nded him once more a good mile within
the enemy's lines.

His first act was to bury the sergeant's sword in the earth; his next to
reload his Webley revolver; and then, spying a gap in the rim of the
crater above him, he clambered up, to find himself on the floor of a
German trench!

Not twenty yards away men were busy with pick and shovel, making good
the effect of the shell explosion on their parapet; and on the impulse
of the moment he dived unseen into the mouth of a dug-out immediately in
front of him.

It was empty, but a brazier was burning under a cooking-pot, and on one
side of the wall of the unspeakably filthy place hung a row of uniforms.

"I shall never get out of it in these togs," he thought, looking
ruefully at his own tattered rags; and with no very fixed idea of what
to do or how to do it, he put on the first tunic he found, drew a pair
of baggy slops over his own gaiters and breeches, and crammed a forage
cap, with a red band and cockade, on to his head.

Something bulky in the pocket of the tunic attracted his attention. It
was a book, half filled with German shorthand notes, and on the fly-leaf
was inscribed the name--"Carl Heft, 307th Reserve Battalion."

Carl Heft was evidently a stenographer, and to the lad's horror he heard
a harsh voice calling out the name.

"Great Scott! What have I done now?" he thought. And as a
black-whiskered sergeant loomed in the doorway of the dug-out, he
clicked his heels together in the approved German fashion, and stood
stolidly to attention.

"What are you skulking here for, Heft?" demanded the sergeant angrily.
"Come along, pig's head--the general wants you!"

Dennis stepped briskly forward without a word, fastening the last button
on the soiled tunic as he reached the open air.

"They're either in a high state of nerves, or I must be something like
the real Carl Heft," he thought. "Not very flattering to one's vanity,
but it might be useful, who knows? What on earth is going to happen now?
I'm perfectly certain to give the show away this time."

No one paid any attention to him as he passed the busy groups of men in
the firing bays, for everyone was working feverishly to repair the
damage of the British shells; and after some twists and turns, the
sergeant vanished into a covered communication at the entrance to which
was planted a pennant, whose horizontal stripes of black, red and white
denoted the headquarters of a division.

Dennis could not re