'And,' exclaimed Kalitkin triumphantly, 'here is another spy. Welcome back, my friend. I expected you to spend the night in a whore's bed at headquarters. Are there no women with General Bennigsen?'

'Only pretty boys dressed as aides,' said the staff-officer emerging from the night, 'in accordance with the German fashion. Besides, I came back to bring you... this!' The staff-officer produced a bottle from the breast of his cloak with a magician's flourish.

'Ah! Vodka! Next to a woman, the best consolation.' 'One can share it with more facility, certainly ... I see you have company.'

As Kalitkin laughed, snatching the bottle and wrenching the cork from its neck, the staff-officer's expression of cynical levity vanished at the sight of the British uniform.

'Yes, my friend,' explained Kalitkin after wiping his mouth, 'a spy like you. He is an English officer; a commissioner no less.'

In the firelight the staff-officer's mouth set rigid, his eyes suddenly watchful. 'I am Colonel Wilson,' said the Englishman again, waving aside the vodka that Kalitkin companionably offered him after liberally helping himself, 'His Britannic Majesty's representative at the headquarters of His Imperial Majesty's army.'

'Colonel Wilson...' the staff-officer muttered under his breath, his eyes probing the face of the English officer.

'Count Kalitkin has introduced himself,' said Wilson, referring obliquely to Kalitkin's failure to introduce the staff-officer. 'Whom have I the honour of addressing?'

The staff-officer hesitated, looked down and with a muddy boot kicked back a piece of wood that had been ejected from the heart of the fire by a small explosion of resin deep in its core.

'Tell him, my friend,' said Kalitkin, swigging again at the vodka. 'Tell him who you are.'