distance along the
Woronzoff Road, but finding the English on the alert immediately
retired.

The next piece of information that reached McKay from the same source,
but by a different messenger, was more readily credited. He learnt
this time that the Russians intended to establish a new kind of
battery in front of the Karabel suburb.

"What kind?" asked McKay.

The messenger, a hungry-looking Tartar who spoke broken English, but
when encouraged explained himself freely in Russian, said--

"Big guns; they sink one end deep into the ground, the other point
very high."

"I understand. They want to give great elevation, so as to increase
the range."

"Yes, you see. They will reach right into your camp."

Again the information proved correct. Within a couple of days the
camps of the Third and Fourth Divisions, hitherto deemed safe from the
fire of the fortress, were disturbed by the whistling of round-shot in
their midst. The fact was reported in due course to headquarters.

"You see, sir, it is just what I was told," said McKay to General
Airey.

"Upon my word, you deserve great credit. You seem to have organised an
intelligence department of your own, and, what is more to the purpose,
your fellow seems always right."

McKay was greatly gratified at this encouragement, and eager to be
still more useful. He visited the Maltese baker again, and urged him
to continue supplying him with news.

"Trust to Joe. Wait one little bit; you know plenty more."

Several days passed, however, without any fresh news. Then a new
messenger came, another Tartar, a very old man with a flowing grey
beard, wearing a long caftan like a dressing-gown to his heels, and an
enormous sheepskin cap that came far down over his eyes, and almost
hid his face. He seemed very decrepit, and was excessively stupid,
probably from old age. He looked terribly frightened when brought to
McKay's tent, stooping his shoulders and hanging his head in the
cowering, deprecating attitude of one who expects, but would not dare
to ward off, a blow.

He was tongue-tied, for he made no attempt to speak, but merely thrust
forward one hand, making a deep obeisance with the other. There was a
scrap of paper in the extended hand, which McKay took and opened
curiously. A few lines in Italian were scrawled on it.

"The Russians are collecting large forces beyond the Tchernaya," ran
the message. "Expect a new attack on that side."

"Who gave you this?" asked