And Wellington had. When Tom had been ushered into the tent which housed the leader of the British army he found that painstaking individual seated on a camp stool carefully measuring distances on a map stretched on a table before him. Tom stood stiffly at attention, and though the staff officer who ushered him twice called his name, there was no answer. Then suddenly a point of the compasses was struck into the map and an exclamation escaped the general. "If he moves there, we have him," he cried. "Then all depends on the Spaniards. Ah!" He shut the map hurriedly, and looked at Tom as if he thought him to be a suspicious person. Then, recognizing him, he smiled. "The officer the French will not fight," he said cheerfully. "The Englishman they did their best to destroy in the breaches at Badajoz. You are recovered, sir?" "Perfectly," Tom hastened to assure him, fearful that a fancied weakness might cause the general to choose another officer for any special work he might have in prospect. "And will accept a special risk?" Tom drew himself up stiffly. With anyone else there would have been a note of injury in the answer; for had he shirked special risk in the past? Ciudad Rodrigo was a telling answer to such a question. And Wellington realized the fact as soon as he had spoken. "I take it for granted that you are more than ready," he said. "Good! Then the mission I have is somewhat similar to that other. You saw me close this plan hurriedly? I did it unknowingly, impelled by the fear that you might be a stranger; for here is my story. Maps and plans jealously guarded by us have disappeared, my dispatch case has been broken open. My officers have information that there is a small gang of rascals who trade on our secrets. I want to bring that gang to book, if it exists. Now, Mr. Clifford, once more I make no suggestions, and give no orders. You will act as you think best. After to-morrow you are free to carry out whatever seems best to you. Remember, after to-morrow." That was all. Tom found himself outside the tent, still saluting. "A pretty job to unravel," he told himself. "And what's on to-morrow?" Yes, what was to happen when the day broke once more across the smooth surface of the River Tormes? There was to be war, real war, war in the open, the like of which Tom had never before witnessed. CHAPTER XVI The Battle of Salamanca The gentle tinkle of convent bells, the lowing of distant oxen, and the cheery whistling and singing of the men of Wellington's 1st Division awakened Tom on the morrow of his arrival in the neighbourhood of Salamanca. He shook off his blanket and rose, stretching himself, then inhaled the balmy summer air, and enjoyed the hazy view over the heights of the Arapiles, a precipitous part adjacent to the city, and split into two portions, known as the Sister Arapiles.