idn't. She
was evidently taken by surprise, and wanted a little time to think it
over, and form a plan. So did I. As I looked her over, and thought what
I was expected to do, I wondered where it would be best to commence. She
began to recover, smiled at me and asked me to have the other soldiers
go away, so she could talk with me. I wished she wouldn't smile like
that, because it unnerved me. She asked me what I was going to do with
her, what caused me to suspect her, if I would not believe her if she
told me she was not a smuggler, if I had orders to arrest her, and all
that. I said, "Madame, my orders are to arrest all quinine smugglers, and
you are one. I am Hawkshaw, the detective. For months I have shadowed
you, and I know you have concealed about your person a whole drug store.
In that innocent looking bustle I feel that there is quinine for the
million. Your heaving bosom contains, besides love for your friends and
hatred of your enemies, a storehouse of useful medicines, contraband
of war. In your stockings there is much that would interest the seeker
after the truth, your corset that fits you so beautifully is liable
to be full of revolver cartridges, while in your shoes there may be
messages to the rebels. I shall search you from Genesis to Revelations,
and may the Lord have mercy on both of us. To begin, please let me
examine the hat you have on."

With some reluctance she took off a sort of half-stovepipe hat, and
covered her face with her handkerchief while I looked into it. I found
a package of newly printed confederate bonds, and a quantity of court
plaster. That settled it. She cried a little, and wanted to go into the
schoolhouse. I went in with her, and two of my soldiers.

I told her that it was a duty that was pretty tough, but it was
necessary for her to disrobe, as I must have every article she had. She
cried, and said if I searched her, or molested her, I would do it at
my peril, and that I wouldn't know how to go to work to take off her
clothes, anyway, and that I ought to be ashamed of myself. I told her I
felt as ashamed as any gentleman could, and though I knew little about
the details of the female apparel, I had some general ideas about
bustles, polonaise, socks, skirts, and so forth, and while I might be
awkward, and uncouth, and nervous, as long as there were buttons to
unbutton, hooks to unhook, and safety-pins to unpin, I thought I could
eventually get to the quinine, if she would give