"'Ow are we to know, sir," he remarked, as they sat resting on an adjacent fire-step after three hours' strenuous exhuming, "that supposing two of the perishers fall through the 'ole they won't escape? Two men could get out of that there place without no bed to 'elp 'em." "By Jove, yes!" Percy scratched his forehead and left furrows of white in the general darkness. "By Jove, yes; you're quite right--what? Break one's heart to lose the blighters, don't you know. You're a doocid clever fellow to think of that, Jenkins." "Tomkins, sir," murmured the originator of the brain-wave, slightly abashed by the unexpected praise. "We might," remarked another of the world's workers, thoughtfully sucking his teeth--"we might 'ave a trap-door, a 'eavy one, to let down over the 'ole once they was in." "Yus--and 'ow are we to know when they is in?" The third member of the party proceeded to justify his existence. "They won't come over 'ere and fall into the 'ole and then shout to us to let down the trap." He thoughtfully lit a Woodbine. "The 'Un will be strafing if there's a raid on, and there'll be the 'ell of a beano going on, and no one won't never 'ear nothing." With which sage aphorism he relapsed into silence, and a gloom settled on the meeting. "By Jove, you fellows, we must think of something! We must pull up our socks and think--what? After we've spent all this time clearing the bally place out we must really think of something--by Jove!" Percy gazed hopefully at his three supers, but it seemed that their contributions to the conversation were at an end, and for a space silence reigned, broken only by the gentle lullaby of the tooth-sucker. "We might," remarked Tomkins at length, after a period of profound thought, "'ave a trip-wire, wot would ring a gong." "That's it--that's it! 'Pon my word, you're a doocid clever fellow, Thomson, doocid clever fellow--what?" Percy became enthusiastic. "Ring the gong where the fellah is who lets down the door. He lets down the door, and we bag the Hun. Dam good idea!" "I don't believe in no gongs," remarked the musical one scornfully. "No--nor trip-wires neither." He eyed his audience pugnaciously. "But, my good fellah--er--what do you believe in?" Percy's spirits were sinking. "Tins, china, cups and saucers, plates, old saucepans--anything and everything wot will make a noise when the 'Un falls on it. That's the ticket, sir," he continued, with gathering emphasis as he noted the impression he was causing. "Lumme--a trip-wire: it might break, or the gong mightn't ring, or the blighter mightn't 'ear it. Wiv china--every step he took 'e'd smash anuvver pot. Drahn a rum jar 'e would. But--a trip-wire!" He spat impartially and resumed his tune.