The postmaster seemed not to notice the sound of the money. “What’s your posting, Major?” he asked.

“I’m at General McClellan’s headquarters.”

“Then I guess you knew to come here, Major,” the postmaster said mysteriously, and unlocked a desk drawer out of which he took a stiff brown envelope that, to Adam’s astonishment, had his name written on it. The handwriting was in capital letters and was unfamiliar to Adam, but he felt a tremor of excitement as he pulled the envelope open and unfolded the single sheet of paper.

The excitement turned to astonishment, almost to disbelief, as he read the Special Order. At first, scanning the opening two paragraphs, he wondered why anyone should have bothered to send him what seemed nothing more than a set of routine housekeeping instructions, but then he came to the third paragraph and, barely able to contain his excitement, he saw that he had been given all of the rebels’ dispositions. He had in his hand the whole strategy of the rebel army, the positions of every last division in Lee’s forces. The paper was gold, pure unalloyed gold, for Robert Lee had scattered his army. Part was at Harper’s Ferry, parts were moving north toward Pennsylvania, and others were presumably guarding the road between. Adam read the order twice and suddenly knew he was not serving his country in vain. Even McClellan, given this paper, would surely realize the opportunity. The Young Napoleon could fight each part of Lee’s army separately, defeating them one after the other until the rebellion, at least in Virginia and its neighboring states, would be utterly destroyed. “Who gave this to you?” Adam asked the postmaster.

“Didn’t give his name.”

“But he was a rebel officer?”

“He was.” The postmaster paused. “I reckoned it was important, because the fellow kind of acted strange. So I kept it separate from the other letters.”

Suppose it was a trap? Adam stared at the signature, R. H. Chilton. He knew Chilton, though not well. Was this a lure? But that was not his decision to make. “What did the man look like?” he asked the postmaster.

The man shrugged. “Small,” he said, “plumpish. A bit, how would you say? Delicate? Like he wasn’t supposed to be a soldier.”

“Did he have a beard?”

“None.”

Delaney? Adam thought. Belvedere Delaney? Not that the identity of Thorne’s spy mattered now, all that mattered was that this precious piece of paper should get back safe to McClellan. “Thank you,” Adam said fervently, then he picked up the discarded envelope, but in his haste he tore it as he tried to put the order back inside.

“Use this.” The postmaster gave him a larger envelope, which Adam used to hide the order. He went to put the envelope in his pocket, but found it filled with cigars.

“Have these, please,” Adam said, spilling the cigars on the desk.

“Not all of them!” the postmaster protested Adam’s generosity.

“I’ve more than enough,” Adam said. He did not smoke, but Lyman Thorne enjoyed his cigars, so Adam put the last three into the envelope before shaking the postmaster’s hand. “Thank you again,” he said fervently.