Wherefore, one morning, just as the first pale glints of dawn came stealing over the silent land, Reginald Simpkins climbed carefully into a great mound of sandbags which had conveniently been deposited just behind the front line by the miners. But it is doubtful if Miss Belsize of the camisole department would have recognised him. No longer the frock coat and pearl tie, no longer the patent-leather boots and immaculate trousers. In their place a dirty-faced man in khaki, tastefully draped in flapping sandbags--his boots covered, his hands stained. Very cautiously he made himself comfortable; with immense care he laid his rifle--also covered with sacking--in the direction he required; and then he covered his front and sides with filled bags. Through a hole--also carefully arranged--his screened telescope covered the bit of German trench where the day before the German sniper had lain. Then he waited. The mists cleared away; the morning sun shone down. From his point of vantage--for he was seven or eight feet above the trenches below--he watched the German lines. His fingers itched to pull the trigger two or three times; and once when he saw a German officer come out of his dug-out in the second line and lean against the back of the trench, smoking a fat cigar, he almost yielded to the temptation. But the splintering of a periscope glass below him, as a German bullet hit it, told him that the sniper was there--hidden somewhere, and watching too; and he knew that, perfect though his position was for one shot, that one shot would probably give him away. And that _one_ shot was for the sniper, and not to be wasted on a fat Ober Lieutenant. . . . Three or four hours passed, and the silence was complete. The perspiration trickled down his neck as he lay there motionless and clouded the eyepiece of his telescope. Then suddenly he saw a little black object shoot up into the air from the junction of two trenches near the German support line--an object which turned over and over in the air, and fell with a soft thud fifty yards to his right. A roar--and some sandbags and lumps of chalk flew in all directions, while fragments pattered down on Reginald out of the sky.