is slow, neat handwriting he inscribed one
careful entry after another, and became so absorbed by his task that he
never even heard the tattoo. When he looked up from the books it was
already past eleven; but that was all right, for the sergeant-major was
safe not to be going home till midnight.

Heimert opened the window and looked out. It had rained during the day,
and now all nature seemed to be sprouting and budding. The odour of the
young fresh green things was wafted in by a breath of wind, which
gently swayed the cotton curtains. Forest and hills were illuminated by
the brilliant moonlight; and like a white ribbon the foot-path climbed
the steep ascent behind the barracks, till it lost itself in the
shadows of a thicket. On the grassy slope stood a group of young
birches, their white stems gleaming, and their shimmering leaves--still
wet from the rain--shining as though made of silver.

Heimert gazed at it all with no thought for the beauty of the May
night. He was glad that the moon shone so brightly, as he would be able
to see his man with ease in such a light.

He fetched his revolver, and returning to the window looked across at
the notice-board opposite, which threatened trespassers in the barracks
or parade-ground with "a fine of sixty marks or five days'
imprisonment." The white-lettered notice-board was fixed to the trunk
of a beech-tree by a huge nail, and at the head of this nail Heimert
took careful aim.

Satisfied, he laid down the pistol and returned to the table. But
almost immediately he jumped up again and took a light out into the
corridor. Yes, Heppner's revolver was in its usual place on the rack.
He took the weapon with him into the kitchen, and sat down once more.
Just midnight! The twelve strokes were sounding slowly from the great
clock of the barracks.

Heimert still waited. After a little his head sank down on the table,
and he fell asleep.

At half-past two Heppner came home. He had had a run of bad luck at the
White Horse, had lost over a hundred marks, and that amount was now
missing from the battery cash-box. He was quite overcome by this sudden
misfortune. As if stunned he groped his way home to the barracks,
scarcely seeing where he was going, stumbling at times over his sword,
or entangling himself with his spurs.

When he rang at the gate for admittance he was ready to fly into a
passion. He thought he had not heard the ringing of the bell, and he
began to rage at somebod