significant in that sudden transition, and recharging his empty
revolver as he went forward, Dennis wormed himself cautiously to the
edge of the crump-hole, where he hoped to find his enemy.

It was still pouring in torrents as his chin came on a level with the
ragged rim, but the fierce hope died out of his heart.

The shell-hole was an old one, the rain had filled it almost to the
brim, and he ground his teeth, knowing that the spy had outwitted them
after all. He knew now that, in spite of Hawke's shots, the villain with
the charmed life must have chanced his arm and kept straight on between
the two shell-holes, and would even then be nearing the German position,
gloating over his success.

"I have missed the chance of my lifetime," he thought bitterly, when a
star shell burst directly above him, lighting up the rain pool like a
sheet of silver.

He had already picked himself up, and was clearing his throat to give
his unseen companion a hail, when a warning whistle came from the
opposite edge of the hole, and he saw Hawke's head and shoulders and a
pointing arm.

Among the splashing raindrops in the centre of the pool a white face
parted the water.

It was Von Dussel come up to breathe, and as the face sank out of sight
again, Dennis dived in after it, regardless of all consequences.

* * * * *

Major Dashwood and the Brigadier, stumbling forward along the German
communication, met three men carrying something between them, and the
third man had the fingers of his left hand twined in a tight clutch on
the collar of one of the bearers.

"What is all this, Dennis?" demanded the Brigadier, who had been an
indignant witness of that strange chase, without in the least
understanding what it meant.

"Little Wetherby dead, pater, and Von Dussel very much alive, and none
the worse for a cold bath," came the answer; "the court martial that
sits on his wife to-morrow will be able to kill two birds with one
stone."

"My wife!" exclaimed the spy. "Ottilie in your hands!"

"Yes, you brute, we've bagged the pair of you," said Dennis, with a grim
laugh; "it's been Von Dussel versus Dashwood for a long time, but the
Dashwoods have 'won out' in the end."

"I do not understand," faltered Von Dussel in a choking voice, and then
instantly recovering his true Prussian bluster: "I demand the right
treatment accorded to every officer who has the misfortune to be taken
prisoner. I have high co