The room was a cell, dimly lighted by one small slit of a window and two candles. Two men occupied chairs at the table, and two more sat on a bunk built against the wall. They were just sitting, all four of them, as if they had nothing else to do. When one of the two at the table snapped, “What’s your business?” I knew he must be Colonel Hazen. He was red-faced, thick-necked, quick and impatient in his movements, and he wore a handsome uniform—as good as those worn by the officers of the Pennsylvania troops cut to pieces at Three Rivers.

“A despatch from General Arnold,” I said, and gave it to him.

One of the two on the bunk, tall and long-nosed, snorted and said, “Speak of the devil!”

The officer at the table with Hazen looked dusty and farmerish. His face was round, and so was his body; and his eyes squinted as if he could say something smart whenever he chose; and he chose at this moment. “Ain’t that a leetle weak, Major?” he asked. “Generally you git violent inside of three words!” At this all four guffawed, as idlers guffaw when one of them achieves a gem of rudeness.

The tall officer with the long nose, therefore, was a major, and must be Major Brown; and I remembered, then, that someone had spoken of Bedel as being the best hay-pitcher in New Hampshire. Thus Bedel had to be the round, dusty-looking, farmerish one; for the fourth officer, the one who sat on the bunk beside Major Brown, was thin, with a bitter twist to his mouth, which was set in a perpetual sneer. He must, I was sure, be Colonel Easton, for I could tell by looking at him that he would be no better at pitching hay than at doing a generous deed.

Colonel Hazen placed Arnold’s letter on the table, smoothed it: then turned it over and examined the superscription. “ ‘Captain Peter Merrill.’ That’s you, is it?”

“Yes sir.”

“Whose commission do you hold, sir? Congress or Provincial?”

“General Arnold gave me my commission. It was necessary in the performance of scout duty.”

The four officers looked at each other: then concentrated on me.

“So you’re a scout, are you?” Major Brown asked. “You have special qualifications, no doubt, if the general commissioned you.” He stressed the word “general” in such a way that I knew he would willingly cut Arnold’s throat if he could do it undetected. I made no answer; and in an instant he was on his feet, as if he had me in a court of law. “We’d be interested to know, Captain, about your special qualifications.”

“Well, sir,” I said mildly, not wishing to have trouble with any of these four officers, “well, sir, I don’t rightly see what that has to do with you, or with my present duties.”