Presently his hand came in contact with some hard cold substance. It was the face of a frozen corpse--that of a Hun, judging by the cloth-swathed helmet. The man was obviously a sniper, for he had on him a stock of candles, food and drink, and a pair of binoculars. Evidently he was making, under cover of darkness, for a favourite lair when a chance bullet struck him on the forehead. A searchlight, unexpectedly unmasked, swept the ground. Fortunately, Setley had just crept into a shell-crater, and the raised lip effectually intercepted the dazzling rays. From the corner of his eye he made out the sinister lines of wire fronting the German trenches, the criss-cross of barbed entanglements standing out like silver filigree work in the cold rays of the electric light. He was within a few feet of his objective. Voices were talking just over the sand-bagged parapet. He listened. There were Germans speaking in broken English, asking questions in menacing tones. Someone was answering--and that someone was Private Sidney Bartlett. CHAPTER VI A PRISONER OF WAR AN almost similar pilgrimage across No Man's Land had been made by Private Bartlett, but with a different ending. Before he was aware of the fact he had blundered into a party of Germans engaged in wiring the defences, and as he made a vicious jab with his bayonet at the nearest of the Huns he was felled with a blow of a mallet. Without a cry he dropped senseless. In an unconscious condition he was brought in by his captors, and placed unceremoniously on the fire-step of the hostile trench. At the first sign of the prisoner's senses returning his guards sent word to their officers that the Englishman was recovering and could be interrogated. "Now you vos tell me der truth," said the German menacingly. "Der whole truth, mind, or we vos haf you shot. I know plenty about your trenches, so if you tell der lie den I vos you find out. Now, vot regiment you vos?" "The Wheatshires," replied the captive promptly. He knew that the Huns were fully aware of the composition of the troops engaged opposite to them. "Goot!" said the Major. "Dot vos so. Now, der is talk of und mine. Dot is so?" "Yes," replied Sidney. "We have sunk a mine gallery." "In vot direction?" was the next question. Sidney paused to think. He recalled his father's words. "In business, Sidney, you can tell a lie." This was a business--one of the grimmest businesses that fall to the lot of men and nations--scientific murder, licensed under the name of war. "Why you no answer?" prompted the Hun. "Suppose I refuse?" asked the captive. "Men taken prisoner are not compelled to reply to questions on military matters." The German laughed gruffly. "Rules of war for fools are," he chuckled. "We Germans make war, we no play. You answer vill make now, so."