Brereton made no answer for a minute, then said, “Very well; I’ll adopt your plan.”
“I suppose there’ll be some reward coming to me, colonel?”
“Undoubtedly,” replied Jack, but with a twitch of contempt. “Is that all?”
“That’s enough to do the business, I guess,” rejoined Joe. “About nine clock I’ll allow to be at Meegan’s,” he said.
Without a word of assent, Jack quickened his pace. When he had gone fifty feet he looked back, but already the informer had disappeared. “What dirty work every man must do on occasion!” he muttered. “I’d suspect the scoundrel but for what I heard this afternoon, and he has it all so pat that he’s probably been in it himself more or less. However, it promises well; and ’t will he a service of the utmost importance if we can but break up the murdering gang and bring them to justice, for ’t is no time to have Clinton reading all our secrets.”
It was midnight when Brereton trotted into Chatham and dismounting from his horse walked wearily into his tent.
His servant, sleeping on the floor, waked, and hastily rose. “A despatch, sir, from headquarters,” he said, taking a paper from his pocket.
“When did it arrive?” demanded Jack, as he examined the seal, to make sure that it had not been tampered with, and then broke the letter open.
“Four hours ago, sir, by special courier.’
What Brereton read was this:—