Suddenly one of the soldiers who had accompanied him came stealthily round the corner, and there was a look in his eye old Sam did not like. When he was within five yards the soldier raised his rifle and pointed it at Sam’s body. Some instinct impelled the old man at that instant to throw himself forward on his face. As he did so he was aware of a terrible explosion, and he had just time to observe the soldier falling in a heap near him, and then he lost consciousness. His consciousness appeared to return to him with a snap. He was lying on a plank in a building, and he heard some one say: “I believe the old boy’s English.” He looked round. There were a lot of men lying there, and others in khaki and white overalls were busy among them. He sat up, rubbed his head, and said: “Hi, Mister, where be I now?” Some one laughed, and a young man came up and said: “Well, old man, you were very nearly in hell. Who are you?” Some one came up, and two of them were discussing him. One of them said: “He’s quite all right. He was only knocked out. Better take him in to the colonel. He may be a spy.” The other came up, touched his shoulder, and remarked: “Can you walk, Uncle?” He replied: “Aye, I can walk all roight.” “That’s an old sport!” The young man took his arm and helped him out of the room into a courtyard. They entered another room, where an elderly, kind-faced officer was seated at a desk. The officer looked up and exclaimed: “Good God! Bradshaw, do you know who you’ve got there?” The younger one said: “No. Who, sir?” “It’s Paul Jouperts!” exclaimed the colonel. “Paul Jouperts! Great Scott!” The older officer addressed himself to Sam. He said: “Well, we’ve got you once more, Paul. We shall have to be a little more careful this time.” The young officer said: “Shall I detail a squad, sir?” “We can’t shoot him without a court-martial,” replied the kind-faced senior. Then Sam interpolated: “Look ’ee ’ere, sir, I’m fair’ sick of all this. My name bean’t Paul. My name’s Sam. I was a-thinnin’ a loine o’ turnips—” Both officers burst out laughing, and the younger one said: “Good! Good! Isn’t it amazing, sir, the way they not only learn the language, but even take the trouble to learn a dialect!” The older man busied himself with some papers. “Well, Sam,” he remarked, “you shall be given a chance to prove your identity. Our methods are less drastic than those of your _Boche_ masters. What part of England are you supposed to come from? Let’s see how much you can bluff us with your topographical knowledge.”