“The idea came to me suddenly, excellency,” replied the aviator, “and you may consider it worthless. It is just this. The resemblance is so amazing. Paul Jouperts has given us more valuable information than any one at present in our service. And the English know that. There is an award of twenty-five thousand francs on his head. Twice they have captured him, and each time he escaped. All the company commanders and their staff have his photograph. He is a serious thorn in their flesh.” “Well?” replied the man with the medals. The aviator whispered confidently: “Suppose, your excellency, that they found the dead body of Paul Jouperts?” “Well?” replied the big man. “My suggestion is this. To-morrow, as you know, the English are attacking Hill 701, which we have for tactical reasons decided to evacuate. If after the attack they find the dead body of Paul Jouperts in, say, the second lines, they will take no further trouble in the matter. You know their lack of thoroughness. Pardon me, I was two years at Oxford University. And consequently Paul Jouperts will be able to—prosecute his labors undisturbed.” The man with the medals twirled his mustache and looked thoughtfully at his colleague. “Where is Paul at the moment?” he asked. “He is acting as a gardener at the Convent of St. Eloise at Mailleton-en-haut, which, as you know, is one hundred meters from the headquarters of the British central army staff.” The man with the medals took two or three rapid turns up and down the room. Then he said: “Your plan is excellent, Hausemann. The only point of difficulty is that the attack started this morning.” “This morning?” exclaimed the other. “Yes. The English attacked unexpectedly at dawn. We have already evacuated the first line. We shall evacuate the second line at eleven-fifty. It is now ten-fifteen. There may be just time.” He looked suddenly at old Sam in the way that a butcher might look at a prize heifer at an agricultural show, and remarked casually: “Yes, it is a remarkable resemblance. It seems a pity not to ... do something with it.” Then, speaking in German, he added: “It is worth trying, and if it succeeds, the higher authorities shall hear of your lucky accident and inspiration, Herr Hausemann. Instruct Over-lieutenant Schutz to send the old fool by two orderlies to the east extremity of trench 38. Keep him there till the order of evacuation is given. Then shoot him, but don’t disfigure him, and lay him out face upwards.” The aviator saluted and withdrew, accompanied by his victim. Old Sam had not understood the latter part of the conversation, and he did not catch quite all that was said in English, but he felt that somehow things were not becoming too promising, and it was time to assert himself. So he remarked when they got outside: “Now, look’ee here, mister, when be I goin’ back to my tarnips?” And the aviator replied with a pleasant smile: