From the psychological standpoint the doctor was intensely amused. That Private Timothy Hagan was a clumsy malingerer, pure and simple, he had no doubt. To prove such a negative condition however is quite another matter. If proved, the offence meant a court-martial. As an officer it was his duty to conceal no crime which could be proved. He was interested, but had little time just then for fancy cases. Hagan’s facial expression of struggling conjecture condemned him, morally, beyond a doubt, but the production of the self-same expression before the members of a court-martial could hardly be guaranteed. It was a six-inch German shell that solved the situation for the moment. Dropping three hundred yards from the dressing-station in the middle of the village street it exploded with a roar which smashed every pane of glass in the building. A second quickly followed. The R.A.M.C. staff, expectant of they knew not what, stood listening. Hagan, feeling the eyes of the medical officer upon him, did not move a muscle. ‘One to you,’ murmured the officer to himself. ‘I don’t believe a word of it all the same.’ Turning on his heel, he winked to the orderly and with well-assumed indifference strode to the far end of the room. The orderly, quickly stepping round to the head of Hagan’s stretcher, needed no further instructions. With book and pencil in hand, he appeared to be engaged upon his ordinary duty of taking names for the Clearing Hospital. ‘What’s your number, matey?’ he asked quickly. The wretched competitor, breathing heavily after his recent mental tension, had dropped his guard. ‘4179,’ he answered promptly. ‘_Thank you!_’ remarked a bland voice from the doorway. To state that Hagan could have kicked himself for his stupidity, is to put the case mildly. Conscious that no words of his could possibly regain lost ground, he stared blankly at the accusing face of the officer. ‘It’s all UP, matey,’ whispered the orderly, indulging in an open guffaw. ‘Thin I may as well be afther gettin’ on me bhoots,’ remarked the culprit quietly, rising to his feet. ‘You’ve bin done down, Tim, me bhoy, and there ain’t no manner av use in kickin’.’ What happened next in that little school-house, as regards points of detail, has never been actually recorded. That a deafening explosion resembling the noise of the end of all things earthly, accompanied by the caving in of the brickwork of the side of the room, and followed by the collapse of most of the roof, took place at that moment are facts of history. ‘It has come at last,’ groaned the doctor. ‘Thank God, there are only a few men in the building.’ A second later, a tottering rafter, swaying beneath its weight of tiles, fell with a sickening crash and buried him beneath its ruins. In an instant all had become chaos.