A wry smile and a shake of the head was Tremayne’s only answer; and then Carruthers came in fresh from Lisbon, where he had been upon business connected with the commissariat, and to Tremayne’s relief the subject was perforce abandoned. Yet he marvelled several times that day that the hilarity he should have awakened in Sir Terence continued to cling to the adjutant, and that despite the many vexatious matters claiming attention he should preserve an irrepressible and almost boyish gaiety. Meanwhile, however, the coming of Carruthers had brought the adjutant a moment’s seriousness, and he reverted to the business of Captain Garfield. When he had mentioned the missing note, Carruthers very properly became grave. He was a short, stiffly built man with a round, good-humoured, rather florid face. “The matter must be probed at once, sir,” he ventured. “We know that we move in a tangle of intrigues and espionage. But such a thing as this has never happened before. Have you anything to go upon?” “Captain Stanhope gave us nothing,” said the adjutant. “It would be best perhaps to get Grant to look into it,” said Tremayne. “If he is still in Lisbon,” said Sir Terence. “I passed him in the street an hour ago,” replied Carruthers. “Then by all means let a note be sent to him asking him if he will step up to Monsanto as soon as he conveniently can. You might see to it, Tremayne.” CHAPTER X. THE STIFLED QUARREL It was noon of the next day before Colonel Grant came to the house at Monsanto from whose balcony floated the British flag, and before whose portals stood a sentry in the tall bearskin of the grenadiers. He found the adjutant alone in his room, and apologised for the delay in responding to his invitation, pleading the urgency of other matters that he had in hand. “A wise enactment this of Lord Wellington’s,” was his next comment. “I mean this prohibition of duelling. It may be resented by some of our young bloods as an unwarrantable interference with their privileges, but it will do a deal of good, and no one can deny that there is ample cause for the measure.” “It is on the subject of the cause that I’m wanting to consult you,” said Sir Terence, offering his visitor a chair. “Have you been informed of the details? No? Let me give you them.” And he related how the dispatch bore signs of having been tampered with, and how the only document of any real importance came to be missing from it. Colonel Grant, sitting with his sabre across his knees, listened gravely and thoughtfully. In the end he shrugged his shoulders, the keen hawk face unmoved. “The harm is done, and cannot very well be repaired. The information obtained, no doubt on behalf of Massena, will by now be on its way to him. Let us be thankful that the matter is not more grave, and thankful, too, that you were able to supply a copy of Lord Liverpool’s figures. What do you want me to do?” “Take steps to discover the spy whose existence is disclosed by this event.”