It was only a glimpse he caught, but he knew that the crumpled figure was his brother Bob! CHAPTER XIX What They Learned on the German Telephone The shock of the discovery was so great that Dennis lay paralysed, and everything seemed very black indeed, until a low murmur in English brought him to his senses at his elbow. "Well, I'm hanged! This is a pretty nice ending to a glorious day!" muttered Captain Bob. "But I shouldn't mind so much if I only knew that Dennis had come out of it all right." A hand grasped his own, and the speaker started as someone whispered in his ear: "Dear old chap, keep your hair on, and don't speak above your breath. Half these poor beasts understand English. Are you badly hit?" Bob's fingers closed on his brother's like a vice. "Thank God!" he murmured, "I'm not hit at all. I trod on an unexploded shell, and gave my leg an infernal wrench just as our fellows had to fall back. I couldn't move a yard, and got collared in consequence, and when it was dark they brought me along here. Where are you hurt, Den?" "Welt over the head with a rifle-butt," whispered Dennis excitedly. "I say, old chap, if we've any luck, I'll get you out of this. Do you know the lie of the land?" "Yes, we're about a mile and a half in front of our new first line. Do you think you could rub my leg? You'll have to take the gaiter off; I've had several shots at it, but my fingers are all to pieces trying to get over some of their wire, and I couldn't slip the buckle for little apples." Dennis had the gaiter undone in a moment, and Bob writhed as his brother felt the injured limb. "You've got no end of a sprain, old man," whispered Dennis. "No wonder you couldn't walk. Your instep's swollen up as big as my two fists, and there's nothing for it but rest and cold water bandages to put you right." "H'm! If I didn't know you for my own brother, I should put you down as a near relation of the late lamented Mr. Job," said Bob Dashwood, with a wry face. "But never mind, keep on rubbing. I'm feeling more life in it already. But, I say, Den, this is a weird place we're in. These German fellows don't seem to take their gruel like our chaps. It's a gruesome thing to hear a man cry." "And it's worse to hear a man die, Bob," said Dennis solemnly. "I don't fancy from what the doctor said that many of these poor wretches will be here when the sun rises." It was indeed a trying thing to be there, in the darkness with those sounds of human suffering all about them, and it made them both very anxious to make a start for that freedom which seemed such a long way off. Every now and then a piercing cry rose above the constant undercurrent of moans, and the sobbing was distressing in the extreme.