“You see, sir, it is just what I was told,” said McKay to General Airey.

“Upon my word, you deserve great credit.  You seem to have organised an intelligence department of your own, and, what is more to the purpose, your fellow seems always right.”

McKay was greatly gratified at this encouragement, and eager to be still more useful.  He visited the Maltese baker again, and urged him to continue supplying him with news.

“Trust to Joe.  Wait one little bit; you know plenty more.”

Several days passed, however, without any fresh news.  Then a new messenger came, another Tartar, a very old man with a flowing grey beard, wearing a long caftan like a dressing-gown to his heels, and an enormous sheepskin cap that came far down over his eyes, and almost hid his face.  He seemed very decrepit, and was excessively stupid, probably from old age.  He looked terribly frightened when brought to McKay’s tent, stooping his shoulders and hanging his head in the cowering, deprecating attitude of one who expects, but would not dare to ward off, a blow.

He was tongue-tied, for he made no attempt to speak, but merely thrust forward one hand, making a deep obeisance with the other.  There was a scrap of paper in the extended hand, which McKay took and opened curiously.  A few lines in Italian were scrawled on it.

“The Russians are collecting large forces beyond the Tchernaya,” ran the message.  “Expect a new attack on that side.”

“Who gave you this?” asked McKay, in Russian.

The old fellow bowed low, but made no answer.

He repeated the question in Italian and every other language of which he was master, but obtained no reply.  The man remained stupidly, idiotically dumb, only grovelling lower and more abjectly each time.

“What an old jackass he is!  I shall get nothing out of him, I’m afraid.  But it won’t do to despise the message, wherever it comes from.  Take him outside,” he said to his orderly, “while I go and see the general.”  “You have no idea where this news comes from?” was General Airey’s first inquiry.

“The same source, I don’t doubt; but of course I can’t vouch for its accuracy.”

“It might be very important,” the general was musing.  “I am not sure whether you know what we contemplate in these next few days?”

“In the direction of the Tchernaya, sir?”

“Precisely.  Now that the Sardinian troops have all arrived, Lord Raglan thinks we are strong enough to extend our position as far as the river.”

“I had heard nothing of it, sir?”

“If this news be true, the Russians appear to be better informed than you are, McKay.”

“And are preparing to oppose our movement?”

“That’s just what I should like to know, and what gives so much importance to these tidings.  I only wish we could verify them.  Where is your messenger?  Who is he?”

“A half-witted old Tartar; you will get nothing out of him, sir.  I have been trying hard this half-hour.”