Meanwhile the French forces in the Peninsula had been continually increasing; the regular armies of Spain had been beaten on all sides; and instead of meeting, as he had expected, large forces, well equipped at English expense, ready to co-operate with him, Sir John found that he had to defend the Portuguese frontier and undertake offensive operations almost single-handed against a victorious enemy many times outnumbering his own army. Immense sums of money and stores of all kinds had been given to Spain by the British Government, but owing to the corruption of the Spanish officials, and the want of any real governing authority, the gift was virtually wasted. The Juntas, or committees, which had undertaken the government of the various provinces, were all acting, or rather talking of acting, independently, and were strangely blind to their deadly peril. They appeared to regard England as an unfailing source of money and arms, and in some cases actually resented the arrival of British troops, in a sort of blind confidence that they were able unaided to withstand the invader. Mr. Vaughan had seen something of this during his stay with General Castaños, and his account of what had come under his own eyes kept his hosts interested to a late hour. At length he rose. "I am very tired," he said, "and as I expect to have to ride again to-morrow, I know you gentlemen will excuse me for leaving you. Many thanks for your hospitality, and may we meet again!" "I will see you to your quarters," said Jack. "Where are you staying?" "At an inn in the Plaza Santo Tomé. I shall be glad of your company, if the hour is not too late." When Jack returned, half an hour afterwards, his man Giles handed him a note which had been left at the house by an orderly during his absence. "The commander-in-chief", it ran, "presents his compliments to Mr. Lumsden, and will be glad to see him at his quarters at nine o’clock to-morrow morning." "Another letter," said Jack to himself; "and almost as mysterious as the first. I wonder what it can mean!" He read the note again, but finding himself unable to make any inference from the few simple words, he wisely resolved to allow the morning to bring its own solution. In the few moments that elapsed between his laying his head on the pillow and falling asleep, his mind see-sawed between the two letters. Now it was Sir John Moore’s that was uppermost, now Don Fernan’s; breaking the darkness of his room he seemed to see the phrases, one above the other, in letters of fire: "At nine o’clock to-morrow morning"—"Palafox the Man, Palafox the Name". *CHAPTER IV* *A Delicate Mission* Sir John Moore—In the Dark—A Roving Commission—Maps and Plans—Camp Critics—An Hidalgo—Mystification—Exasperation—Pepito again—A Bargain—Force majeure