“That isn’t all,” said Mr. Ritchie in Rand’s ear.  “The plot was not only against Spain—­it looked to the separation of the West from the East, with the Alleghanies for the wall between.  General Wilkinson is the hero.  It seems that Burr thought to implicate him and secure the army.  Wilkinson sent Burr’s letters in cipher to the President.  The Government has had knowledge from various sources, and while he was thought to be dozing last summer, Mr. Jefferson was as wide awake as you or I. The militia are out in Wood County, and Burr will be taken somewhere upon the Ohio.  Wilkinson has put New Orleans under martial law.  Informer or no, he’s now more loyal than loyalty itself.  The Bienville is to be searched at Norfolk for a consignment of arms.  They say Eaton’s implicated, and Alston, Bollman, Swartwout, and this man Blennerhassett.  Truxtun’s name is mentioned, and it’s said that Decatur was applied to.  Andrew Jackson, too, has been friendly with Burr.  Well, we’ll see what we will see!  Treason and traitor are ugly words, Mr. Rand.”

“They are so considered, Mr. Ritchie,” said Rand, with calmness.  “Thanks for your courtesy, and good-morning!”

He bowed and made his way, not unaccosted, through the crowd to the Eagle porch.  There was much excitement.  The Governor was speaking from the head of the steps.  Below him planters, merchants, lawyers, and politicians were now listening eagerly, now commenting sotto voce, while beyond them the nondescript population swayed and exclaimed.  To one side were massed the tall plumes of the Blues.  Rand saw, near these, Fairfax Cary’s handsome face, not pale as it had been between nine and ten o’clock, but alert, flushed, and—­or so Rand interpreted its light and energy—­triumphant.  He went on into the house, ordered and drank a small quantity of brandy, and when he came back upon the porch was met by those near him with a cry of “Speech!  Speech!” The Governor’s periods were at an end, and John Randolph of Roanoke held the impromptu tribune.  Rand’s eloquence, if not as impassioned and mordant, was as overwhelming, and his reasoning of a closer texture.  Those around him loudly claimed him for the next to address the crowd, which now numbered a great part of the free men of Richmond.  He shook off the detaining hands and, with a gesture of refusal to one and all, made his escape by a side step into the miscellany of the street, and finally out of the throng, and, by a detour, back to the deserted square where stood his office.  He had lost sight of Mocket, but as he put his key into the door, the other came panting up, and the two entered the bare, sunshine-flooded room together.  Rand locked the door and, without a look at his trembling subaltern, proceeded to take from his desk paper after paper, some in neatly tied packets, some in single sheets, until a crisp white heap lay on the wood beneath his hand.  “Light a fire,” he said over his shoulder.  “There’s absolutely nothing, is there, in that desk of yours?”