In the telephone dug-out at Brigade Headquarters a man was speaking into the receiver, and the man at the other end of the wire out in a certain sector of the firing line smiled as he recognised the voice. "That's you, Pater, isn't it?" said Bob. "Yes," replied Brigadier-General Dashwood. "Any news yet?" "None at all, sir," said Bob, his face changing; "the balloon's been found pretty well riddled, with the observer dead in the basket. The Highlanders took the wood this morning, you know, but there's no sign of Dennis. We can only hope for the best, Pater, and that is, that he is a prisoner. Eh? What did you say?--I can't hear you--are you there?" "Hold the wire a moment," came the response, delivered in a startled voice; and Bob Dashwood sighed as he rested his elbow on his knee and looked about him at the appalling destruction of the place. The Great Push was still continuing without a check, and the Reedshires had again made good with the other regiments of the Brigade. Somebody came up to him for orders, and he gave them, and somebody else arrived with a request for his presence in another part of the new position. "You must wait a moment; I am talking to the Brigadier," he said, and then feeling the pause had been a long one, he turned to the receiver again. "Hallo! Hallo! Are you there, Pater?" he queried, and the reply that reached his ear was a startling one. "Yes, I'm here, and who do you think is here too? The cat with nine lives has turned up again, and, by Jupiter! Bob, he's brought another cat with him. Dennis is with me without a scratch, and he's captured Ottilie von Dussel, red-haired and red-handed!" "Oh, good egg!" shouted Major Dashwood, commanding the 2/12th Battalion of the Royal Reedshire Regiment. "Where did he find her? How did he do it?" "Gently, my dear Robert," said the Brigadier; "he will be with you in a couple of hours, and then he'll tell you the whole thing." CHAPTER XXX Under the Enemy Wall With the coming of dusk came Dennis Dashwood back to the old battalion, just at roll-call. The last quarter of a mile he performed at the double, and burst into the fire-trench like a bolt from the blue. When his brother officers shook hands with him--for all were delighted at his return--an irresistible murmur of welcome rippled along A Company, and as Hawke's name was called at the moment, that worthy replied with a ringing yell. "Report yourself at office to-morrow," said the lieutenant in charge of No. 2 Platoon, and Harry Hawke so far forgot himself as to answer, "Right-o, Governor!" at the same time lifting his trench helmet on to the point of his bayonet and waving it frantically. An enemy sniper promptly sent it spinning on to the top of the parados. "You shall do four days' field punishment, Hawke!" said the outraged officer. "Forty days if you like, sir--I don't care what becomes of me. 'Ere's Mr. Dashwood back agin--that's good enough!"