Instead she turned to Arrelsford.

“I think I will go, Mr. Arrelsford,” she said in a low, choked voice.

“Not yet, Miss Varney,” he said peremptorily.

The girl gave him no heed. She turned and walked blindly toward the door.

“I don’t wish, to stay here any longer,” she faltered.

“One moment, please,” said Arrelsford, as she stopped, “we need you.”

“For what?”

“As a witness.”

“You can send for me if you need me, I will be at home.”

“I am sorry,” said Arrelsford, again interposing, “I will have to detain you until I turn him over to the guard. It won’t take long.”

The middle window was open and he stepped to it, still keeping an eye on Thorne, and shouted at the top of his voice:

“Call the guard! Corporal of the Guard! Send up the guard to the telegraph office!”

The note of triumph in his voice was unmistakable. From the street the three inside heard a faint cry:

“What’s the matter? Who calls the guard?”

“Up here in the telegraph office,” said Arrelsford, “send them up quick.”

The answer was evident sufficient, for they could hear the orders and the tumult in the square below.

“Corporal of the Guard, Post Four! Fall in the guard! Fall in! Lively, men!” and so on.

The game appeared to be up this time. Mr. Arrelsford held all the winning cards, thought Thorne, and he was playing them skilfully. He ground his teeth at the thought that another moment and the order would have been sent probably beyond recall. Fate had played him a scurvy trick, it had thwarted him at the last move, and Arrelsford had so contrived that his treachery had been before the woman he loved. Under other circumstances the wound in his wrist would have given him exquisite pain, as it was he scarcely realised at the time that he had been hurt.

Arrelsford still stood by the window, glancing out on the square but keeping Thorne under close observation. The evil look in his eyes and the malicious sneer on his lips well seconded the expression of triumph in his face. He had the man he hated where he wanted him. It was a splendid piece of work that he had performed, and in the performance he sated his private vengeance and carried out his public duty.

On his part, Thorne was absolutely helpless. There was that in the bearing of the woman he loved that prevented him from approaching her. He shot a mute look of appeal to her which she received with marble face, apparently absolutely indifferent to his presence, yet she was suffering scarcely less than he. In her anguish she turned desperately to Arrelsford.

“I am not going to stay,” she said decisively, “I don’t wish to be a witness.”

“Whatever your feelings may be, Miss Varney,” persisted Arrelsford, “I can’t permit you to refuse.”

“If you won’t take me downstairs, I will find the way myself,” returned the girl as if she had not heard.

She turned resolutely toward the door. Before she reached it the heavy tramping of the guard was heard.

“Too late,” said Arrelsford triumphantly, “you can’t go now, the guard is here.”

Edith could hear the approaching soldiers as well as anybody. The way was barred, she realised instantly. Well, if she could not escape, at least she could get out of sight. She turned and opened the nearest window and stepped out. Arrelsford knew that she could not go far, and that he could produce her whenever he wanted her. He made no objection to her departure that way, therefore. Instead he looked at Thorne.

“I have you just where I want you at last,” he said mockingly, as the trampling feet came nearer. “You thought you were mighty smart, but you will find that I can match your trick every time.”

Outside in the hall the men came to a sudden halt before the door. One of them knocked loudly upon it.

“What’s the matter here?” cried the Sergeant of the Guard without.

The handle was tried and the door was shoved violently, but the brass bolt held.

“Let us in!” he cried angrily.

Quick as a flash of lightning an idea came to Thorne.

“Sergeant!” he shouted in a powerful voice. “Sergeant of the Guard!”

“Sir!”

“Break down the door! Break it down with your musket butts!”

As the butts of the muskets pounded against the heavy mahogany panels, Arrelsford cried out in great surprise:

“What did you say?”

In his astonishment, he did not notice a swift movement Thorne made toward the door.

“You want them in, don’t you?” the soldier said, as he approached the door. “It is locked and——”

But Arrelsford recovered himself a little and again presented his revolver.

“Stand where you are,” he cried, but Thorne by this time had reached the door.

“Smash it down, Sergeant!” he cried. “What are you waiting for! Batter it down!”

The next moment the door gave way with a crash, and into the room poured the guard. The grizzled old Sergeant had scarcely stepped inside the room when Thorne shouted in tones of the fiercest authority, pointing at Arrelsford:

“Arrest that man!”

Before the dazed Secret Service Agent could say a word or press the trigger the soldiers were upon him.

“He got in here with a revolver,” continued Thorne more quietly, “and is playing hell with it. Hold him fast!”