"That's you," declared Tom, pointing at Jack. "I'm still a muleteer; haven't rejoined yet." But the generous Jack wouldn't have that at all. He insisted on Tom's obeying the order. "This special job's ended," he said, "You've bagged that crowd, and mighty pleased Wellington'll be at the news. As for our arrival, why, your men acting as muleteers got to hear something after you had gone and sent along to me. I brought half a company into the city at once. Alfonso tumbled upon us almost as we were passing the yard, and--here we are, all aliv--o." It was a strange coincidence that Wellington should be the one on this occasion to turn up unexpectedly also, but at a moment which could only be called opportune. He and his staff had attended a ball given in honour of the arrival of the British, and there he was in the yard when Tom and his friends descended, tall and austere, his slim figure standing out in the moonlight. "You command this party!" he exclaimed in amazement, as a seeming muleteer drew himself to attention a few paces away and saluted. "You!" "Yes, sir." Ah! There was something familiar about the face and the figure. The voice reminded the general of a young officer he had often had in his thoughts. "Name?" he asked curtly. "Lieutenant Tom Clifford, sir, in disguise. I have to report that the mission on which you sent me has been successfully carried out. With the help of my comrades I have captured or killed every member of a gang dealing in military secrets. There is abundance of documentary evidence to convict them." "Ah, that is news! And their leader?" "Over there, sir," explained Jack, who stood at attention beside our hero. The whole party crossed the yard to the far corner, where lay the body of the man who had attempted to escape, and who had been shot down in the act. A torch was produced, and the light enabled them to see the features. "The prisoners have admitted that he was their leader," said Jack. It was José. Tom turned away with a feeling of sickness. After all, it was not pleasant to think that a cousin could have been such a rascal. There, in fact, was the end of all his scheming, all his meanness and jealousy. "You will report to-morrow at headquarters, Mr. Clifford. I offer you and your officers and men the heartiest thanks--good morning!" Wellington was gone. Tom watched the gilt of his epaulettes shining as he went through the archway; then he turned. Jack was standing stiffly at attention behind him. Septimus was rushing forward with outstretched hand. "Congratulations, sir," gasped the ensign. "To both of you," cried Septimus. "The chief of the staff gave me the news. Tom, you've been gazetted captain for that work at Salamanca, while Jack also gets a step, and Alfonso a mention. Now let's get to supper, or breakfast--which is it?"