intelligence officer.

"What is to be done, Grant?"

"That is a matter for your lordship. But if I might venture--"

"Venture and be damned," snapped Wellington.

"The signal service rendered the cause of the allies by the death
of Samoval might perhaps be permitted to weigh against the offence
committed by O'Moy."

"How could it?" snapped his lordship. "You don't know, O'Moy, that upon
Samoval's body were found certain documents intended for Massena. Had
they reached him, or had Samoval carried out the full intentions that
dictated his quarrel with you, and no doubt sent him here depending
upon his swordsmanship to kill you, all my plans for the undoing of the
French would have been ruined. Ay, you may stare. That is another matter
in which you have lacked discretion. You may be a fine engineer, O'Moy,
but I don't think I could have found a less judicious adjutant-general
if I had raked the ranks of the army on purpose to find an idiot.
Samoval was a spy--the cleverest spy that we have ever had to deal with.
Only his death revealed how dangerous he was. For killing him when
you did you deserve the thanks of his Majesty's Government, as Grant
suggests. But before you can receive those you will have to stand a
court-martial for the manner in which you killed him, and you will
probably be shot. I can't help you. I hope you don't expect it of me."

"The thought had not so much as occurred to me. Yet what you tell me,
sir, lifts something of the load from my mind."

"Does it? Well, it lifts no load from mine," was the angry retort. He
stood considering. Then with an impatient gesture he seemed to dismiss
his thoughts. "I can do nothing," he said, "nothing without being false
to my duty and becoming as bad as you have been, O'Moy, and without
any of the sentimental justification that existed in your case. I can't
allow the matter to be dropped, stifled. I have never been guilty of
such a thing, and I refuse to become guilty of it now. I refuse--do you
understand? O'Moy, you have acted; and you must take the consequences,
and be damned to you."

"Faith, I've never asked you to help me, sir," Sir Terence protested.

"And you don't intend to, I suppose?"

"I do not."

"I am glad of that." He was in one of those rages which were as terrible
as they were rare with him. "I wouldn't have you suppose that I make
laws for the sake of rescuing people from the consequences of disobeying
them. Here is this brother-in-law of