"We might try." The signalling officer was doubtful, but sallied forth, and after some delay returned with one. "Where shall we start?" "Any old place." The Staff Captain gripped the implement and stepped manfully forward. "We're going to try something else, sir--a tongue-opener." The General hooted apathetically; the onlookers looked anxious, and the Staff Captain got his first grip on the tin. "Hold the General's head, Bill," he cried to the Brigade-Major, "so that I can get a purchase. Now, then--one--two----" A howl of agony rent the air, and even the chief clerk looked pensive. "It's his ear, you fool!" The Colonel dodged rapidly out of the door to evade the human tornado within, and the situation became crucial. Even the tinsmith, who arrived at that moment, a man of phlegmatic disposition, was moved out of his habitual calm and applauded loudly. "Thank heavens you've come!" gasped the Brigade-Major, keeping a wary eye fixed on his frenzied senior, who, surrounded with _debris_ and red ink, was now endeavouring to pull the tin off with his hands. "The General has had a slight mishap. Can you remove that tin from his head?" The expert contemplated his victim in silence for a few moments. "Yus," he remarked at length, "I can, sir, if 'e keeps quite still. But I won't be answerable for the consequences if 'e don't." "No more will I." The Brigade-Major mopped his brow. "For heaven's sake get on with it." Thus ended the episode of Percy FitzPercy--his man-trap. It might have happened to any one, but only FitzPercy would have searched carefully amongst the crockery, and having found what he was looking for made a point of bringing it to head-quarters just as the tin was finally removed. To emerge into the light of two candles and an electric torch with a bit of one ear and half a face deficient, and realise that the man responsible for it is offering you your uppers in three parts and some fragments, is a situation too dreadful to contemplate. As I said before, Percy gave up trying after about ten seconds. IV A POINT OF DETAIL "Hist!" The officer gripped the sergeant's arm just above the elbow, bringing his mouth close up to his ear. "Don't move." The words were hardly breathed, so low was the tense, sudden whisper, and the two men crouched motionless, peering into the darkness which enveloped them. "Where, sir?" The sergeant slowly twisted his head till it was almost touching that of the man beside him; and he too, whose normal voice resembled a human fog horn, scarcely did more than frame the words with his lips.