“But you know where the news comes from.  Could you not follow it up to its source?”

“I will do so at once, sir;” and within half-an-hour McKay was in his saddle, riding down to Balaclava.

Valetta Joe was in his shop, distributing a batch of newly-baked bread to a number of itinerant vendors, each bound to retail the loaves in the various camps.

McKay waited until the place was clear, then accosted the baker sharply.

“What was the good of your sending that old numbskull to me?”

“He give you letter.  You not understand?”

“Yes, yes, I understand; but I want to be certain it is true.”

“When Joe tell lies?  You believe him before; if you like, believe him again.”

“But can’t you tell me more about it?  How many troops have the Russians collected?  Since when?  What do they mean to do?”

“You ask Russian general, not me; I only know what I hear.”

“But it would be possible to tell, from the position of the enemy, something of their intentions.  I could directly if I saw them.”

“Then why you not go and look for yourself?” asked Joe, carelessly; but there was a glitter in his eyes which gave a deep meaning to the simple question.

“Why not?” said McKay, whom the look had escaped.  “It is well worth the risk.”

“I’ll help you, if you like,” went on Joe, with the same outwardly unconcerned manner.

“Can you?  How?”

“Very easy to pass lines.  You put on Tartar clothes same as that old man go to you to-day.  He live near Tchorgaun; he take you right into middle of Russian camp.”

“When can he start?” asked McKay eagerly, accepting without hesitation all the risks of this perilous undertaking.

“To-night, if you choose.  Come down here by-and-by; I have everything ready.”

McKay agreed, and returned to headquarters in all haste, where he sought out his chief and confided to him his intentions.

“You are really prepared to penetrate the enemy’s lines?  It will be a daring, dangerous job, McKay.  I should be wrong to encourage you.”

“It is of vital importance, you say, that we should really know what the enemy is doing beyond the Tchernaya.  I am quite ready to go, sir.”

“Lord Raglan—­all of us—­indeed, will be greatly indebted to you if you can find out.  But I do not like this idea of the disguise, McKay.  You ought not to go under false colours.”

“I should probably learn more.”

“Yes; but do you know what your fate would be if you were discovered?”

“I suppose I should be hanged, sir,” said McKay, simply.

“Hanged or shot.  Spies—­everyone out of uniform is a spy—­get a very short shrift at an enemy’s hand.  No; you must stick to your legitimate dress.  I am sure Lord Raglan would allow you to go under no other conditions.”

“As you wish, sir.  Only I fear I should not be so useful as if I were disguised.”