"But," exclaimed Tom, aghast at the mystery, "surely there's——"
"There is merely this," came the answer, while a slip of paper was thrust into his hands. "We found it resting on the table, weighted so that it could not blow away. Read, señor."
Tom scanned the lines for some few moments, while his smooth forehead wrinkled deeply. "Thus is the house of Septimus John Clifford & Son punished," he read, the Spanish letters being scrawled across the paper. Yes scrawled. In a moment he recognized that writing. It was put upon the paper by the selfsame man who had sent information to the commandant at Ciudad Rodrigo, the traitor who was eager and willing to supply news which would help the enemies of his country.
"Well? What next?" asked Jack when the fact had been explained to him.
"To Badajoz, that's all," came the short answer. "This villain's got hold of my father and uncle for some reason or other. It's plainly my duty to look into the matter; so I'll pay Badajoz a visit, just as I went to Ciudad Rodrigo. Wonder who this chap is and what game he's up to? But duty first, Jack; we'll make back to the camp and see what's expected of us."
If Tom had hoped to pursue a private matter just then he was to be disappointed. For barely was Christmas past, and the new year entered upon, when Wellington threw the whole force he commanded against Ciudad Rodrigo. Pressing the siege with intense energy—for there was always the fear that the French would concentrate on him from all parts and raise the siege before it was successfully over—he launched his attacking parties after remarkably short delay. The fighting which resulted was of the severest description, and the greatest gallantry and resolution was shown by either side. But British pluck won. The defences were captured, and within a few hours of the assault the place which Tom had visited was garrisoned by British instead of by French soldiers. Then Wellington turned toward Badajoz, outside which Tom and his men had for two weeks past thrown out a circle of their men, thus cutting all communications.
"It'll be a hard nut to crack," observed the merry Jack, casting his eye up at the defences; "but I suppose we'll do it."
"We must," declared Tom with emphasis. "Anyway, I've got to get inside the place and unravel this mystery. There's father and Don Juan to find and release, and then there's that rascal who took them."
But would Tom, or indeed any of our men, ever get within this terribly grim fortress? It seemed unlikely enough, viewing the defences, and we may declare here and now that before our hero was to set foot within the place he was to take part in fighting of the very fiercest.