That put a summary end to the matter, for the fat individual was unable to control his muscles with sufficient precision and dexterity to bring about the attempted movement. He launched his ponderous weight at the door, it is true, but his dive fell short by two feet at least, and, stumbling, he rolled amongst his comrades, bringing about a scene of confusion. The place rocked with the laughter of men. More than one leaned against the door, shaking it badly. Then there were groans, fat groans, almost in a stifled voice, and coming from the one who seemed to be the ringleader in this piece of mischief. There was more movement and more groaning, then heavy steps, as if of men carrying a burden. In fact the fat man had been placed _hors de combat_. His own indiscretion and dash had brought about his downfall. A damaged leg caused his overexcited spirits to evaporate into the smoky air of the foul dwelling in which his comrades were supping, while the pain drew a succession of the dreariest of groans from him. "Done with their invitation for the time being," hoped Tom. "Ah, there goes the door to with a bang! I'll have a look outside and see what has happened." Gently turning the key, he pulled the door ajar and listened. Not a sound came from the passage, and when his head was thrust out there was not even a glimmer of light to be seen in the direction of the supper room. But there was noise enough. Laughter rose and fell, and was punctuated frequently by the dismal groanings of the man who had been hurt. In fact, it looked as if the gang had settled down for a time, and as if our hero might prosecute his own affairs without interference. He tiptoed along to Alfonso's room and shook the door heavily. But there was no answer from within, not even when he called in as loud a voice as he dared risk. Had he but known it, his cousin lay on the floor over by the far window, still pinioned, as obstinate as any mule, determined to hold no converse with the rascals who had captured him. He was not wanting in spirit, this Spanish cousin of Tom's. As a matter of plain fact, he too had made many and many an effort to free his limbs. But he had not observed a similar catch existing on his own window, and with which our hero had managed to saw through his own bonds. That was, perhaps, an excellent illustration of the difference existing between the two young fellows. Alfonso was a gallant officer, and had proved himself possessed of ample courage on many an occasion. He was not brilliant, however, and wanted some of the dash displayed by his English cousin. Perhaps that was the result of his nationality, of his upbringing, of his general life and surroundings until the outbreak of this Peninsula War. But then, had Tom's life and conditions been much different? He had lived his seventeen years in that quaint old house down by the Thames, with its fine mulberry tree spreading wide, leafy branches in front. The peeping into a big office provides no great