ol. "Judging from your official
statements, and your Bethmann-Hollweg, Germany hasn't much reputation
for truth-telling! So you are the beast we've been trying to locate, are
you?"

The man had a red moustache, the ends of which lifted as he smiled.

"Yes, I am the beast; the 'great blonde beast' your papers are so fond
of talking about," he said ironically. "I've been here for a month, and
I have shot on an average twenty of your fools every day."

"Well, you'll shoot no more," said Dennis grimly.

"That we shall see," retorted the man, suddenly stiffening his spine and
almost succeeding in reaching a sitting position.

Up went the lad's arm and down came his clenched fist full on the bridge
of the German's nose, dropping him back again. He had slid the French
officer's empty revolver into its case, and as the man blinked at him
with the water in his eyes from the force of the blow, Dennis drew it
and clapped the cold muzzle to his ear.

"Now will you surrender?" he said, and he saw a wave of terror pass over
the German's face.

"Yes, yes--don't shoot. I will surrender!" he cried, but as he spoke the
beam of daylight was eclipsed, and Dennis looked up.

It was an artfully contrived place, for the tunnel ended against a
little scarp of chalk, through which a crescent-shaped hole had been
cut, commanding a wide view of the English trench and looking from the
outside like an innocent, natural crevice. Immediately behind it was a
steel grating, firmly embedded in the sides of the tunnel, and on one of
the bars the muzzle of the sniper's rifle was laid, its stock resting on
an ingenious wooden fork, which could be raised or lowered by a rack and
pinion.

Through the crescent-shaped opening a human face looked in, and a voice,
which Dennis instantly recognised, gave warning of more trouble.

"What-oh, Fritz!" said Harry Hawke. "You shouldn't speak so loud. As you
can't come art and I can't come in, 'ere's a little present for yer."
And he stepped back with a loud chuckle.

"Hold on, Hawke, you ass!" shouted Dennis at the top of his voice, but
he was too late. Harry Hawke had already drawn the pin and lobbed a hand
grenade neatly through the crevice.

Dennis knew that there were less than five seconds between him and
eternity, but bracing his foot against the side of the tunnel, he
suddenly wrenched the German sniper on top of him and lay there.

"Ach, I have you now!" laughed the man triumphantly, but his word