But the adjutant, whose work was behind, through his having accepted more than his regular duties, continued to write. Shortly after noon, the colonel returned, with some of his staff, and had dinner in the adjoining room. Dick was sent to dine with his mess. He made short work of dinner, and hastened back, hoping he might arrive at the office table before the adjutant, who was to have dined with the colonel's staff. But Dick found the adjutant already at work, an odor of wine about him telling that he had finished his dinner. The colonel and the other officers presently went out, as they had done in the forenoon. The afternoon passed on as the forenoon had, with the difference that, outside the window, snow began to fall. Dick utilized some of the time by transcribing, on a bare sheet of paper, the statement he had recorded on his piece of biscuit, which he now set before him on the table as if intending presently to eat it. He then adroitly slipped the sheet of paper from the table to his lap and thrust it carefully beneath his jacket with his left hand while continuing to write with the other. When the gray afternoon began to darken, Dick resolved on a desperate measure. As if his hunting-knife galled him, he took it from his belt and placed it on the table, with its point thrust under the inkstand. A few minutes later, as if to remove it out of the way of his paper, he lifted it suddenly in such manner that it overturned the inkstand, deluging one of the adjutant's hands with ink. That officer arose with an expression of disgust, darted an angry look at Dick, called the attendant to mop up the ink, and went into a closet to wash his hand. Dick, with a pretence of rescuing the papers from the spreading pool of ink, swiftly grasped the three sheets he had singled out and placed them, each on top of a different pile, within range of his eye. The adjutant, returning to his delayed work, did not notice what rearrangement Dick had made of the papers. While the two wrote silently on, Dick scanned the farthest of the three papers. He soon saw that it was a list of provisions, and of trivial consequence. The next one of the three turned out to be a statement of arms needed to complete the equipment of a certain militia company. Dick turned his eye, with diminishing hopes, to the third and last. This is what he saw there, and copied in feverish haste, with trembling fingers: In garrison at Quebec, November 17th. 70 Royal Fusileers. 230 Royal Emigrants. 22 Artillery, fire-workers, etc. 330 British militia. 543 Canadians. 400 Seamen. 50 Masters and men of vessels. 35 Marines. 120 Artificers. ------ 1800