ion of our forces is clearly marked in red ink,
and their numerical strength certified by a chartered accountant. The
only detail omitted is the number of women and children that will be
placed in the firing-line. Today's bag has not yet been reported."

An aide-de-camp galloped into the tent, flung himself from his exhausted
mule and saluted.

"In the name of our noble and august KAISER," he began, "I have the
honour to inform you that we have to-day captured 47 charwomen, 16
bedridden octogenarians and 21 babies in arms."

"_Zwanzigheit!_" exclaimed the General excitedly. "Place them in the
forefront of our brave Bogey Head Hussars, and order the advance for ten
o'clock to-morrow morning."

The aide-de-camp saluted, flung himself on to a fresh mule and galloped
hell for leather to the canteen.

"I am much obliged for the information you have given me," said Bertram
politely. "It is of paramount importance."

"You're quite welcome," remarked the General. "By-the-by, what do you
want it for?"

Our hero rapidly shaved off Wigson's moustache and drew himself up
proudly. "I am a spy," he said.

"I suspected as much," commented the General. "Kindly touch that bell on
the mantelpiece behind you."

Bertram touched it; it was as cold as ice.

"See if it will ring," suggested the General.

Bertram seized it by the handle and shook it violently. In a moment or
two it rang. A sentry entered.

"_Einzweidreivierfuenf_," said the General, "and riddle him with bullets
at eight to-morrow morning."

III.

Early the next morning a knock sounded on the door of Bertram's cell.
The doomed man crossed the room and shot back the bolt. An officer armed
with a howitzer entered.

"I am instructed to inform you," he said, "that as you are shortly to be
shot you are entitled, according to custom, to choose whatever you wish
for breakfast."

"Thank you," replied Bertram, "a cup of weak tea and a rusk.
Unfortunately I am a chronic dyspeptic, or I would take fuller advantage
of your kind hospitality."

A devilish gleam shot from the other's eyes as he heard those words.

"As you will be dead in an hour," he said, "the fact of your being a
dyspeptic need not trouble you any more than if you were an acrostic.
Let me therefore suggest that you try a sausage or a knuckle of pork."

Bertram reeled against the piano. Here was an opportunity to gratify his
palate without regard to the consequences. Quickly he made up his mind.

"