He
had left under the impression that a secret service man had seen them
both leave. He knew that Baker, the head of the Department, might know
the name of every clerk who frequented a gambling den. No one was in
sight and he debated for a moment the problem of offering this boy the
bribe to get from Stanton's office the information he wanted.
It was a question of character and his judgment of it. Could he speak
the word to this boy that might send one or both to the gallows? He was
well born. His father was a man of sterling integrity and a firm
supporter of the Union. The boy was twenty-two years old and had been a
pet in the fast circle of society in which he had moved for the last
three years. If his love for his country were the real thing, he would
hand Ned over as a spy without a moment's hesitation. If the mania for
gambling had done its work he would do anything for money.
Ned's own life was in the decision. He took another look into the
haggard face and made up his mind.
He started on as if to pass him, stopped suddenly and extended his hand:
"Hello, Dick, what's up?"
The boy glowered at him and answered with a snarl:
"I don't know you----"
Ned drew a sigh of relief. One danger was passed. He couldn't recognize
him. The rest should be easy.
"You don't need to, my boy," he whispered.
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