The ferret-faced German captain had made his way back to headquarters just before the bombardment began. He had a cousin on the staff, from whom he hoped to borrow a spare pair of spectacles to replace his own. He secured the glasses, and found that he could not have arrived at a better moment, for a message had just been received from the Divisional General! "You are the very man we want," said Colonel Schlutz. "There is a spy in No. 6 Company masquerading under the name of Carl Heft. It is very serious and altogether extraordinary. The real Carl Heft was wounded by a shell splinter, and has turned up again over there. The spy actually took down the general's order for our move, and he must be discovered at once. He is young, and he wears brown boots." "Himmel! I know the fellow!" exclaimed the captain. "He shall be arrested within the next twenty minutes!" But the French fire began, and it was impossible to move; and they cowered in their temporary shelter, expecting death. "Where is the company?" demanded its captain when the 75's ceased, and he encountered a wounded man dragging himself to the rear. "The survivors have retired into yonder wood, Herr Captain. May I beg a draught of water from your bottle?" "You will get some farther back; I have no time now," was the brutal response. And, grinning with secret satisfaction, he ran in the direction of the tree-tops, hugely elated as every stride carried him farther away from the ruined village, against which he knew the counter-attack would be delivered. As soon as he judged himself to be out of danger he skulked among the trees for more than an hour. He was in no hurry to find his men; besides, the sky was lightening, and he preferred to wait until daylight. During that hour the fury of combat raged among the brick heaps of Biaches and upon the hill of La Maisonette, and when morning came the French had recovered both positions. He could hear them cheering, and was hoping that all was over, when the crackle of rifle fire commenced from the western edge of the wood, and he knew that he could delay no longer. His smile gave place to the blustering frown that No. 6 Company knew so well, and, striding forward, he became aware from the hoarse roar of voices that something serious was taking place. The growing daylight had revealed to the French that the enemy was holding the wood in some strength; and Dennis, who had spied a long line of blue-painted helmets in the distance, was stealthily working his way forward from tree to tree, intent on making a bolt towards them, when that same roar fell upon his ear. Looking round, he saw a double company of the battalion that had entrained with them forming up for an advance with the bayonet. In sixty seconds they would go charging across the open strip of ground which he had decided upon as his own line of escape, and their right flank would pass within a dozen yards of a white-walled cottage that had been unroofed by a French shell.