Captain Shadwell, one of Sir Colin’s staff, took McKay aside, and, questioning him, learnt all the particulars of the capture.  McKay told him, too, what had occurred at the Alma.

“The fellow must be a spy,” said Sir Colin, abruptly, when the whole of the facts were repeated to him.  “We must cross-question him.  I wonder what language he speaks.”

The general himself tried him with French; but the prisoner shook his head stupidly.  Shadwell followed with German, but with like result.

“I’ll go bail he knows both, and English too, probably.  He ought to be tried in Russian now:  that’s the language of the country.  He is undoubtedly an impostor if he can’t speak that.  I wish we could try him in Russian.  If he failed, the provost-marshal should hang him on the nearest post.”

This conversation passed in the full hearing of McKay, and when Sir Colin stopped the sergeant-major stepped forward, again saluted, and said modestly—­

“I can speak Russian, sir.”

“You?  An English soldier?  In the ranks, too?  Extraordinary!  How on earth—­but that will keep.  We will put this fellow through his facings at once.  Ask him his name, where he comes from, and all about him.  Tell him he must answer; that his silence will be taken as a proof he is not what he pretends.  No real Tartar peasant could fail to understand Russian.”

“Who and what are you?” asked McKay.  And this first question was answered by the prisoner with an alacrity that indicated his comprehension of every word that had been said.  He evidently wished to save his neck.

“My name is Michaelis Baidarjee.  Baidar is my home; but I have been driven out by the Cossacks to-day.”

It was a lie, no doubt.  Hyde had recognised him as a very different person.

“Ask him what brings him into our lines?” said Sir Colin, when this answer had been duly interpreted.

“I came to give valuable information to the Lords of the Universe,” he replied.  “The Russians are on the move.”

“Ha!” Sir Colin’s interest was aroused.  “Go on; make him speak out.  Say he shall go free if he tells us truly all he knows.”

“Where are the Russians moving?” asked McKay.

“This way”—­the man pointed back beyond Tchorgorum.  “They are collecting over yonder, many, many thousands, and are marching this way.”

“Do you mean that they intend to attack us?”

“I think so.  Why else do they come?  Yesterday there were none.  All last night they were marching; to-morrow, at dawn, they will be here.”

“Who commands them?”

“Liprandi.  I saw him, and they told me his name.”

“This is most important,” said Sir Colin; “we must know more.  Find out, sergeant-major, whether he can go back safely.”

“Back within the Russian lines?”

“Exactly.  He might go and return with the latest news.”

“You would never see the fellow again, Sir Colin.  He is only humbugging us—­”