At last, just as daylight began to appear, a new idea struck him. It was a scheme of masterly simplicity in which his tired brain could detect no flaw. He leant over and shook the dimly visible form of Alf, who woke in astonishment and was about to give tongue when Bill's huge hand was clapped over his mouth, and Bill's voice spoke fiercely in his ear. "Quiet, you fool!" "Wasermarrer?" enquired Alf thickly, as soon as the hand was removed. "I got it!" whispered Bill triumphantly. "Got what?" "I knows 'ow we can work it." There was a pause, as Alf allowed this to sink in. "Work what?" he asked at last. "Wake up, you fat'ed, an' listen. It's a transfer we want." "A what?" "A _transfer_!" "Do we?" Bill's overtried nerves snapped suddenly. "If it wasn't for the row it'd make, I'd dot yer one," he hissed fiercely. "'Ere, put yer things on quiet an' slip outside, an' I'll tell yer there." A few moments later, in the dim first light of dawn, Bill unfolded his scheme. "If we tells Eustace to transfer us to the Reserve Battalion 'ome in Blighty, that ain't desertion, because we'd still be soldierin', see. An' it's about time you and me 'ad a little go o' soldierin' at 'ome, for a change like. Oh, it's a real brainy notion, Alf. Can't think why I never thought of it before." Alf, still half-asleep, had only the vaguest conception of the meaning of the magic word "transfer" and still less of the formalities attaching thereto; but such was his trust in the acumen and the military knowledge of his mate that he accepted the statement without reserve. Acting under Bill's instructions he rubbed his Button. Instantly Eustace appeared with his usual formula. "We want to be transferred," said Alf. "To the Reserve Battalion in Blighty--at once, please." "Lord!" answered the djinn, "I hear and obey." He advanced on the two privates who, expecting to feel themselves borne with appalling swiftness through the air, closed their eyes apprehensively; but nothing seemed to happen, and they opened them again. "Lumme!" said Alf in astonishment. "Good ole Eustace!" The scene before them had changed with the suddenness of a cinematograph film. The dawn was still just breaking, but instead of the cheerless plains of France they saw the wooded hills and trim hedges of an English landscape. They were standing on a country road beside a camp of wooden huts. Not far away the spire of a church and the chimneys of a few houses rising above the drifting morning mist showed where a village stood; and as they tried to gather their wits together they heard a sound to which their ears had long been strangers--the distant rumble of an express train. "Good ole Eustace--an' good ole Blighty!" said Bill softly. "Come on, Alf. There's a sentry at the gate. We'll report to 'im." The sentry at once handed them over to the sergeant of the guard, who produced a piece of paper and a stubby pencil.