He straightened one of his leggings which had been twisted round, and, skirting the shell hole, started out on his voyage of discovery, feeling rather dizzy at first, but surprised to find that his cap was still upon his head, for he had not yet been served out with a trench helmet. The narrow way wound along the edge of the wood through a hollow, the banks of which were clothed with purple scabious, and he had gone some distance before he thought of taking his bearings by the sun, which showed him that he was heading due south. "I'm on the right road, anyhow," he muttered, and then he suddenly stopped and crouched low. In the mist wreath that still filled the hollow he had caught sight of a figure in uniform, which recalled the field grey of the Saxon. The man was standing motionless beside a clump of trees that tufted the skyline, and, uncertain whether he could gain the shelter of the wood behind him unseen, Dennis was looking backwards over his shoulder when the decision was taken very unexpectedly out of his hands by the appearance of another man, who suddenly covered him with a rifle from the bank top not a yard away, and challenged him in German. "_Wer da!_" said the man, and although he recognised that his interrogator was wearing a French uniform, Dennis unthinkingly replied to the question in German also. "I am an English officer," he said. "Perhaps you will be good enough to direct me to our nearest brigade." The man rose slowly from the wet wheat which had concealed his coming, and, still covering Dennis with his rifle, slid down the bank until he was within arm's length, a thick-set Alsatian corporal, powerful as a bull. "So," he said with a short laugh, as he seized Dennis by the collar. "You are an English officer, are you? We shall see. We had one of your sort through our lines yesterday--a staff captain, who gave us orders from the British general which turned out to be false. Come along, my pig. We will see what our captain has to say to you. English officers do not speak German with a Prussian accent. You are a Boche, I tell you; and you will breakfast off ball cartridge unless I am very wrong!" CHAPTER VII A Friend in Need Dennis Dashwood laughed aloud, but though there was genuine amusement in his voice at the beginning, it quickly tailed off into a broken quiver, for the lad was still suffering from the effect of the shell burst. "You will laugh on the other side of your mouth directly, if I know anything," said his captor gravely. "I am quite content to leave that to the judgment of your officer, my friend," replied Dennis in French. "But have the goodness not to shake me like a rat. I've got a splitting headache as it is." "Ha, you spies speak all languages. _Ma foi!_ What a lot of clever scoundrels you are!" grunted the Alsatian corporal. "What a pity, for you have not got a really bad face when one comes to look at it." "Is it far to your headquarters?" inquired his prisoner wearily.