uncomfortable. What puzzled us rather was that the Hun did not shell
our old billets that night--that is, nothing out of the ordinary. 'But
that's only his cunning,' we consoled ourselves; 'he knows we know he
knows, and he's trying to lure us back. Ah, no, old friend.'

"So we camped miserably on in that sunken sewer. He dropped a lucky
one through a barn the same afternoon and lobbed a few wides over
during the next night, but again nothing out of the ordinary.

"We were more and more puzzled. Then, just about breakfast-time on
the second morning, in walks de Blavincourt himself, green as to the
complexion and wounded in the arm, but otherwise intact. I leapt upon
him, snarling, 'Where's that map?'

"'I got 'im, Sir,' he gulped, 'safe' (gulp).

"This was his story. He had remembered the corporal shouting
something, but so intent on his work was he that he hardly noticed the
warning until suddenly, to his horror, he perceived a party of Huns
creeping out of a passage _behind him_. He was cut off! They had not
seen him for the moment, so quick as thought he slipped into the
nearest house, turned into a front room--a sort of parlour place--and
crouched there, wondering what to do.

"He was not left wondering long, for the Bosches followed him into
that very house. There was a small table in one corner covered with
a large cloth. Under this de Blavincourt dived, and not a second too
soon, for the Bosches--seven of them--followed him into that very room
and, setting up their machine gun at the window, commenced to pop
off down the street. Charming state of affairs for little de