“Depend upon it, the dressed man was the President, the undressed man Carr!  When was that?”

“About half-past two, sir; just after the doctor came.”

“The doctor!” we cried.

“Yes, sir; Dr. Anderson.”

“You never told me he had been here.”

“He never went into the President’s—­into General Whittingham’s room, sir; but he came in here for five minutes, to get some brandy, and stood talking with us for a time.  Half an hour after he came in for some more.”

We began to see how it was done.  That wretched little doctor was in the plot.  Somehow or other he had communicated with the President; probably he knew of the door.  Then, I fancied, they must have worked something in this way.  The doctor comes in to distract the sentries, while his Excellency moves the bed.  Finding that they took a look every five minutes, he told the President.  Then he went and got Johnny Carr ready.  Returning, he takes the President’s place on the bed, and in that character undergoes an inspection.  The moment this is over, he leaps up and goes out.  Between them they bring in Carr, put him into bed, and slip out through the narrow space of open door behind the bedstead.  When all was done, the doctor had come back to see if any suspicion had been aroused.

“I have it now!” cried the colonel.  “That infernal doctor’s done us both.  He couldn’t get Whittingham out of the house without leave, so he’s taken him as Carr!  Swindled me into giving my leave.  Ah, look out, if we meet, Mr. Doctor!”

We rushed out of the house and found this conjecture was true.  The man who purported to be Carr had been carried out, enveloped in blankets, just as we sat down to breakfast; the doctor had put him into the carriage, followed himself, and driven rapidly away.

“Which way did they go?”

“Toward the harbor, sir,” the sentry replied.

The harbor could be reached in twenty minutes’ fast driving.  Without a word the colonel sprang on his horse; I imitated him, and we galloped as hard as we could, everyone making way before our furious charge.  Alas! we were too late.  As we drew rein on the quay we saw, half a mile out to sea and sailing before a stiff breeze, Johnny Carr’s little yacht, with the Aureataland flag floating defiantly at her masthead.

We gazed at it blankly, with never a word to say, and turned our horses’ heads.  Our attention was attracted by a small group of men standing round the storm-signal post.  As we rode up, they hastily scattered, and we saw pinned to the post a sheet of note-paper.  Thereupon was written in a well-known hand: 

“I, Marcus W. Whittingham, President of the Republic of Aureataland, hereby offer a REWARD of FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS and a FREE PARDON to any person or persons assisting in the CAPTURE, ALIVE or DEAD, of GEORGE MCGREGOR (late Colonel in the Aureataland Army) and JOHN MARTIN, Bank Manager, and I do further proclaim the said George McGregor and John Martin to be traitors and rebels against the Republic, and do pronounce their lives forfeited.  Which sentence let every loyal citizen observe at his peril.

  “MARCUS W. WHITTINGHAM,