closed his book and turned away; a little movement
ran through the gathering of officers and men as they replaced their
caps. A loud, sharp-cut order from the gaitered officer in command of
the firing-party was followed by the clatter of rifle-bolts as the
firing-party loaded and swung to the "Present!"

"Fire!" The first volley rang out sharply, and the Marine buglers sent
the long, sweet notes of the "Last Post" echoing among the hills.
Twice more the volleys sounded, and twice more the bugles sang their
heart-breaking, triumphant "_Ave atque Vale!_" to the fighting dead.

In the ensuing silence the cry of the curlew again became audible, this
time out of the peace of the misty hills, gently persistent. Faint and
far-off was the sound, but at the last the meaning came clear and
strong to all who cared to listen.

"There is no Death!" ran the message, and again and again, "There is no
Death, no Death... no Death...!"

The firing-party unloaded, and the empty cartridge cases fell to the
earth with a little tinkling sound.

CHAPTER XII

"GOOD HUNTING"

Oberleutnant Otto von Sperrgebiet, of the Imperial German Navy, sat on
the edge of a Submarine's conning-tower with a chart open on his knees,
and smoked a cigarette. It was not a brand he cared about
particularly, but it had been looted from the Captain's cabin of a
neutral cargo steamer on the previous afternoon. A man who relies upon
such methods to replenish his cigarette case cannot, of course, expect
everybody's tastes to coincide with his own.

As he smoked, the German Lieutenant's eyes strayed restlessly round the
circle of the horizon. They were small eyes of a pale blue, rather
close together and reddened round the rims, with light eyelashes.

The Submarine lay motionless on the surface with the waves breaking
over the hog-backed hull. Every now and again a few drops of spray
splashed over the surface of the chart, and the Naval man wiped them
off with a scrap of lace and cambric that had once been a lady's
handkerchief. He had a way with women, that German Oberleutnant.

Nothing was in sight: not a tendril of smoke showed above the arc of
tumbling waves that ringed the limit of his vision; the sun was warm
and pleasant, and the figure on the conning-tower crossed his legs,
encased in heavy thigh boots, and gave himself over to retrospective
thought.

There had been a time when Oberleutnant von Sperrgebiet possessed the
rudiments of a