"Good luck again, Kamerad?" inquired the commander as they stood in the conning-tower. "The best of good luck this time, Heffer," laughed the spy. "How soon can you put me ashore on the other side?" "As soon as I have accomplished a little scheme of my own," replied the commander of the U50, with a strange glitter in his eyes. "The boat is coming out of Folkestone now." "That is not my affair," said Von Dussel. "No, it is mine," replied the commander haughtily. "In less than an hour I shall send her to the bottom." "You will do no such thing," said the spy in a low piercing voice, producing a Browning pistol and clapping it to his head. "In an hour I must be in France. The news I carry is worth the loss of forty Channel steamers. Hesitate another moment, and I will shoot you like a dog!" CHAPTER III "At Ten o'Clock Sharp!" "Hawke!" "Sir!" And the marksman of A Company jumped across the floor of the trench to the door of the dug-out with surprising alacrity, as the merry laughing face of Dennis Dashwood showed in the square hole in the wall of the parados. From the moment Bob Dashwood had made Dennis known to Harry Hawke as "my brother," that worthy had attached himself to the new arrival with the same devotion he showed to the captain, and the more he saw of Dennis the more devoted he became. "Hawke," said the subaltern, "I'm going over to-night, and I want three old hands to go with me. The Divisional C.O. wishes the enemy wire examined, and I've put in for the job. You can come if you fancy it. What do you say?" "I says yus!" cried Harry Hawke, with a widening of the grin that puckered his dirty, mahogany-coloured face. "Better let me pick you out two more, sir, what knows the game." "Right-o!" assented Dennis. "Of course, it all depends on whether their guns start strafing our trench at dusk. If not, and everything is fairly quiet, we'll move out at ten sharp," and he consulted his wristlet watch--Mrs. Dashwood's last present. "What's this conspiracy? Can't I be in it too?" said a strange voice that made Harry Hawke jump round, ready to salute, but his hand dropped to his side again, for it was only an Australian corporal, who had come along the trench behind him unnoticed. "Why, Dan, old fellow! Where on earth have you sprung from?" cried Dennis, emerging from his burrow and seizing the outstretched hand as though he never meant to let it go again. "It isn't a long story, Dennis," laughed the corporal, who was a broad-shouldered young fellow a year or two the boy's senior. "They've just moved our crowd in behind the brigade on your right, and the first person I set eyes on was Uncle Arthur, who happens to know our old man. So, as we are in the reserve trenches and nothing doing, I asked leave to come over here to see you, and got it too. Uncle told me you had only just arrived. How long have you been here?" "Forty-eight hours," said Dennis. "Come and see my quarters."