McGee smiled, wondering what would be their reaction should he announce that "a Looie" was even now in their presence. Perhaps it was his duty, as an officer, to rout them out and order them to rejoin their commands, but he felt no responsibility for these men of the line, and if they were as weary and sleepy as he--and doubtless they had more reason to be--then he could hardly blame them for falling out. With the morning, he knew, these army-wise soldiers would go down the road until they found their outfits and there pour forth a plausible lie about becoming lost in the tangle and how they had searched all night for their company. McGee knew little enough about the American infantrymen, but he did know that "for tricks that are vain" Bret Harte's famous heathen Chinee had nothing on the average soldier of the line, be he American, English, French or a black man from Senegal. Cautiously he felt out a clear space, spread his coat over the rough timbers and was soon sound asleep. 2 While McGee slept soundly, blissfully removed from all scenes of conflict and completely ignorant of his exact location, a midnight conference of gravest nature was taking place in the little settlement of Landres-et-St. Georges, far behind the German lines of defense. Four thick-necked, grey-haired German officers were seated at a long table in the front room of a chateau that had been in German hands for more than three years. Candles flickered uncertainly on the table, lighting the center of the large room but leaving the corners in dim shadows. The four officers sat stiffly erect, without comment, their eyes on the double door as though they were awaiting someone. Outside, on the stone flagging of a courtyard, sounded the heavy tread of a Prussian Guardsman walking guard before the sanctum of these "Most High" ones who sat so stolidly waiting. The resounding footfalls of the guardsman came to a clicking halt, followed by a guttural challenge which was replied to in a softer voice. The guardsman again took up his beat. A moment later the door to the council room opened. A smooth-faced, blond young man stood at stiff salute in the doorway--dressed in the uniform of an English officer! For a long minute he stood at salute while the four at the table eyed him studiously. Then the hand came down, and a quick smile spread over his face as he stepped forward into the brighter light of the room. He carried in his hand one of the swagger sticks so commonly used by English officers. "Well, _Herr Hauptmann_," he addressed the officer at the head of the table, "do you find my disguise, and my English, sufficiently correct?"