"There is a woman at the bottom of it, of course," said Sir Richard Airey. "These papers prove it," putting his finger upon the bundle Shervinton had seized at the Maltese baker's.
"Two women, unless I'm much mistaken," replied the provost-marshal, and he went on to tell of Mariquita's devotion.
"Devotion, indeed," said the general, "but to no purpose, I fear. We have little hope of saving McKay. Lord Raglan is in despair. Prince Gortschakoff refuses distinctly to surrender the poor fellow, or spare his life."
"One woman's devotion outmatched by another's reckless greed. But, should McKay be sacrificed, she—his murderess—must not escape," said Blythe, hotly.
"Ah! but how shall we lay hands on her? Who knows her?" asked Sir Richard.
"One of my officers—Hyde. We shall get her through him," and Blythe repeated what the old quartermaster had said that morning.
"Yes, he evidently knows. He would be the best man to pursue her—to bring her to judgment for her villanies. There is enough in these papers to convict her. But he could hardly leave the Crimea just now."
"He happens at this moment to be going down to Scutari, on sick leave: he could easily go on."
"Is he strong enough?"
"He is gaining strength daily; it is only a wounded arm."