He looked up at
the White House, and wondered how the people there were
spending their Christmas Day.
Commodore Benbow was waiting for him. He took him up
into his own parlor.
"Molyneux, your Mr. Greenhithe is either the most
ingenious liar and the best actor on God's earth, or he
knows no more of your lost papers than a child in heaven.
"I went back to the billiard-room, after you left me.
I walked up to Millet--that was Lieutenant Millet playing
with Greenhithe--and I shook hands. He had to introduce
me to your friend. Then I asked them both to come here,
told Millet I had some papers from Montevideo that he
would be glad to see, and that I should be glad of a call
when they had done their game. Well, they came. I am
sorry to say your friend--"
"Oh, don't, my dear Commodore Benbow, don't call him
my friend, even in a joke; it makes me feel awfully."
"I am glad it does," said the Commodore, laughing.
"Well, I am very sorry to say that the black sheep had
been drinking more of the whisky downstairs than was good
for him; and, no fault of mine, he drank more of my
Madeira than he should have done, and, Tom, I do not
believe he was in any condition to keep secrets. Well,
first of all, it appeared that he had been in Bremen and
Vienna for six months. He only arrived in New York
yesterday morning.
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