"You are Mr. Gordon, the American who joined us last night.
That man is a spy from Messina. He is Renauld, the
Commander-in-Chief of their army. He must be gotten away from
here at once. It is a matter for a man to attend to. Will
you do it?"

"How do you know this?" Gordon asked. "How do you know he is
General Renauld? I want to be certain."

The girl tossed her head impatiently.

"He was pointed out to me at Messina. I saw him there in
command at a review. He has just spoken to me--that was what
frightened me into that fainting-spell. I didn't think I was
so weak," she said, shaking her head. "He offered me a bribe
to inform him of our plans. I tell you he is a spy."

"That's all right," said Gordon, reassuringly; "you go back to
the hotel now and send those guards here on a run. I'll make
a charge against him and have him locked up until after we
sail to-night. Hurry, please; I'll stay here."

Gordon felt a pleasurable glow of excitement. It was his
nature to throw himself into everything he did and to at once
become a partisan. It was a quality which made his writings
attractive to the reader, and an object of concern to his
editor. At the very word "spy," and at this first hint of
opposition to the cause in which he had but just enlisted, he
thrilled as though it had always been his own, and he regarded