President, wait.”

Lincoln stopped. “What else, Lieutenant?”

“I’m supposed to see you downstairs and delegate an escort.”

Lincoln stepped into the hallway. “I’ll find my own way out.”

“But, sir”—Halsey hurried after him—“Secretary Stanton insists.”

Gas lamps lit their way to the top of the stairs, to the landing at the duty desk, and down to the first floor. The gas was always burning in the War Department.

Lincoln bounded down, two steps at a time, and his voice echoed with annoyance: “Lieutenant, I walk over here every night by myself. Most nights, I carry a cane to fend off the shadows. Mrs. Lincoln feels better if I do—”

“She’s right, sir,” said Halsey. “There are people abroad who … who…” Halsey did not want to state the obvious.

So Lincoln stated it for him: “Would do me harm?”

“Well, yes, sir.”

Lincoln turned for the east exit. He was moving quickly, as if running away from the bad news that always seemed to be arriving on the wires.

At the exit, two soldiers stood guard, two who had been wounded badly enough that door duty in the capital was the best service they could render. One snapped to attention. The other, whose left sleeve was pinned at the elbow, opened the door.

Lincoln stopped on the threshold and looked out at the White House, glimmering beyond the trees. “If a man is determined to bring me down between here and my front door, Lieutenant, it will be impossible to protect me.”

“It’s still our job, sir,” said Halsey.

“So it is.” Lincoln seemed to soften. “So it is. And we wouldn’t want the secretary angry.” Lincoln looked at Halsey and the two soldiers. “He’d have you all shot if he found out I was walking home alone.”

“You know him better than I, sir,” said Halsey.

Lincoln pointed to Halsey’s armpit. “Is that one of those newfangled shoulder holsters under your coat? The kind with the spring-loaded clip?”

“Yes, sir.” Since military officers attached to the civilian telegraph office did not wear their uniforms, Halsey wore a Brooks Brothers tweed suit. He lifted a lapel to reveal holster and pistol. “Adams thirty-one-caliber, double action.”

“So,” said Lincoln, “if we’re attacked between here and my front door, we’ll have no worries.”

“No, sir.” Halsey did not add that he was a dead shot, though he was.

“Then lead on,” said Lincoln.

And together they stepped into the darkness, following a path through the trees to the crescent-shaped carriage drive. Lincoln moved quickly on those long legs. Halsey hurried to keep up.

“So tell me, Lieutenant,” said Lincoln as they went, “did you know my son?”

“No, sir. I was in the Law School. He was a freshman, but I noticed him on occasion in the Yard. He became something of a celebrity at election time, as you can imagine.”

“I can,” said Lincoln a bit ruefully. “So did I.”

Gas lanterns illuminated the great portico of the Executive Mansion. A light burned in the bedroom of Lincoln’s secretaries, Nicolay and Hay, another in Mrs. Lincoln’s room.

“I’ve heard,” said the president, “that I did not win a straw poll at Harvard.”

“You’ve heard correctly, sir.”

“Do you think the young men were expressing their parents’ opinions?”

“Well, the Hutchinsons of Massachusetts are in textiles, sir, so—”

“So you voted for cheap cotton?”

Halsey sensed movement out on Pennsylvania Avenue. Someone was watching them from the shadows. He stopped and put his hand inside his coat.

But a voice from the street, a Negro voice in timbre and tone, cried out: “God Bless you, Mr. President.”

Lincoln raised his hand in a little wave and went on up the flagstone walk.

The shadow watched a moment longer, then moved away.

Halsey watched the shadow a moment longer, then hurried after the president.

And Lincoln said, “You haven’t answered my question, Lieutenant. How did you vote in Harvard’s straw poll?”

“Well, sir—” Halsey decided right there that he would not be intimidated by any man.