“There’s not a word of truth in what he says!” cried Joe, looking at her with open-mouthed astonishment.

“We have long had our eye upon you, my friend, you know that; and I shall inquire into this more closely.”

“At this moment there is a man—­his name is Benito Villegas—­in the bakehouse below the shop,” said Mariquita.  “He is wounded; you will find him there.  Go and seize him; make him tell you what he has done with the English officer, Mr. McKay.”

“Mr. McKay!” said the provost-marshal, deeply interested at once.  “He is absent—­missing!  Have you heard anything of him or his fate?”

“Make Benito tell you.  He has betrayed him into the Russians’ hands.”

“This is very important intelligence.  What you say shall be verified at once.  See to the prisoners, one of you, and let some one come with me to Joe’s shop.”

Major Shervinton made short work of Benito.

“Look here, my fine fellow, you had better make a clean breast of it all.  What have you done with Mr. McKay?”

Benito shook his head, groaned, and pointed to his wounded arm.

“I see you have been hit; but that won’t prevent your talking.  Tell me exactly what happened—­it’s your only chance; if you don’t, we will wait till your arm is healed, and then hang you here in the middle of the hut-town.  Come, speak out.”

“You will spare my life if I tell you?”

“Perhaps:  if it is the truth.  We shall have means of finding out.  But look sharp!”

In feeble, faltering accents Benito told his story, laying stress on the villainy of others and making light of the part he had himself played.

While the provost-marshal was examining the trembling wretch his assistants had been making a thorough search of the shop.  They came presently to their chief, laden with a number of papers:  letters, passes signed by Gortschakoff, and other documents of a compromising character, plainly proving that this place had long been the centre of a cunningly-devised secret correspondence with the enemy.

“There’s enough to hang you both, and perhaps others too, at home.  As for you,” he turned to Benito, “I will have you removed to the Balaclava hospital.  You will be better looked after there, and we shall have you under our hands when required.  Your accomplice, the commander-in-chief will deal with, I trust, very summarily; we have overwhelming proofs of his guilt.”

Major Shervinton returned to his office, where the prisoners anxiously awaited his verdict.

“Take Joe away, and put a double sentry over him.  I shall ride over to headquarters to report the whole case.”

“Oh, good, kind, beneficent sir,” began Joe, wringing his hands, “spare me!  There no word of truth in all this.  I done nothing, I swear.  I unjustly accused.  I—­”

“March him out,” said Shervinton.  “Such vermin as you must be ruthlessly destroyed.