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Matters had now assumed a really serious aspect, and I resolved to call at once upon my particular friend, Mr. Theodore Sinivate ; for I knew that here at least I should get something like definite information.

“Smith ?” said he, in his well-known peculiar way of drawling out his syllables ; “Smith ? – why, not General John A. B. C. ? Savage affair that with the Kickapo-o-o-os, wasn’t it ? Say ! don’t you think so ? – perfect despera-a-ado – great pity, ‘pon my honor ! – wonderfully inventive age ! – pro-o-odigies of valor ! By the by, did you ever hear about Captain Ma-a-a-a-n ?”

“Captain Mann be d–d !” said I ; “please to go on with your story.”

“Hem ! – oh well ! – quite la même cho-o-ose, as we say in France. Smith, eh ? Brigadier-General John A. B. C. ? I say” – [here Mr. S. thought proper to put his finger to the side of his nose] – “I say, you don’t mean to insinuate now, really and truly, and conscientiously, that you don’t know all about that affair of Smith’s, as well as I do, eh ? Smith ? John A-B-C. ? Why, bless me, he’s the ma-a-an” —

“Mr. Sinivate,” said I, imploringly, “is he the man in the mask ?”

“No-o-o !” said he, looking wise, “nor the man in the mo-o-on.”

This reply I considered a pointed and positive insult, and so left the house at once in high dudgeon, with a firm resolve to call my friend, Mr. Sinivate, to a speedy account for his ungentlemanly conduct and ill-breeding.

In the meantime, however, I had no notion of being thwarted touching the information I desired. There was one resource left me yet. I would go to the fountain-head. I would call forthwith upon the General himself, and demand, in explicit terms, a solution of this abominable piece of mystery. Here, at least, there should be no chance for equivocation. I would be plain, positive, peremptory – as short as pie-crust – as concise as Tacitus or Montesquieu.

It was early when I called, and the General was dressing; but I pleaded urgent business, and was shown at once into his bed-room by an old negro valet, who remained in attendance during my visit. As I entered the chamber, I looked about, of course, for the occupant, but did not immediately perceive him. There was a large and exceedingly odd-looking bundle of something which lay close by my feet on the floor, and, as I was not in the best humor in the world, I gave it a kick out of the way.

“Hem ! ahem ! rather civil that, I should say !” said the bundle, in one of the smallest, and altogether the funniest little voices, between a squeak and a whistle, that I ever heard in all the days of my existence.

“Ahem ! rather civil that, I should observe.”

I fairly shouted with terror, and made off, at a tangent, into the farthest extremity of the room.

“God bless me ! my dear fellow,” here again whistled the bundle, “what – what – what – why, what is the matter ? I really believe you don’t know me at all.”

What could I say to all this – what could I ? I staggered into an arm-chair, and, with staring eyes and open mouth, awaited the solution of the wonder.

“Strange you shouldn’t know me though, isn’t it ?” presently re-squeaked the nondescript, which I now perceived was performing, upon the floor, some inexplicable evolution, very analogous to the drawing on of a stocking. There was only a single leg, however, apparent.