The Argosy, Vol. 61, No. 4 — page 117: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE SPY OF VALLEY FORGE. with ridiculous quickness. A titter, then a roar of laughter, arose at the luckless baronet’s antics. I breathed more easily. “T tell you,” screamed Digby, forcibly held back by two of his acquaintances— ‘IT tell you ’tis the Yankee spy! And he’s wearing my clothes. Odds zooks! Are ye all mad, that you stand by and let him escape? Don’t I know my own rai- ment? He is wearing it. Yes, down to the sword itself! Look at the initial, picked out with diamonds, on the hilt. Look at it! A ‘D,’ is it not? For ‘Digby.’ “Twas made for me at—” I drew the sword carelessly from the sheath and held it out, hilt foremost, for all to gaze upon. Sure enough, there, on the pommel, blazed the letter ‘‘ D.” | “Thus far the worthy maniac is quite right,” I laughed. ‘“ My sword-hilt does bear that initial He seems to forget that ‘D’ stands for ‘ Dacre,’ as well as for ‘Digby.’ And, for that matter, it also stands for ‘ Dunce,’ ‘ Dolt,’ and ‘ Dul- lard.’ ”’ A polite laugh—yet more hearty than the mild witticism warranted — broke from the bystanders and served as a red rag to Digby’s impotent rage. ‘““D’ye tell me I don’t know my own sword?” he fumed. ‘“ Are ye all blind, that ye can’t see this is a cheap trickster? Dacre, eh? What Dacre? I know the Dacres, root and branch.” “Tt is an odd situation for introduc- tions,” laughed André, ‘‘ but by all means let us observe the niceties of etiquette. Mr. Dacre, this is my usually sane and non-bibulous friend, Sir Harvey Digby, baronet, of Shropshire. Sir Harvey, I beg to present the Hon. Frederic Dacre, Esq., of Hants, nephew to the late Lord— ”’ , “Fred Dacre?” squealed Digby in semitearful sarcasm. ‘‘ Fred Dacre, for- sooth! Ho!” I had been on the point of returning my weapon to its sheath. Now, as if forgetting to sheathe the sword, I held it idly in my hands, fingering the hilt and the blade. I noted that the latter—as was, of course, more common with court swords than rapiers—had a razor-keen edge. On edge and point I might at any moment be forced to rely for my life. But lI 675 would not cast off the mask of suave amusement until I had to. I knew my placid, smiling face might stand between me and detection. Again the “ conjurer’”’ was to the fore. Decidedly, every would-be diplomatist should take at least a short course in , magic, if only for the perfect dissimula- tion it teaches. ‘““Fred Dacre!” repeated Digby, find- ing coherent speech at last. ‘ A fine tale, egad! Fred-and I were at Eton togeth- er. And again we were comrades on the tedious Indian voyage two years ago. This spy is no more like Fred Dacre than I am like—” ‘“A sane man?”’ I finished. quite likely.” ‘‘ Digby,” remonstrated André, ‘“ for the love of Heaven, call back your senses! Mr. Dacre came here to-night with his cousin, Miss Miriam Dacre. Surely, she should know her own cousin better than you. You are absurd— laughable. Come away, I beg. The farce will begin in another minute, and we are blocking the view of the stage. eee ‘In that waistcoat,” yelled Digby, “ is That is ' a watch bearing my full monogram on its back. The fob hanging now from his pocket holds the Digby crest-seal. If he be Fred Dacre, or any honest man, let him hand over that watch and fob fer inspection. If they bear not my mono- gram and crest, I will most humbly apol- ogize. Or I will grant him such satis- faction as his honor may demand. Let him hand the watch to André, or to—” ‘This is ridiculous,” protested André. 6c Come 9 ‘I think,” spoke up an elderly offi- cer, “if Mr. Dacre does not object, it— it is a good idea.. It might satisfy our tipsy friend Digby and make him leave the place quietly. Would you object to handing your watch to André, or to me, or to any one else, Mr. Dacre? Believe me, I only ask it because Digby says he will be convinced by the test. And, drunk or sober, I have ever found him a man of his word. ’T will silence him and let the play go on.” ‘Perhaps you are right, Wharton,” agreed André. ‘ Dacre, ’tis a monstrous imposition, but—would you greatly ob- jecte” EO OO (C (©