manded; and that was his only comment. McKinnon bent over as though to consult the message-sheet.
"They report that De Brigard has pounded his way through the Locombian lines and occupied Itzula."
The other man sat down, with a scarcely audible sigh, in the broken deck-chair beside him. There was an appreciable space of silence, unbroken except for the breathing of the two motionless figures.
"Itzula!" at last purred the black-coated man, as though uncertain of the name. Then he peered down at his slippered toes for several meditative seconds, slowly stretching the gross legs clad in Chinese silk. McKinnon knew he was digesting his victory, but only to the initiated could the movement have been interpret ed as the very core and essence of any such luxurious mental easement. Then he looked up and repeated the word "Itzula?"
Before McKinnon could realise it he was on his feet.
"One moment," he called back as he crossed the room.
McKinnon caught up a message-sheet and intercepted his enemy at the door.
"I want you to see this dispatch," he said, catching at the other's arm and talking against
