Selecting four of the strongest strips of silk, Von Peilfell knotted them into a long loop. This he hid behind the bench, reflecting that if his first plan went astray there was material at hand to enable him to cheat the firing-squad. He found himself wondering which was the least painful course--for he was a coward when it came to having pain inflicted on himself--to face the muzzles of a dozen rifles, or to end his own life by strangulation. His reflections were interrupted by the tramp of heavily-shod feet. The visiting N.C.O. was about to enter the dug-out. Noiselessly the Count placed himself on the earthern floor, and laid a bright-scarlet strip of silk round his throat. Then with outstretched arms he waited, scarce daring to breathe. A key grated in the door. The oak, swollen by the wet, refused at the first attempt to yield to the Corporal's efforts. Von Peilfell heard the man swear at the recalcitrant door. Then, with a groaning noise, the door swung open on its rusty hinges. "Where the----" ejaculated the Corporal; then, turning to the two men who accompanied him, he shouted excitedly: "The Boche 'as cut his bloomin' throat! Run, you blokes, for all you're worth, and fetch the doctor." The men obeyed promptly, while the Corporal, setting his lantern on the floor, approached to examine the prostrate form of the prisoner. It was an act of mere curiosity on his part. The N.C.O., who less than twelve months ago was a meek and mild grocer in a quiet country town, had seen plenty of ghastly sights during the last six months. The mere sight of a dead Hun hardly troubled him. Without a tremor he bent over the supposed corpse. Judging that by this time the two men were a hundred yards or more away, Von Peilfell took prompt action. Before the Corporal realized that there was plenty of energy in the "dead" man, the Count drew up his knee, and, launching out with his right foot, caught the luckless N.C.O. a knock-out blow on the solar plexus. Without a sound the Corporal collapsed upon the floor; while the Hun, waiting only to place his victim's cap upon his head, ran stealthily up the steps leading to the entrance to the dug-out. Even as he ran the Count, in a typically Prussian manner, regretted that he was wearing rubber-soled flying-boots. Iron-shod footgear, he reflected, would have been more effective when he hacked at the luckless Corporal. In order to carry out a test effectually, it was necessary to do it brutally. That is the Hun method of thoroughness. Through the open door of the dug-out and into the darkness Von Peilfell ran. Dazzled, even by the comparatively-feeble light within, he could hardly see his hand before his face in the rain-laden, inky blackness without. He paused, fearful lest he should blunder blindly into some obstacle, and rubbed his eyes vigorously with his knuckles. Then, pulling his recently-acquired cap well down over his bullet head, he settled down to a rapid walk.