e same sepulchral voice. "Percy FitzP. carrying
hout a reconaysance in force. 'E's found a 'Un smell factory, and 'e's
fair wallowing in it."

At that moment a voice came gently through the opening. "I say, you
fellahs, just come down here a moment, and bring your shovels--what?"

A face, covered with a fine coating of blackish-grey dust, popped up
out of the bottom of the trench. "We're fairly going to catch the old
Hun before we've finished."

With a choking gasp the sergeant lost all self-control and faded
rapidly away, while the three privates slowly and reluctantly followed
the face through the hole.

It was fortunate--or possibly, in view of future events,
unfortunate--that during the next two hours no responsible individual
came along that particular piece of front line. Incidentally there was
nothing surprising in the fact. In most places, especially during the
day, the front line is held but lightly by isolated posts, which are
visited from time to time by the company or platoon commander, and more
rarely by the Colonel. On this particular occasion the C.O. had
already paid his visit to the scene of activity. The company commander
was wrestling with returns, and Percy himself led the long-suffering
platoon. And so without hindrance from any outsiders the fell business
proceeded.

Volumes of evil-smelling dust poured out into the trench, punctuated
from time to time with boots, a few rats who had met with an untimely
end, some unrecognisable garments, and large numbers of empty bottles.
An early investigation had shown the indomitable leader that the old
shaft which had led down to the dug-out in the days when it was used
was completely blocked up, and so the hole through the roof was the
only means of entrance or exit. Moreover, the hole being in the centre
of the roof, and the dug-out being a high one, there was no method of
reaching it other than by standing on the bed or the decomposing chair.
Once the bird was in there, granted the bed had been removed, there was
therefore no way by which he could get out without being helped from
above. And so with joy in his heart the indefatigable Percy laboured
on, what time three sweating privates consigned him to the uttermost
depths of the pit.

Now one may say at once that Percy had all the makings in him of the
true artist. Having decided to stage his performance, he had no
intention of letting it fail through lack of attention to detail. Life