"No doubt of it, what's the latest from him?"

"The house of William Curtis was entered last night and robbed."

"Robbed of what?"

"Papers. The man never takes any valuables."

"But Curtis is not in the government!"

"No, but he carries on a lot of blockade running, chiefly through Norfolk
and Wilmington. I think the papers related to several blockade running
vessels coming out from England, and of course the Yankee blockading
ships will be ready for them. There's not a trace of the man who took
them."

"Something is deucedly sinister about it," said Bagby. "It seems to be
the work of one man, and he must have a hiding place in Richmond, but
we can't find it. Kenton, you and Dalton are army officers, supposedly
of intelligence. Now, why don't you find this mysterious terror? Ah,
will you excuse me for a minute! I see Miss Carden leaving the counter
with her basket, and there is no other seamstress in Richmond who can put
the ruffles on a man's finest shirt as she can. She's been doing work
for me for some time."

He arose, and, leaving them, bowed very politely to the seamstress.
Her face, although thin and lined, was that of an educated woman of
strong character. Harry thought it probable that she was a lady in the
conventional meaning of the word. Many a woman of breeding and culture
was now compelled to earn her own living in the South. She and Bagby
exchanged only a few words, he returning to his chair, and she leaving
the hotel at a side door, walking with dignity.

"I've seen Miss Carden three times before, once on the train, once at
this hotel and once at Mr. Curtis's house; can you tell me anything about
her?" said Harry.

"It's an ordinary tale," replied Bagby. "I think she lived well up the
valley and her house being destroyed in some raid of the Federal troops
she came down to the capital to earn a living. She's been doing work for
me and others I know for a year past, and I know she's not been out of
Richmond in that time."

The talk changed now to the books that had come through from Europe in
the blockade runners. There was a new novel by Dickens and another by
Thackeray, new at least to the South, and the members of the Mosaic Club
were soon deep in criticism and defense.

Harry strolled away after a while. He did not tell his friends--nothing
was to be gained by telling them--that he was absolutely sure of the
identity of the spy, that it was Shepard. The question of ident