Next morning, at parade, John ran his eye along the men of the battery until it rested upon "Crumbs." The man, with his sallow complexion and glassy eyes, struck him as looking vacant and somewhat foolish.
"You are either that, my friend," thought John, "or most devilish cunning. I wonder which it is?"
He made it his business during that day, and the days which followed, to acquaint himself with every member of the battery. Nothing, however, occurred to arouse his suspicion or to give him the slightest clue to the untoward things that had happened. He wrote a letter to Dacent Smith reporting matters, and on the afternoon of the third day he decided to go into Newport for an afternoon's recreation. Colonel Hobin granted him leave instantly—and then John changed his mind, and decided not to go. He had no reason for staying in the fort, other than that he wanted to be on the spot as much as possible. He took a book from the badly-equipped fort library, and went to his room. Here he flung himself on the bed, and read for an hour or two. Save for the never-ending moan of the wind and the grind of the wind-gauge, the fort buildings were very quiet. Colonel Hobin, Parkson, and another officer were on duty, a subaltern was on leave, and in the four bedrooms that ran along the corridor John was the only occupant. He was lying, deeply absorbed in his book, when something made him turn his gaze towards the door. To his amazement, he saw the latch lift without noise. A moment later the door moved cautiously open, and "Crumbs," in white cap and apron, came softly in. For a minute the intruder did not see John.
"Well, Sims, what is it?"
"Crumbs's" mouth clicked shut. The start he had received caused his head to jerk.
"What do you want, Sims?"
"Crumbs" smiled under his black, flour-speckled moustache.
"It was the cake, sir," he said. "You told me you were fond of cake, sir, and I just put a cake in the mess-room for you."
John rose from the bed.
"Is there nothing else you want?"