“DEAR SIR:  A mother and sister who have exhausted all official sources in vain to get trace of a lost son and brother, John Sprague of the Caribees, have reason to believe that you can give them a clew to his whereabouts.  Will you therefore kindly confide in the bearer of this letter, giving him by word of mouth such facts as will enable John Sprague’s relatives to work intelligently in the search for him, living or dead?

    “Very truly yours,

    “KATHERINE BOONE.”

It was hardly written when Elkins himself appeared, radiant with satisfaction and blushing like a peony under lamplight.

“Yeour note came just in th’ nick o’ time.  I have leave of absence for twenty-four hours, and was just goin’ inter teown.”

“If you can spare me the day, I have a very important matter I think you can attend to for me.  I want you to go to the sick man Jones.  You must see before entering whether he is alone or not.  I don’t know how you can find out, but you can invent some way.  If you see the man who brought him from Washington, you are not to enter.  But if you find that he is not in the house, ask boldly for Jones, and when you reach him hand him this note.  He will give you an answer, and you must be careful not to lose a word, for life depends on the accuracy of your report.  I fancy that your regimentals and hospital badge can gain you admission, if, as I have reason to believe, there are orders to refuse strangers admission.  I depend on you to overcome any difficulty you may meet.  If you knew how much depends upon it, I’m sure you would not be baffled by anything less than force.”

The big blue eyes were fairly bulging, like two monster morning-glories, as Elkins, putting the note carefully in his jacket pocket, said, softly: 

“Ef I don’t get thet ’ere letter into Jones’s hands, you may have me drummed out o’ camp by the mule-drivers.”

“I believe you, and trust you.  I shall be here to-morrow morning early, and shall hope to hear something from you.  Good-by.”

“Good-by, miss.  Just you make up your mind I am goin’ to do what you command.”

When she reached home she found her father in the library.  He looked at her inquiringly as she came over and kissed him.

“I have been in town all day, and am run out.”

“Still plotting?”

“Yes, still plotting.”

“You’re wasting your time, my dear.  You’ll know all you care to soon enough, if you’ll just keep quiet.”

“Yes; but I can’t.  I want to know all you know, and I want to know it now.”

“All I know wouldn’t be much, according to the Spragues, who gave me my status in this town, long ago, as an ignoramus.”

“Perhaps you were then, papa.”

“Yes; I hadn’t been schooled fifteen years by my accomplished daughter.”

“A lie is truth to those who only tell the truth.”

“What does that mean?”