“No, sir, this don’t help none to clear that affair up.  But it’s Burke all right, an’ he’s had a knife driven through his heart.  What do you ever suppose he could ‘a’ been doin’ down here?”

“Where was he stationed?”

“He was with me till that last shindy started; then when you called for more men in the kitchen I sent him an’ Flynn out there.”

Miles lit a third match, and I looked about striving to piece together the evidence.  I began to think I understood something of what had occurred.  This soldier, Burke, was a victim, not an assailant.  He lay with his hand still clasping the bar which had locked the door.  He had been stabbed without warning, and whoever did the deed had escaped over the dead body.  I stepped back to where I could see the full length of the cellar; the trap door leading up into the kitchen stood wide open.  Convinced this must be the way Burke had come down, I walked over to the narrow stairs, and thrust my head up through the opening.  There were six men in the room, and they stared at me in startled surprise, but came instantly to their feet.

“When did Burke go down cellar?” I asked briefly.

The man nearest turned to his fellows, and then back toward me, feeling compelled to answer.

“’Bout ten minutes ago, wasn’t it, boys?”

“Not mor ’n that, sir.”

“What was he after?”

“Well, we got sorter dry after that las’ scrimmage, an’ Jack here said he reckoned thar’d be something ter drink down stairs; he contended that most o’ these yer ol’ houses had plenty o’ good stuff hid away.  Finally Burke volunteered to go down, an’ see what he could find.  We was waitin’ fer him to com’ back.  What’s happened ter Burke, sir?”

“Knifed.”

“Killed!  Burke killed!  Who did it?”

“That is exactly what I should like to find out.  There is some one in this house masquerading in our uniform who must be insane.  He killed a Confederate captain this morning, crushed in his skull with a revolver butt, and now he has put a knife into Burke.  Has any one come up these steps?”

“Not a one, sir.”

“And I was at the head of the other stairs.  Then he is hiding in the cellar yet.”

Suddenly I remembered that Billie was below exposed to danger; in that semi-darkness the murderous villain might creep upon her unobserved.  The thought sent a cold chill to my heart, and I sprang down again to the stone floor.

“Three of you come down, and bring up the body,” I called back.  “Then we’ll hunt the devil.”

She had not left the lower step of the front stairs, but caught my hands as though the darkness, the dread uncertainty, had robbed her of all reserve.

“What is it?” she asked.  “I do not understand what has happened.”

“The man you locked up has escaped,” I explained, holding her tightly to me, the very trembling of her figure yielding me courage.  “I haven’t the entire story, but this must be the way of it:  One of the men on duty in the kitchen came down here hunting for liquor.  Either the prisoner called to him, and got him to open the door, or else he took down the bar while searching.  Anyway we found the door ajar, and the soldier dead.”