"Rats!" was Tom's somewhat abrupt answer. "Let the boys fall in. We'll march at once; I've had a spree, I can tell you."
It was with grins of delight and many an exclamation that his comrades listened to the tale, a narrative soon passed on by Alfonso to their following. Meanwhile Tom tore his borrowed clothing from him, donned his handsome uniform, and made ready for more active movement.
"We've done a good part of our work," he said. "Now for that fellow in Oporto. Let's ride back to the camp, leaving some of our men to watch the roads near it. I'll hand my notes in to the chief of the staff, and then look into the last part of this matter. Wonder who the rogue is who's such a friend of Francisco, and sends news to the men that are enemies of his country."
They might all wonder, and the reader need not feel surprised if he learns that this rascal was too clever for those who sought him. The hovel to which the man whom Tom's guerrillas had captured led them—and who had promised information in return for his life—was empty. There was no particle of evidence to prove where the rascal had flown; but careful search discovered a note hidden in a crevice of the ceiling, and when that was opened the information contained proved to be of little value.
"Come to Badajoz," it said. "There ask for Juan de Milares, in the street of St. Paulo. There is still work to be done and money to be earned for the doing."
"Same handwriting without a doubt," declared Jack emphatically. "The bird's flown, and Badajoz is out of the question."
As a general rule one would have agreed with him; for, like Ciudad Rodrigo, that fortress was garrisoned by the French. But circumstances alter cases, and Tom soon recognized this to be a fact, since there was further information awaiting him in Oporto. A visit to the house of Septimus John Clifford & Son discovered something approaching a tragedy. For Juan de Esteros had disappeared that very evening, and with him no less a person than Septimus John Clifford himself.
"But where?" demanded Tom, filled with apprehension.
"Alas, there is nothing to tell us!" answered the chief clerk, as faithful a fellow as the worthy Huggins. "They left without a word to anyone, without so much as a sound. They dined together and sat on the veranda reading. Later they retired to their rooms; after that we know nothing."