"Except Obernai’s house," said Kenneth, looking round over the village. Most of the roofs were considerably lower than the spot on which they stood. Only the attics of the Alsatian philanthropist’s house rose above that level. That large building in its extensive grounds was about sixty yards to their left. There was a light in one of the lower rooms, where Captain Adams and several other officers were billeted: the rest was dark. "It’s not very likely, after that spy business, that any of Obernai’s servants is in German pay," Kenneth continued. "Still I’ll tell the captain what we have seen." He made his report to Captain Adams next morning. Later in the day the captain said to him: "There’s nothing in that matter, Amory. I asked Monsieur Obernai whether his servants were trustworthy, and he assured me that he had had them for years, and could answer for them all. I didn’t tell him why I had made the enquiry; it’s best to keep these things as quiet as possible; we don’t want to make people uneasy. I’ve no doubt the signals are directed to some place farther away on our left, and the colonel is sending word along the front, asking them to keep a look-out." Nothing more was heard of the signalling for a long time. When they returned to the trenches, their position was somewhat altered. The Rutlands were moved a little to the right, and Kennedy’s platoon occupied a portion of the trench which had formerly been held by another platoon. Kenneth was making himself comfortable in a dug-out with Harry and Ginger when he picked up, among the various articles left by its former occupants, a piece of ruled music paper dotted with notes. "A relic of your friend Stoneway, Ginger," he said with a laugh. "He’s the only musician in the company." "Is he, by George!" cried Harry. "You forget I was in the school choir, old chap." "So you were! I remember how the mothers used to admire your pretty little cherub face when you let off your songs on the platform. ’Isn’t he sweet, mother?’ I heard a girl say once. You remember how we rotted you." "Yes, confound it! I was jolly glad when my voice broke, and I got out of all that. I haven’t sung a note since; if I try, my voice is like a nutmeg grater." "You’ve lost your cherubic mug too, old man. But look here; whistle over this tune; let’s hear what it is." Harry took the paper, scanned it for a moment or two, then said: "It’s no tune at all. The notes go up and down all anyhow." He whistled a few notes. "Oh, for any sake stop it!" implored Ginger. "It’s Stoneway’s exercises, by the sound of it. Call that music! It’s enough to make a cat ill." "I’ll give it back to Stoneway next time I see him," said Harry. "Tear it up," said Ginger. "If he hasn’t got it, perhaps he can’t----" A shout interrupted him. "Stand to! Here they come!"