he veteran inspector took each
man in turn and heard his tale and jotted down his notes, and, where
he thought it wise, cross-questioned over and again. One after
another, Truman and Todd, Wren and Mullins, told their stories,
bringing forth little that was new beyond the fact that Todd was sure
it was Elise he heard that night "jabbering with Downs" on Blakely's
porch. Todd felt sure that it was she who brought him whisky, and
Byrne let him prattle on. It was not evidence, yet it might lead the
way to light. In like manner was Mullins sure now "'Twas two ladies"
stabbed him when he would have striven to stop the foremost. Byrne
asked did he think they were ladies when first he set eyes on them,
and Pat owned up that he thought it was some of the girls from
Sudsville; it might even be Norah as one of them, coming home late
from the laundresses' quarters, and trying to play him a trick. He
owned to it that he grabbed the foremost, seeing at that moment no
other, and thinking to win the forfeit of a kiss, and Byrne gravely
assured him 'twas no shame in it, so long as Norah never found it out.

But Byrne asked Plume two questions that puzzled and worried him
greatly. How much whisky had he missed? and how much opium could have
been given him the night of Mrs. Plume's unconscious escapade? The
major well remembered that his demijohn had grown suddenly light, and
that he had found himself surprisingly heavy, dull, and drowsy. The
retrospect added to his gloom and depression. Byrne had not reoccupied
his old room at Plume's, now that madame and Elise were once more
under the major's roof, and even in extending the customary
invitation, Plume felt confident that Byrne could not and should not
accept. The position he had taken with regard to Elise, her ladyship's
companion and confidante, was sufficient in itself to make him, in the
eyes of that lady, an unacceptable guest, but it never occurred to
her, although it had to Plume, that there might be even deeper
reasons. Then, too, the relations between the commander and the
inspector, although each was scrupulously courteous, were now
necessarily strained. Plume could not but feel that his conduct of
post affairs was in a measure a matter of scrutiny. He knew that his
treatment of Natzie was disapproved by nine out of ten of his command.
He felt, rather than knew, that some of his people had connived at her
escape, and though that escape had been a relief to everybody at
Sandy,