Pepito disappeared instantly, and his place was taken by a large, heavy-jawed Spaniard, whom Jack recognized at once as the stableman who had led the pursuit of him from Olmedo. The man looked suspiciously at the French uniform. "Hist! I may help you," began Jack, but at this moment he heard the clamp-clamp of ammunition boots approaching from round the corner behind him. "The sentry!" he thought. "Silence! I will come back," he whispered. He crept along the wall on tiptoe, in the direction away from the approaching footsteps. At the same time he heard from within the cell Pepito’s shrill voice in song: "Kosko gry! Romany gry! Muk man kistur tuté knaw!" "Clever little imp!" he thought. "He didn’t give me away to his companions there, and now he’s trying to smother the sound of my footsteps." He turned the corner and waited. The sentry was still approaching with measured tread, and when he arrived beneath the grating he cried angrily: "Tais-toi, maraud! Il faut te taire, ou je vais te brûler la cervelle." The singing ceased, and the sentry with a grunt resumed his march. "He’s going to make the round of the building," thought Jack. "So will I; but I hope to goodness no one will be passing on the other side." He tiptoed along and turned the other corner. Not a soul was to be seen. He waited. On this face of the building was the door, over which a feeble light flickered, and Jack wondered whether it was open, and if he would be seen from within. But there was no time for hesitation. The tramping sentry was coming behind him. Taking his courage in both hands, Jack slipped along, passed the door safely, turned the farther corner, and in another half-minute was back under the grating, breathless with excitement. For a moment he stood listening. The sentry had halted in front of the building. "Hist! Are you there?" he whispered towards the grating. "Sí, Señor," said the man. "Now, answer quickly. How many French are in the town?" "About a hundred, Señor." "Foot or horse?" "Half one, half the other." "And they come from—" "From Segovia, Señor." "That’ll do. Where’s that gipsy boy?" "But, Señor—" "Hush! Where’s the gipsy?" "Here, Señor," said Pepito, pulling the Spaniard away. "Here’s a few pesetas. Buy them all a supper from the jailer. All being well, I’ll have you out to-night."