"Son of a dog no doubt," growled the sentry. "Neither fish nor flesh, nor yet good herring. A _peste_ on these loafers about this place. Poof! If I were here I should be fighting, instead of swilling wine and idling as do these men. Well?" he called loudly. "The word?" Tom looked up at the man from beneath the drawn-down brim of the tattered hat he had borrowed from the news bearer his men had captured. "Orleans," he murmured, putting into the word the queer accent to be expected of a stranger. "Ha! Then enter; but whither? The dog may be a spy of the British," the man growled, and at the recollection, and the sudden suspicion, once more elevated the point of his weapon, and cleverly contrived to catch it in the lapel of Tom's coat. "The street of St. Angelo," answered our hero under his breath, as if he were imparting a secret. "To one Francisco, with news, you understand?" Apparently the man had learned some Spanish since the invasion of the Peninsula, and contrived to understand the words. "Then enter," he cried. "Enter." Down came the butt of his weapon with a clatter on the stones, while Tom passed on meekly. Indeed he was anxious to give the impression of one with little courage, merely a tale bearer. Also, he was in a hurry to get away from the Frenchman. For always he was dogged with the fear that he might by some evil chance come face to face with one of the troopers with whom he had fought the Portuguese peasants. However, the grenadier was not one of them. Tom left him standing at ease, and at once clambered up the steep way leading to the town. As for the grenadier, he watched the retreating figure of the stranger reflectively. "A Spaniard? No," he told himself. "A Portuguese? _Parbleu!_ Impossible! He has not the colouring. Then what? A mixture? No. Then--English!" The very suspicion set him marching to and fro with energy. His musket flew to his shoulder, and then came down again with a bump. The grenadier was consumed with doubt for some few moments, and then with suspicion that soon became certainty. He called loudly for the serjeant of the guard, made his report, and was promptly relieved. A few minutes later he was hurrying in the direction Tom had taken, with three of his grenadier comrades to assist him. "A fairly tall, broad-shouldered ragamuffin," he explained. "One with the appearance and manner of a coward at first sight, and with the frame and body of an athlete, and the eyes of one who has courage in abundance. Seek for him; if he fails to surrender on demand, shoot!"