Whistles blew shrilly amid the roar of battle. Several of the Tank-Commanders, hearing and understanding the import of the order, brought their ponderous craft to a standstill. Others began to wheel in order to give a wide berth to the highly-dangerous locality. Fifty yards ahead, and separated from them only by three almost flattened trenches, was an objective which, if gained, would be the master-key to this phase of the important operations, and yet with success in sight the nerve-racking attempt bid fair to end in failure.
At this critical juncture Derek, to the surprise of the crew of the abandoned tank, suddenly sprang upon the parados. In a couple of strides he overtook the Major, and, throwing his arms round the latter\'s neck and planting one knee in the small of his back, bore him backwards to the earth. Then, not content with this comparatively mild form of attack, Derek pinioned the officer\'s wrists by means of the lanyard of his whistle. He was dragging his captive into the trench when a Tank-Commander intervened.
"What on earth are you doing?" he demanded.
"It\'s all right," replied Derek reassuringly. "The fellow\'s a Boche. I know him. Get the tanks to carry on."
Fortunately the officer grasped the situation and had the retirement order annulled. The mammoth machines resumed their forward progress, blazing away with their quick-firers and machine-guns, until Derek found himself well in the rear in the company of a handful of men and Count Hertz von Peilfell.
It was a freak of fortune on the battle-field that had played into Lieutenant Daventry\'s hand. The Count, having succeeded in escaping from the Le Tenetoir aerodrome, had passed through many adventures before he regained the German lines. Then, in a desperate bid to regain prestige, he had volunteered again to act as a spy. Knowing that there were many changes in the personnel of the Tank Corps, he determined to assume the r?le and uniform of a major, and await an opportunity to thwart the victorious advance of the ponderous Behemoths.
Succeeding the tanks came swarms of infantry, of whom, but for the assistance of the mobile armoured forts, the Boche machine-gunners would have taken heavy toll. As it was they were able to consolidate the position already taken with but slight losses in proportion to the numbers engaged. There were engineers, busily engaged in laying telephone wires, while numerous stretcher-bearers and ambulance-men were strenuously working to remove the wounded from the stubbornly-contested field. Meantime Fritz was shelling the lost ground to the best of his ability, the guns taking impartial toll of khaki and field-grey. Having no further use for cannon-fodder that had fallen into the hands of the victorious Allies, the Boche artillerymen seemed to show not the slightest compunction at slaughtering their comrades.
A stretcher-party halted within a few yards of Derek\'s prisoner. The Corporal in charge pushed back his steel helmet and mopped his face.
"Set to, chums!" he exclaimed. "Here\'s another of \'em."
The bearers had been hard at work for five hours and under shell-fire the whole time. The straps of their equipment were cutting into their shoulders; their boots were galling their feet owing to the incessant pull of the tenacious mud. Men of low category, and deemed unfit to handle a rifle, they were sharing the hardships and dangers of their comrades in the firing-line, without being able to experience the thrill of "going over the top" shoulder to shoulder behind a line of glittering bayonets. Yet their work was of a noble and enduring nature, often performed under highly-dangerous conditions, without an opportunity of striking a blow in self-defence.
"Stretcher here!" exclaimed Derek. "Get this man back. I\'ll come with you."
The Corporal betrayed no outward sign of surprise at finding a supposed British major insensible and with his hands lashed behind his back. At Derek\'s suggestion the lanyard was unlashed and Von Peilfell\'s hands bound to his sides. Then, lifted on a stretcher, the spy was carried off.
It was a hazardous, uninspiring journey. The heat of the advance over, the grim aftermath of battle lay revealed in all its stark, hideous brutality. It was yet early morning. Mist still hung over the marshy ground. As far as the eye could reach the soil was cut up with the distinctive tractor-marks of the tanks. Barbed wire, crushed deeply into the earth wherever a tank had passed, was still in evidence, snake-like coils clinging tenaciously to posts still rising slantwise from the stiff clay. And sometimes half buried, sometimes still held up by the horrible barbs were khaki and field-grey uniforms still covering what were but a few short hours ago human beings capable of reasoning. Derelict tanks, some still glowing red and emitting clouds of smoke, dotted the landscape, cheek by jowl with crashed aeroplanes. Shell-craters, old and new, abounded, while already light railways were being laid with a rapidity that is hardly conceivable. The while there were constant streams of motor traffic to and fro; heavy guns being brought up to prepare for a fresh advance. Everywhere there were abundant indications that this was "some" advance and that the ground gained was to be held.
Mile after mile Derek trudged with his captive. He was determined that on this occasion the airman-spy should not escape. Von Peilfell was too dangerous a man to be allowed to get away a second time.
Several times Derek glanced at the man on the stretcher. Von Peilfell was lying on his right side, his face almost hidden against the ............