One evening his regiment was ordered to attack a château which the German General Staff was known to have occupied the previous night. No enemy soldier, however, was found there when the British arrived--nothing except signs of a hasty evacuation. On the table were the remains of an interrupted meal, some of the pictures had been removed, and everything of value in the mansion had been taken away. Mullins and his companions had been marching for several days in rough campaigning conditions, and almost the first thing the corporal did on entering the fine _salle à manger_ was to fling himself into an arm-chair beside the gas fire of imitation logs. "Everything's been cleared out," exclaimed one of his comrades. "The Germans have left nothing." "And what if they had?" asked the corporal. "We've strict orders not to loot, and I'm going to see them carried out." "But there's orders _and_ orders," responded the other. "Anyhow, it's all the same," returned Mullins. "There's going to be no looting if I can help it." Thereupon the rifleman sat down beside his companion, and for several minutes they smoked together. Then, all of a sudden, they heard the whistle sounding the fall-in outside, and both prepared to go. Mullins snatched his cap hastily from a Louis XV. sideboard that covered half the length of the room, and to his amazement several secret drawers opened. In some curious manner his cap had touched a knob, thereby releasing a concealed spring. The drawers were full of wondrous treasures of early French art--vases and cups of silver-gilt or gold, studded with precious stones and other valuables. Before him lay wealth and treasure enough, probably for a King's ransom. Very thoughtfully the corporal closed the drawers again, leaving everything exactly in order as he had found it. After all, orders _were_ orders--but what a chance for the German Crown Prince! By this time his comrades had all fallen in, and already he could hear the steady tramp, tramp of their footsteps marching away in the distance.