Valke drew his service pistol, but hesitated to fire. To do so might betray his listening post and draw the enemy's shrapnel; it might be fatal to the section. In the second that Valke cast up the chances, he heard whisperings from another listening post. The ghoul had risen and was slinking for cover when the crack of a rifle tore a gap in the stillness. A light flashed up fifty yards ahead. Instinctively, the prowler sought the cover of a bush nearby and waited for the lapse of attention which might let him dash to safety. A sentry on patrol came up, passed, and vanished. That was the apache's chance! He came out of hiding and skulked along the entanglements hoping to find an alleyway to safety. The way led him right in front of Valke's listening post. A flash lamp shot its beam of blinding light full on the assassin's face. "Who goes there?" challenged Valke. No answer. "Who goes there?" ... Silence; not a sound. "_Qui Vive?_" ... No reply. "_Qui Vive?_" ... Then Valke pressed the trigger and with a groan the apache crumpled up, dead. "For a minute," said Valke in telling me the story, "the thought of what I had done made me shudder, though it was nothing but a plain matter of army duty. The man had been challenged, well knowing the penalty of war for silence. And yet--I had killed him! It made me feel faint. But when we examined the body it was all right again inside of me. That German held in his hand a bleeding human finger, still at blood heat, and around that finger was a marriage ring! In his pocket he had an emblem pin and a gold watch and chain; and on his own finger a diamond ring--all snatched from the dead or dying bodies of men who had made the supreme sacrifice for France! Who could pity such a vile ghoul as he?"