"The farm?" returned Ginger. "Yes." "Right, I should say." At this moment a shell burst in the air some distance to their right, whether from a British or a German gun they could not tell. It lit up the country momentarily like a flash of lightning, and as the two men instinctively flung themselves down, they caught sight of the ruins some distance on their right hand. The illumination was over in a second, leaving the sky blacker than before. They waited a little, wondering whether the shell was herald of a night attack. But the shot was not repeated. The country was silent. "Just to let us know they ain’t gone home yet," Ginger whispered. "We’ll make for the farm," said Kenneth in equally low tones. "The sniper hasn’t begun work yet; I haven’t heard any rifle shots about here. We’ll separate when we get to the place, and approach it from opposite sides." Very cautiously they groped their way across the open field towards the farm house, and when they caught sight of it, bent down under cover of a hedge, and crept on almost by inches. Then, leaving Ginger near the broken gate of the farmyard, Kenneth stole away to make a complete circuit of the place. In ten minutes he returned. "It’s a mere shell," he whispered. "The roof is gone, except in one corner; there are heaps of rubble everywhere, rafters lying at all angles, and furniture smashed to splinters." "Did you go inside?" "No, but I think we might risk it. Look out you don’t get a sprained ankle." They crept through the yard, over the rubbish, and into what had been the house. Kenneth had an electric torch, but dared not use it. They halted frequently to peer and listen, then went on again, doing their utmost to avoid any disturbance of the broken masonry and woodwork. Before they had completed their examination of the premises, the crack of a rifle at no great distance away caused them to abandon the search and hurry into the open again. Outside, they waited for a repetition of the shot to give them a clue. It was some time before it came. At length there was a dull rumble of distant artillery, and in the midst of it a sound like a muffled rifle-shot from the direction of the railway. "He’s a clever chap," whispered Kenneth. "I hadn’t noticed it before, but I think he waits for the sound of firing elsewhere before he fires himself--a precaution against being spotted. Let us wait for the next." Presently there was the rattle of musketry from the trenches far to the left. Before it had died away, a single rifle cracked much nearer at hand. "From the railway, sure enough," said Ginger. "We’ll cop him."