Late in October Howe’s army fell back from Germantown and took position just outside the city, where it was set to work throwing up lines of fortifications.  And a startling rumour which seemed to come from nowhere, but which, in spite of denials from headquarters, spread like wildfire, supplied a reason for both the retrograde movement and the construction of blockhouses and redoubts.

“The rebels have the effrontery to give it out that they have captured General Burgoyne’s whole force,” sneeringly announced Mobray, as he returned from guard mount.  “There seems no limit to the size of their lies.”

“La!  Sir Frederick,” exclaimed Janice, “’t is just what Colonel—­what somebody predicted.  He said that if General Washington could but keep Sir William busy until it would be too late for him to go General Burgoyne’s aid, all would be well at the end of the campaign.”

“And having conceived the hope, they seek to bolster their cause by spreading the tale abroad,” scoffed the baronet.

“‘Facile est inventis addere,’” laughed Andre.  “They are merely settling the moot point as to who is the father of invention.”

“What rebel was it bubbled the conceit to you, Miss Meredith?” inquired Mobray.

“’T was Colonel Brereton,” replied the girl, with a faint hesitation.  Then she added, as if a new idea occurred to her, “So you see the American is not the father of invention, Colonel Brereton being an Englishman.”  Though spoken as an assertion, the statement had a definite question in it.

“Who is this fellow, who, like Charles Lee, fights against his own country?” asked Andre.

“No one you ever knew, John,” replied Mobray; “but I, who do, have it not in my heart to blame him.”

“Wilt not tell us his history?” begged Janice, eagerly.  “Once he said his great-grandfather was King of England, and since then I’ve so longed to know it!”

“’T is truth he spoke, poor fellow, but he was an old-time friend of mine, which would be enough to seal my lips respecting his sorry tale, since he wishes oblivion for it.  But I am his debtor as well, for he it was who helped me to a prompt exchange when I was taken prisoner last spring.”

“Of course I would not have thee tell me anything that is secret,” remarked Janice.  Then, after a moment, she went on, “There is, however, something of which you may be able to inform me?”

“But name your desire.”

“I must get it,” announced the girl, and she left the room and went upstairs.  But once in the upper hallway, she did not go to her room, merely pausing long enough to take the miniature from its abiding spot, and then returned.  “Wilt tell me if the diamonds are false?” she requested, placing the ornament in Andre’s hand.

“No, for a certainty,” replied the captain.

“Then is it not worth five pounds?” exclaimed Janice.

“Five pounds,” laughed Andre, derisively. “’T is easily worth five hundred!”