"Is it likely?" cried his companion, giving vent to his overcharged feelings by a very ugly laugh, which changed into a howl of delight as a bullet grazed the tip of his ear. "There he is, sir, hiding in that there crater!--and he's some shot too--look out!" Von Dussel, armed with a rifle--there were scores lying about littering the ground--lodged his second bullet in the leather case that held Dennis's field glasses, and, instantly dividing, the two ran a zigzag course towards the crater as they saw his head dodging down. It was not twenty yards away, but as they reached it, one on either flank, they saw their prey scramble out of the opposite side and bolt like a hare across the open ground beyond. There were two shell-holes in the distance, for one of which he was obviously making, but just as Hawke dropped to his knee and covered him with his rifle, the German searchlights went out, leaving everything pitch dark. "That's done us, Hawke," cried Dennis bitterly, as the marksman of A Company fired a random shot. "'Arf a mo, sir. If I didn't wing 'im, I'll bet I've 'eaded 'im orf to the right"; and he sent a brace of bullets pinging into the darkness. "Lor lumme!" he chuckled the next moment, "there ain't no fool like an Allemong. What did he want to fire back for?" And he wiped a great gout of the chalky mud that had splashed up into his face as a Mauser bullet struck the ground between them. "'E's in that 'ole to the right--that's where we'll find 'im, sure as my name's 'Arry 'Awke. Come on, sir, don't make a sound!" With the switching off of the searchlights the enemy barrage had ceased, and the deafening crash of the German shells was succeeded by a weird silence. The distant boom of the British firing seemed very far off and almost insignificant in that sudden transition, and recharging his empty revolver as he went forward, Dennis wormed himself cautiously to the edge of the crump-hole, where he hoped to find his enemy. It was still pouring in torrents as his chin came on a level with the ragged rim, but the fierce hope died out of his heart. The shell-hole was an old one, the rain had filled it almost to the brim, and he ground his teeth, knowing that the spy had outwitted them after all. He knew now that, in spite of Hawke's shots, the villain with the charmed life must have chanced his arm and kept straight on between the two shell-holes, and would even then be nearing the German position, gloating over his success. "I have missed the chance of my lifetime," he thought bitterly, when a star shell burst directly above him, lighting up the rain pool like a sheet of silver. He had already picked himself up, and was clearing his throat to give his unseen companion a hail, when a warning whistle came from the opposite edge of the hole, and he saw Hawke's head and shoulders and a pointing arm. Among the splashing raindrops in the centre of the pool a white face parted the water.