in a sharp, angry tone--

"What are you doing with that peasant? Don't you know that the orders
are positive against molesting the inhabitants? Who is in command of
this party?"

McKay stood forth and saluted.

"You? A sergeant-major? Of the Royal Picts, too! You ought to know
better. Let the man go!"

"I beg your pardon, Sir Colin," began McKay; "but--"

"Don't argue with me, sir; do as I tell you. I have a great mind to
put you in arrest."

McKay still stood in an attitude of mute but firm protest.

"What does the fellow mean? Ask him, Shadwell. I suppose he must have
some reason, or he would not defy a general officer like this."

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