corporal's voice that
he was lying, and he also knew that, somehow, he had made a friend.

"Y'are lyin', me darlin', me bloody beauty!" interposed McGilveray.

"If we don't take him to headquarters now he'll send across and get the
tobacco," interpreted the corporal to Johnny Crapaud.

"If he doesn't get the tobacco he'll be hung for a spy," said Johnny
Crapaud, turning on his heel. "Do we all agree?" said the corporal.

The others nodded their heads, and, as they went out, McGilveray said
after them:

"I'll dance a jig on yer sepulchrees, ye swobs!" he roared, and he spat
on the ground again in defiance. Johnny Crapaud turned to the corporal.

"I'll kill him very dead," said he, "if that tobacco doesn't come. You
tell him so," he added, jerking a thumb towards McGilveray. "You tell
him so."

The corporal stayed when the others went out, and, in broken English,
told McGilveray so.

"I'll play a hornpipe, an' his gory shroud is round him," said
McGilveray.

The corporal grinned from ear to ear. "You like a chew tabac?" said he,
pulling out a dirty knob of a black plug.

McGilveray had found a man after his own heart. "Sing a song
a-sixpence," said he, "what sort's that for a gintleman an' a corporal,
too? Feel in me trousies pocket," said he, "which is fur me frinds for
iver." McGilveray had now hopes of getting free, but if he had not taken
a fancy to "me baby corporal," as he called the Frenchman, he would have
made escape or release impossible, by insulting him and every one of
them as quick as winking.

After the corporal had emptied one pocket, "Now the other,
man-o-wee-wee!" said McGilveray, and presently the two were drinking
what the flask from the "trousies pocket" contained. So well did
McGilveray work upon the Frenchman's bonhomie that the corporal promised
he should escape. He explained how McGilveray should be freed--that at
midnight some one would come and release him, while he, the corporal,
was with his companions, so avoiding suspicion as to his own complicity.
McGilveray and the corporal were to meet again and exchange courtesies
after the manner of brothers--if the fortunes of war permitted.

McGilveray was left alone. To while away the time he began to whistle to
himself, and what with whistling, and what with winking and talking to
the lantern on the table, and calling himself painful names, he endured
his captivity well enough.

It was near midnight when the lock turned in the door a