“Well, I’ll be jiggered,” he exclaimed.  “He was right there by the second door when I saw him.  I was goin’ to post Murphy at that end window, sir, but I didn’t think there was any need o’ two men there.”

“Did you speak to him?”

“I told him what was up, sir, and that he better stay by the window.”

“Did he answer you?”

“He said ‘all right,’ or something like that, an’ went back.  I never thought anything was wrong; all I noticed particular was he had only a revolver, but most o’ yer fellows was armed that way.  I meant to get him a gun as soon as I had time.”  He strode forward, looking into the rooms.  “He ain’t here now anyhow, and I’m damned if I know where he could o’ gone.  Did I make a mistake, sir?”

“No, this is no fault of yours, Corporal, but it’s strange nevertheless.  We had no guard up here, but this fellow, wearing our uniform, has been seen before—­Miss Hardy, this gentleman’s daughter, saw him, and now she has disappeared.  There was murder done in this hall this morning.”

The corporal crossed himself, his lips murmuring as he glanced about, and then into my face.

“Murder, sir!  The Confederate captain lying in yonder on the bed?”

“Yes; he was waylaid here, and struck down from behind.  I found his body out in front of that door, the skull crushed.”

“An’ ye think that feller did it?”

“I don’t know who did it.  But I should like to discover where that lad hides, and what he is here for.  We have accounted for all our men, and searched this floor inch by inch.  I began to think Miss Hardy was mistaken, but now you’ve seen him also.”

“An’ Murphy,” broke in the horrified corporal, edging closer.  “Murphy saw him too.  Bedad, maybe it was a ghost!”

“Ghosts don’t talk, and I never heard of any wearing revolvers.  Major, when did you see Billie last?”

I noticed how haggard his face was, and he answered slowly, his hands grasping the stair-rail.

“We were together in the front hall when your men came.  You were talking loudly, and the new voices attracted our attention.  We both went forward to the head of the stairs.”

“You overheard what was said?” I interrupted, a new possibility dawning upon me.

“Much of it, yes,” he admitted.

“The plan of attack?—­the orders sent me?”

His expression answered.

“And what were you going to do with this information, Major Hardy?”

“Nothing.  I considered myself a prisoner on parole.  I merely proposed asking your permission to leave the house with my daughter before hostilities began.  I started down the stairs for that purpose.”

“And Billie?”

“I told her this, and sent her to her room after some things.  Before I got down you had disappeared, and I returned up stairs.  She was not in her room, nor could I find a trace of her.”