"
"But where shall we come upon them?"
"The best plan will be to consult Valetta Joe, the Maltese baker at
the end of the lines. I have always suspected him of being a Russian
spy; but I dare say we could buy him over if you want him. If he tries
to play us false we will hang him the same day."
Valetta Joe was in his bread-store--a small shed communicating with
the dark, dirty, semi-subterranean cellar behind, in which the dough
was kneaded and baked. The shed was encumbered with barrels of
inferior flour, and all around upon shelves lay the small short rolls,
dark-looking and sour-tasting, which were sold in the camp for a
shilling a piece.
"Well, Joe, what's the news from Sebastopol to-day?" asked Shervinton.
"Why you ask me, sare? I a poor Maltee baker--sell bread, make money.
Have nothing to do with fight."
"You rascal! You know you're in league with the Russians. I have had
my eye on you this long time. Some of these days we'll be down upon
you like a cart-load of bricks."
"You a very hard man, Major Shervinton, sare--very unkind to poor Joe.
I offer you bread every day for nothing; you say No. Why not take
Joe's bread?"
"Because Joe's a scoundrel to offer it. Do you suppose I am to be
bribed in that way? But here: I tell you what we are after. This
gentleman," pointing to McKay, "wants news from the other side.
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