To his infinite relief and joy his Commanding General looked up at him thoughtfully, then slowly rose from his desk and took a turn about the room, followed by a faint blue trail of cigar smoke.  He paused.

“And what does Cary say?” he asked.

Again Harris smiled the quiet smile of the lawyer who has been confronted with such questions before and knows well how to answer them.

“He, too, is on trial for his life.  His evidence, naturally, was not admitted.”

“Ah!  Then what says Morrison?”

“Nothing, sir,” was the young lieutenant’s calm reply.  “The burden of proof lies with the prosecution—­not with the defendant.”

“And this is your contention—­your legal flaw in my machine?” the General asked sharply.

“It is.”

“Very good, sir—­very good.  In that case we’ll call in these silent partners and dig into this case until we reach rock bottom!”

“Forbes,” he ordered.  “Send for the prisoner, Mr. Morrison—­and the Rebel, Herbert Cary.  I want both of them here—­at once!”

In the pause which followed the Adjutant’s exit Harris interposed an objection.

“Your method, General, is hardly just to the interests of my client.”

Grant turned on him with something mere than impatience.  He was growing angry.

“Lieutenant Harris!  Are you asking me to pardon a guilty man?  It’s the truth I want—­not legal technicalities.  Next you’ll be asking me not to hang this Rebel spy because he has—­a baby!”

He went back to his accustomed place at the window and stood looking out again, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, the eternal cigar smoke rising above his head.  Then, to the young lieutenant’s amazement, he asked a question in tones of ordinary conversation.

“Harris,” he said.  “Who was the man who preferred these charges to start with?”

“Corporal Dudley,” was the eager answer.

“And there, General, is another point and a vital one that was not brought out.  In reporting his Colonel, Dudley was actuated not by a spirit of military duty, but personal revenge.”

“Revenge?  Why?”

“Because Morrison shot and killed Dudley’s brother—­a Sergeant in his command.”

The General came back from his window.

“Again—­why?”

“For insubordination—­incendiarism—­attempted desertion,” came the swift reply.

The General’s eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch.  He seated himself at his desk and unrolled a map.

“Any witnesses of the Sergeant’s death?” he asked evenly as he proceeded to study his map.

“Unfortunately, only one,” Harris replied.  “An old negro—­now in our camp—­answering to the name of William Lewis.”

“Lewis—­Lewis,” said Grant thoughtfully.  He referred for a moment to a file of papers and then looked up.  “Is that the old codger who’s been worrying my entire staff for permission to go through our lines to his home?”