round with the far end
hanging in the void. That would be the spy's explanation if anyone
heard the sound and came seeking the cause.

Somewhere in the darkness before him and below was the man, not a yard
off. Peter remained very still, studying the situation. He could not
see, but he could feel the presence, and he was trying to decide the
relative position of the man and bell and their exact distance from
him. The thing was not so easy as it looked, for if he jumped for
where he believed the figure was, he might miss it and get a bullet in
the stomach. A man who played so risky a game was probably handy with
his firearms. Besides, if he should hit the bell, he would make a
hideous row and alarm the whole front.

Fate suddenly gave him the right chance. The unseen figure stood up
and moved a step, till his back was against the parados. He actually
brushed against Peter's elbow, who held his breath.

There is a catch that the Kaffirs have which would need several
diagrams to explain. It is partly a neck hold, and partly a paralysing
backward twist of the right arm, but if it is practised on a man from
behind, it locks him as sure as if he were handcuffed. Peter slowly
got his body raised and his knees drawn under him, and reached for his
prey.

He got him. A head was pulled backward over the edge of the trench,
and he felt in the air the motion of the left arm pawing feebly but
unable to reach behind.

'Be still,' whispered Peter in German; 'I mean you no harm. We are
friends of the same purpose. Do you speak German?' '_Nein_,' said a
muffled voice.

'English?'

'Yes,' said the voice.

'Thank God,' said Peter. 'Then we can understand each other. I've
watched your notion of signalling, and a very good one it is. I've got
to get through to the Russian lines somehow before morning, and I want
you to help me. I'm English--a kind of English, so we're on the same
side. If I let go your neck, will you be good and talk reasonably?'

The voice assented. Peter let go, and in the same instant slipped to
the side. The man wheeled round and flung out an arm but gripped
vacancy.

'Steady, friend,' said Peter; 'you mustn't play tricks with me or I'll
be angry.'

'Who are you? Who sent you?' asked the puzzled voice.

Peter had a happy thought. 'The Companions of the Rosy Hours,' he said.

'Then are we friends indeed,' said the voice. 'Come out of the
darkness, friend, and I will do you no harm. I