Two spies had been buried there, after a court martial held in a dug-out, and one of them had been a woman, who had tried to brazen it out in spite of the overwhelming evidence produced against them. Threats, tears, piteous appeals for mercy, Ottilie's big black eyes, all had proved in vain. Then she had swallowed poison, but the tabloid she tried to pass to her husband was intercepted, and the volley of ball cartridge that dealt stern justice in the grey light of a wet afternoon had rid our lines of a deadly and insidious peril that had cost us many lives. "Shooting was too good for 'im, the dirty dog," said Private Hawke, as he lit a woodbine and turned away. And that was the requiem of the Von Dussels! * * * * * The weather brightened and the Great Push still rolled on. Day by day the shell dumps grew to incredible size, and the British guns never ceased their remorseless preparations. Names hitherto unknown to British readers became household words to those at home, who, reading between the lines, knew that at last our great and glorious armies were on the high road to victory. It was not to be yet, but it was coming, slowly but surely, and Mrs. Dashwood, in the old home with the green lawn sloping to the water's edge, wished a thousand times that she had been born a man that she might have taken her share in the great achievement. A month passed, and to the house in Regent's Park came a letter, written on a folding-table by the light of a candle stuck in a bottle, and in the writer's ears as he scrawled the lines was the tramp of the relief filing past his dug-out door. "Darling little Mater," wrote Dennis, "I'm going to give you a surprise, unless the _Gazette's_ out already. You've heard me speak of Private Hawke of ours, the crack shot of my company, well, he and I have got three days' leave for a special reason. The King is going to present Hawke with the V.C., which he has deserved over and over again, at Buckingham Palace next Thursday. Incidentally I might mention that I am also to receive it on the same day. Also the Military Cross, likewise the D.S.O. It makes me positively blush as I sit here, and I really believe I'm the most fortunate beggar in the whole of our crush, if not in the Army. "Don't make any mistake, dear, it has been sheer luck on my part. I've just happened to be there at the right moment. Some beggars who have done far more than I have have got nothing--but there it is.