"And may you get what every traitor deserves," thought Tom as he lifted his own allowance. "To you!" he cried, tipping the glass upward. It was just at that moment that, glancing through the bottom of his upturned glass, and aslant through the open door of the cabaret, which being set at the corner of the street commanded a long view of it, our hero caught sight of four French grenadiers hastening along it. At their head was one who was almost a giant! His flowing moustaches and the breadth of his shoulders seemed strangely familiar, while a second look convinced Tom that it was the very man who had stood sentry at the gate and had admitted him. "Strange!" he thought. "They are the first soldiers I have seen in this direction, though there are others, of course. There are two in this cabaret at the moment, for I caught a glimpse of them. Ah, the big man is pointing! They are all hurrying--this looks ugly." It was one of those situations where one engaged in dangerous work such as our hero had undertaken might very well be captured before he was more than aware of his danger. Hesitation might mean his downfall. On the other hand, if he were mistaken in the designs of the approaching grenadiers, and they had no concern with him, then action at the moment might lead to suspicion on the part of Francisco, which would be almost as bad. Tom screwed up his eyes and looked closely at the oncomers; then, seeing them turn towards the cabaret, he asked a question in the most unconcerned voice possible. "Tell me," he said, "I may rest in here, upstairs where there is less noise? I have come fast from Oporto, and feel too tired even to seek for a lodging." "Then pass up the stairs," came the answer, while the innkeeper deposited his empty glass on the tray with a bang. "Pass upstairs, friend, and rest in the room overhead. In an hour perhaps, when I am free, I will go to the governor. There is no haste in these matters. Go now. I will attend to the customers who are now coming." He turned to greet the grenadiers, now within ten yards of the door, while Tom lounged to the stairs, and then darted up them. At the top he stood and listened for a few moments. "Ha!" he heard the big grenadier exclaim. "This is Francisco. Now, my friend, you have a caller. Where is he?" That was enough for Tom. It was clear that he was suspected, and equally clear that if he did not hasten he would be captured within a few minutes. But how was he to get away? He opened the nearest door and thrust his head into the room to which it gave admittance. It was empty; there was nothing there to help him. He went then to the next, and peered into it noiselessly. There was nothing there either----"Ah!" Tom gave vent to a startled exclamation, for a man lay full length on a bed--a man who seemed to be sunk in the depths of sleep. Who was he?