"'They'll have to pull up their socks at Krupp's to replace the shells
they have blazed away in this little pantomime,' said Tommy pressing his
hands to his sides. 'Star programme--heap big star programme! Phew! Oh,
I wish I could stop laughing, I ain't 'ad such a laugh for years!'

"'And in this little code book here,' said the old man, a hand on each
of our shoulders, 'there are hundreds of little love messages we can be
getting ready to surprise 'em with. Presently we'll begin to send 'em
instructions to concentrate their fire on empty houses--tell 'em they
are chock-full of British troops. Then they'll fairly let loose the
bow-yows of war. Damme, how their gunners will gun! Oblige me by
thinking of four hundred guns, pumping val-u-able shells into an empty
house.'

"The exquisite humour of it brought us down screaming with laughter in a
tangle on the slag-heap. A searchlight broke out from the back of the
Hun trenches and began searching our lines.

"'They're looking for our attacking party, or the Angels of Mons,'
panted the old man, his knees in a shell hole and his face in the grass.
'Well, let's get our things packed and hurry back. I think they have
sent back for a fresh supply of shells. The sooner we get out of it the
better. Sufficient unto the day--or night, perhaps one should say.'

"Well, it's dry work talking," said McNab, wistfully surveying the
interior of his empty mug.

I took measures--pint measures--to allay his thirst.

"Let me see now," he said; "let me see."

"And did you do any signalling with the flash lamp the next night?" I
timidly hinted, "I believe you mentioned that it was your intention."

"Yes, we did have some fun, I can tell you, and 'twas better still next
night. Once more we returned, to the slag-heap, then," McNab swept on,
"we started to flash a few messages over to the German lines. They soon
picked up our signals and after a brief interrogation they replied. Then
they started to ask questions. 'At which part of the British line would
it be wise to launch an attack?' they flashed.

"And our old man flashed back a trench that was fairly bristly with
machine guns. Then they asked other questions, but we did not reply. We
laid low and said nothing, for you can take it from me, mister, that a
real spy is a man of few words, and playing with a flashlight in enemy
lines is not exactly a healthy game.

"Had we have signalled too freely the Huns would have soon become
suspici