t on, you'd be the very
picture of Senator X----."

Now Senator X----, through a revolution of the political wheel, had
become Secretary of State. That casual remark had penetrated into the
imagination of the Colonel. He tried to shake the impression off.
Flattered by this suggestion--no one had ever made it before--he bought
photographs of the Senator, all he could find, and studied them
diligently. For days he haunted the Senate chamber and learned the
personnel of the Senator by heart. [This, it will be remembered, was in
the last administration.] Then was born the thought, Why not make
capital out of this resemblance which art could easily magnify? The
Senator was a millionaire. There might be money in it. But this seemed,
after all, rather impracticable and rather commonplace. The Colonel was
no sneak thief. He had broader elements than that. The man, but not the
blood, was ignorant that his grandfather's great-grandfather was hung
for piracy in England. It would be impossible to state when the
stupendous plot, which he finally executed, shaped itself in his subtile
brain. This idea startled him, haunted him, conquered him; why not
kidnap the President of the United States, demand a ransom and throw
suspicion, for a time at least, upon the wily politician? His thoughts
now worked only in that conduit. Jacobi said that the greater a man's
ability to act for distant ends, the stronger his mind. The Colonel
silently plotted for months. We see where it had led him. Having
studiously perfected himself in the role of Secretary, which he was
prepared to play at a moment's notice, the Colonel spent the remainder
of these last nights in Washington, awaiting an opportunity to capture
the Secretary's coach, after it had been dismissed by its owner for the
night.

He also kept himself closely informed of the President's habits and his
simple domestic hours without arousing any suspicion. All Washington
knew the customs of its unostentatious chief. Society had criticised his
"affected Democratic ways." Every one knew that he habitually retired as
early as a New England deacon, never later than eleven. White House
dissipation was now out of season. The Colonel knew that the interior of
the executive mansion was unguarded at night. Could he once gain access
thereto, the rest of his plot, so ignorant and so trustworthy his tools,
could not miscarry. The Colonel made the attempt for three consecutive
nights to capture the Secreta