He tore open his shirt and bared his bosom to the sword. It was well acted, but Jack was not for a moment deceived. Miguel, he knew, had not the slightest expectation of being taken at his word. Yet the alternative! When once the guerrilleros had him in their power there would be no torture too horrible for the renegade and traitor. Jack remembered with a shudder the tales he had heard—even those told him by Miguel himself in Salamanca. Could he deliver the wretch, vile though he was, to so awful a fate? Could he allow the traitor to go free? It was a painful dilemma. So they stood while a man might count ten. There was a crackle in the undergrowth, the sound of a light footfall, and, lifting his sword, Jack half-turned. As he did so a heavy form struck against him. He felt a scorching pain between the shoulders, and pitching heavily forward sank unconscious to the ground. The dilemma had solved itself. *CHAPTER XXXI* *Doctor Grampus and a French Cook* An Amateur—Pantomime—At Cross Purposes—Miguel’s Pocket-book—Links—In Cipher—Potatoes—Monsieur Taberne on Duty—The Compelling Onion When Jack came to himself it seemed to him that he was in a shaded room by an open window, for the air gently fanned his temples, and he saw a wide stretch of blue sky. He turned his aching head. "Hullo!" said a voice in English. "Hullo!" murmured Jack in reply, automatically, not knowing what he said. He looked with puzzlement at the speaker, a tall, stout young fellow in guerrilla costume. "There, I wagered you wouldn’t know me in this rig. Don’t you remember Dugdale, at Salamanca—Percy Dugdale, don’t you know?" "The Grampus!" whispered Jack. "The very same. I might have bet you’d know Grampus better than my good old respectable honoured ugly name. Here, drink this." He held a cup to Jack’s lips. After drinking, Jack closed his eyes and fell asleep. "Where am I?" he asked, waking an hour later. "Feel better? That’s grand. Where are you? High up among the hills, in a sort of cave, lying on a pile of blankets, with a splendid outlook over—well, nowhere in particular." "In the hills!" repeated Jack feebly. "How did I get there? I can’t remember. Is anything wrong with me? I don’t seem to be able to move. I don’t feel right." "There’s gratitude! Why, you’re as right as a trivet. You’re really doing splendidly! Now, you’re not to talk. Doctor’s orders." "Oh!" Jack was silent for a moment, and dozed away again. When he woke, Dugdale came towards him from the entrance of the cave. "What’s the matter with me? How do you come here? I can’t remember anything." "I said you were not to talk. Doctor’s orders." "Tell the doctor I want to see him." Dugdale chuckled. "Bet it’d be no go. Truth is, I’m the doctor. I’ve pulled you through, and when I get home I’m going to demand a diploma from the doctors’ college or whatever it is gives a man a licence to be a sawbones."