The battalion was barely half its strength when it reached the trench, and it had all happened just as the dusk drew down on the land. When they called the roll the voices of the company sergeants were hoarse and shook with an odd quiver. "Abbot, Anstey, Ashwell?" No answer. "Bellingham?"--"Here." "Burton?"--"Just died, sergeant," somebody else replied. And so it went on alphabetically from A to Z, and of the A's there were very few, and of the Z's there were none. A senior captain took over command, and word was sent back to the brigadier. "It's bad enough as it is, sergeant-major," said the senior captain. "He'd better not be told just now that both his sons are among the missing." Later on there came to the young lieutenant, who was the only officer left in A company, two dusty, fierce-eyed little men who had gone through the burden and heat of the day without a scratch, although their bayonets were red enough. And they had begged leave to go and search for Captain Dashwood and Dennis, and the young lieutenant had choked audibly as he refused the permission. "Yes, I know, Hawke," he had replied to their earnestly repeated entreaties. "But I'm acting under strict orders. Not a man is to cross the parapet on any consideration whatever. If we're counter-attacked before reinforcements arrive, Heaven help us!" Then the two fierce-eyed little men had gone away, having apparently accepted the inevitable, and neither had said a word until they reached the far end of the trench. "Tiddler?" "I should bloomin' well think so, 'Arry!" That was all, but it was enough; and that was how Harry Hawke and his bosom pal came to be wandering under the eastern wall of the deserted brewery after a fruitless search among those khaki heaps that lay so still in front of the German wire. For three hours they had crawled backwards and forwards, questioning the wounded and giving a hand where they could with the field dressing, but always receiving the same reply. At length one man told them that the German stretcher-bearers had come out and carried some bodies away, but they had been recalled before they reached him, and there had been a great skedaddling from the building in front. He had heard them removing machine-guns; he could swear to that. "Come on, Tid!" said Harry Hawke. "We may find them in there. It is our last chance." They were working their way very carefully along the wall when a star-shell of unusual brilliancy burst, and Hawke jumped forward, gripping his rifle. "Swop my goodness! Tiddler!" he cried, with a fierce chuckle, "here's a bloomin' Allemong trying to escape! You've left it a bit too late, sonny!" And he lunged upwards at the dangling figure in the light of the star-shell! CHAPTER XXI Von Dussel's Revenge It was not a moment in which to mince matters, and Dennis drew up his legs with a yell.