his agony of despair, to
do as much damage as possible before his brief dash for freedom ended.
Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and heard Desmond's sharp
whisper.

"Steady--he's unconscious. Let me look at him, Linton."

Jim, still astride his capture, sat back, and Desmond flashed the
Feldwebel's own lantern into that hero's face.

"H'm, yes," he said. "Hit his head against something. He's stunned,
anyhow. What are we going to do with him?"

"Is he the only one?" Jim asked.

"It seems like it. But there may be another at any moment. We've got
to go on; if he wakes up he'll probably be able to identify you." He
felt in his pocket, and produced a coil of strong cord. "Come along,
Linton--get off and help me to tie him up."

They tied up the unconscious Feldwebel securely, and lifted him into
the cupboard among the brooms, gagging him in case he felt inclined
for any outcry on coming to his senses. The others had gone ahead,
and were already in the tunnel; with them, one of the four disabled
officers, whose job it was to close up the hole at the entrance and
dismantle the electric light, in the faint hope that the Germans might
fail to discover their means of escape, and so leave it free for
another party to try for freedom. He stood by the yawning hole,
holding one end of a string by which they were to signal from the
surface, if all went well. The wistfulness of his face haunted Jim
long afterwards.

"Good-bye, old man," he said cheerily, gripping Jim's hand. "Good
luck."

"I wish you were coming, Harrison," Jim said, unhappily.

"No such luck. Cheero, though: the war won't last for ever. I'll see
you in Blighty." They shook hands again, and Jim dived into the
tunnel.

He knew every inch of it, and wriggled quickly along until the top of
his head encountered the boots of the man in front of him, after which
he went more slowly. There seemed a long delay at the end--long
enough to make him break into a sweat of fear lest something should
have gone wrong. Such thoughts come easily enough when you are lying
full length in black darkness, in a hole just large enough to hold a
man; in air so stifling that the laboured breath can scarcely come;
with the dank earth just under mouth and nose, and overhead a roof
that may fall in at any moment. The dragging minutes went by. Then,
just as despair seized him, the boots ahead moved. He wriggled after
them, finding himself praying desperately a