me, and I said at once, 'Here's your man,' or
something like it; and then Abbot didn't know him at all; declared he
had never written a line to him; never heard of him. The old gentleman
was completely floored. He vowed that for a whole year he had been
receiving letters from Lieutenant Paul Revere Abbot, and now had come to
see him because he was reported severely wounded."

"Did he show you any of the letters?"

"Why, no! He said there were none with him. He--I declare I do not know
what excuse he _did_ give," says the colonel, in dire distress of mind.

The provost-marshal's eyes are glittering, and his face is set and
eager. He thinks intently one moment, and then turns on the silent
colonel and their perplexed landlord.

"Keep this thing perfectly quiet, gentlemen; I may have to look further
into it; but at this moment, colonel, circumstances point significantly
at your friend, the doctor. Do you see nothing suspicious in his
conduct? His confident claim of a year's correspondence with an officer
of your regiment was possibly to gain your friendship and protection. As
ill-luck for him and good-luck for us would have it, he named the wrong
man. Abbot was there, and could deny it on the spot. The old man was
floored, of course; but his only way of carrying the thing through was
to play the martyr, and tell the story that for a year somebody had been
writing to him daily or weekly over the name of Abbot. What a very
improbable yarn, Putnam! Just think for yourself. What man would be apt
to do that sort of thing? What object could he have? Why, the doctor
himself well realized what a transparent fiction it must appear, and
away he slips by the night train the moment he gets back. And now our
friend, the landlord, throws further light upon the matter. He was here
to meet that night visitor, perhaps convey valuable information to him,
but was frightened by the blunder he had made, and got away as speedily
as possible, and without seeing the owner of the beard, although a
packet of papers was duly handed to him from that mysterious party.
Doctor Warren may turn out a candidate for the fortress of that name in
your own harbor, colonel."

And, thinking it all over, Putnam cannot make up his mind what to say.
There is something in his impression of the doctor that utterly sets at
naught any belief that he was acting a part. He was so simple, so
direct, so genuine in his manner and in his distress. On the other
hand, ana