“We were at the corner of a wood and our men were fighting splendidly and seemed to be holding them for a bit. But casualties were very heavy and we could not pick them up fast enough. Then, on a sudden, there came a great rush of Germans in close formation. It was like a bore going up a river. They simply swept over our men and rolled them back, and we were left in a kind of backwater. “Dr Dare told us to stick to business, and we went on with our work. Then an officer who was running past caught sight of us. I cannot say he knew what we were. There was great confusion. Anyway, he saw the Doctor’s uniform and levelled a revolver at him and shouted in English, ‘Hands up!’ and we put our hands up above our heads. “And just then, as evil luck would have it, a squadron of cavalry--hussars--came galloping round the wood to take our men in flank. And one of them, on our near side, as he passed behind us, just slashed at the Doctor’s lifted hands with his sword, as he would have done at a turnip on a pole in the practice field. It was sheer devilment and without reason. And when he saw the Doctor’s hands fall to the ground he turned up his face and laughed, and they all laughed. The wicked devils!--if you’ll pardon me.” The faces of all his hearers were pale as they pictured the horror in their own minds. “What utter fiends!” jerked Alma, white with anger at thought of the ruthless savagery of it. “It is just the German war-spirit at its worst,” said Con quietly. His lips had puckered on the cigarette as Grant told the story. But he had recovered himself. “The spirit of absolute selfishness and indifference to others. I really felt very little at the moment. Just the sharp cut, then a numbness, and I saw my hands lying on the ground. They looked awfully queer. I just remember thinking, ‘Good God! Those are my hands!’ Then everything began to go round and I fell. Proceed, Robert!”