"Hullo, McKay!" cried Shervinton, a big, burly, pleasant-faced man,
whose cheery manner was in curious contrast with his formidable
functions. "What brings a swell from headquarters into this den of
iniquity? Lost your servant, or looking out for one? Don't engage any
one without asking me. They are an abominable lot, and deserve to be
hanged, all of them."

"You are the very fellow to help me, Shervinton," and McKay, taking
the provost-marshal aside, told him his errand.

"I firmly believe every second man here is a spy, or would be if he
had the pluck."

"Are any of them, do you think, in communication with the Russians?"

"Lots. They come and go through the lines, I believe, as they please."

"I wish I could find a few fellows of this sort."

"Perhaps I can put you in the way; only I doubt whether you can trust
to a single word that they will tell you."

"But where shall we come upon them?"

"The best plan will be to consult Valetta Joe, the Maltese baker at
the end of the lines. I have always suspected him of being a Russian
spy; but I dare say we could buy him over if you want him. If he tries
to play us false we will hang him the same day."

Valetta Joe was in his bread-store--a small shed communicating with
the dark, dirty, semi-subterranean cellar behind, in which the dough
was kneaded and baked. The shed was encumbered with barrels of
inferior flour, and all around upon shelves lay the small short rolls,
dark-looking and sour-tasting, which were sold in the camp for a
shilling a piece.

"Well, Joe, what's the news from Sebastopol to-day?" asked Shervinton.

"Why you ask me, sare? I a poor Maltee baker--sell bread, make money.
Have nothing to do with fight."

"You rascal! You know you're in league with the Russians. I have had
my eye on you this long time. Some of these days we'll be down upon
you like a cart-load of bricks."

"You a very hard man, Major Shervinton, sare--very unkind to poor Joe.
I offer you bread every day for nothing; you say No. Why not take
Joe's bread?"

"Because Joe's a scoundrel to offer it. Do you suppose I am to be
bribed in that way? But here: I tell you what we are after. This
gentleman," pointing to McKay, "wants news from the other side."

"Why you come to me? I nothing to do with other side."

"You can help him, you know that, and you must; or we will bundle you
out of this and send you back to Constantinople."

The provost-marshal's manner was not to be mi