still a handful of red
embers.

"Can't make out why the beggars scooted," muttered Bob Dashwood. "This
place has been turned into a regular redoubt, and might have been held
successfully against a division. There is something at the bottom of it,
Dennis, and the mind of Brother Boche is a subtle and a crafty mind.
Look!" And he pointed to a long line of underclothing hanging above the
stoves. "They've even left their washing when they cleared out."

His speculations terminated abruptly as an electric bell rang somewhere
in the darkness.

"Great Scott!" cried Dennis, stabbing the gloom with the beam of his
pocket-torch. "There's another room here, and the place is evidently in
communication with their headquarters."

He ran in the direction of the sound, and the door led him into the
engine-room of the brewery, a mysterious place smelling of oil. Wheels,
shafts and boilers met his eye, but he paid no heed to them, for the
bell still rang; and Bob, limping painfully after him, heard the sharp
cry he gave, and saw him bending down in a huge cavity on which he
flashed his light.

"I say, Bob!" he called excitedly. "The chimney overhead is fitted with
a wireless installation, and here's a complete outfit of field telegraph
and telephone!"

"Smash it; it's worse than useless to us, for we don't know their code,"
was the practical advice of the captain.

"Hold on!" chuckled Dennis. "They don't talk by code. We may hear things
yet!" And he unhooked the telephone receiver.

Bob's eyes opened very wide, and, leaning on his rifle-crutch, he
explored his brother's pocket for a cigarette and lit it.

"Well, what's it all about?" he asked impatiently, his eyes riveted on
the delighted smile that wreathed the listener's face.

Dennis made a hasty gesture with his hand and continued to listen.

It was a very angry voice that came along that wire, and the
quick-witted lad instantly saw great possibilities here.

"What are you doing with yourself, Von Dussel?" demanded the voice.

"Pardon, sir," said Dennis, in his best German, "I have difficulty in
catching your words; the noise of the shells is so great." And he winked
delightedly at Bob. "Who is speaking, please?"

An imprecation preceded the reply. "I am the General von Bingenhammer at
the headquarters of Prince Rupprecht, who is furious at the delay."

"A thousand apologies, your excellency!" said Dennis into the receiver.
"The truth is, we are so hard pressed here