“Well, I believe I can prove he didn’t; on the contrary, that he went around by the roof of the porch to the colonel’s room and tried there, but found it risky on account of the blinds, and that finally he entered the hall window,—­what might be called neutral ground.  The painters had been at work there, as you said, two days before, and the paint on the slats was not quite dry.  The blinds and sills were the only things they had touched up on that front, it seems, and nothing on the sides.  Now, on the fresh paint of the colonel’s slats are the new imprints of masculine thumb and fingers, and on the sill of the hall window is a footprint that I know to be other than Jerrold’s.”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn’t own such a thing as this track was made with, and I don’t know a man in this command who does.  It was the handiwork of the Tonto Apaches, and came from the other side of the continent.”

“You mean it was—?”

“Exactly.  An Indian moccasin.”

Meantime, Mr. Jerrold had been making hurried preparations, as he had fully determined that at any cost he would go with the regiment.  He had been burning a number of letters, when Captain Armitage knocked and hurriedly entered.  Jerrold pushed forward a chair and plunged at once into the matter at issue: 

“There is no time to waste, captain.  I have sent to you to ask what I can do to be released from arrest and permitted to go with the command.”

“Answer the questions I put to you the other night, and certify to your answers; and of course you’ll have to apologize to Captain Chester for your last night’s language.”

“That of course; though you will admit it looked like spying.  Now let me ask you, did he tell you who the lady was?”

“No.  I told him.”

“How did you know?”

“By intuition, and my knowledge of previous circumstances.”

“We have no time to discuss it.  I make no attempt to conceal it now; but I ask that, on your honor, neither you nor he reveal it.”

“And continue to let the garrison believe that you were in Miss Renwick’s room that ghastly night?” asked Armitage, dryly.

Jerrold flushed:  “I have denied that, and I would have proved my alibi could I have done so without betraying a woman’s secret.  Must I tell?”

“So far as I am concerned, Mr. Jerrold,” said Armitage, with cold and relentless meaning, “you not only must tell—­you must prove—­both that night’s doings and Saturday night’s,—­both that and how you obtained that photograph.”

“My God!  In one case it is a woman’s name; in the other I have promised on honor not to reveal it.”

“That ends it, then.  You remain here in close arrest, and the charges against you will be pushed to the bitter end.  I will write them this very hour.”

XVI.

At ten o’clock that morning, shortly after a smiling interview with the ladies of Fort Sibley, in which, with infinite spirit and the most perfect self-control, Miss Beaubien had informed them that she had promised to lead with Mr. Jerrold, and, since he was in duress, she would lead with no one, and sent them off wondering and greatly excited, there came running up to the carriage a telegraph messenger boy, who handed her a despatch.