For nearly an hour he maintained his restless promenade, a prey to dejection. The dug-out was barely twenty feet in length and seven in breadth, so that there was little room for exercise. He tried to formulate a plan of escape, but none seemed feasible. The place was unlighted, save by the dim glimmer of a candle set in a stable lantern. Ventilation was provided by means of a length of bent stove-pipe passing between two of the massive girders supporting the concreted and sand-bagged roof. The walls were heavily timbered, and, upon examination, found to be backed by cement. A flight of steep and narrow steps gave access to the open air, but at the top was a massive oaken door. Incidentally, the Huns who had constructed the dug-out, had removed the door of the Abbaye de Ste Marie, at Le Tenetoir, to serve a similar purpose for this subterranean retreat. The heat was stifling, for, outside, the autumnal air was damp and humid. Von Peilfell began to feel oppressed by the weight of the leather flying-coat. Mechanically he unbuckled the straps, and threw the garment on the wooden bench that served as a seat and a bed. As he did so his eye caught sight of a glint of scarlet. The lawful owner of the flying-coat had been guilty of a breach of discipline by investing in several red-silk handkerchiefs, whereas, by virtue of an Air Ministry order, he should have provided himself with those of a khaki colour. The Count consulted his wristlet watch--a Nurnberg timepiece studded with jewels. It was a gift from a number of his admirers when he was at the zenith of his fame. He found himself wondering why his captors had not taken it from him. The Germans invariably plundered their captives. Perhaps these Englanders would not do so until he was dead. He shivered at the thought. In another eight hours all would be over. Then his thoughts went back to the square of scarlet silk. Even as he gazed dully at the sheeny fabric an inspiration flashed across his mind. He glanced at his watch once more. In another ten minutes or so he would be visited either by the Sergeant or the Corporal of the guard. Grasping the handkerchief, he tore the silk into ragged strips. His next step was to place the lantern on the edge of the plank-bed, so that the strongest possible light fell on the floor. Then, holding the torn handkerchief, he waited, every sense on the alert, ready to act the moment he heard sounds of the visiting guard. The remaining interval seemed interminable. Through the securely-fastened door he could hear the howling of the wind. It ought to have been a bright moonlight night, for, according to the calendar, it was the time of full moon. He hoped that the shrieking, moaning wind meant a cloud-laden sky and also a downpour of rain.