“Bust the V strut,” said Toddles cheerfully.  We assured him that one would hardly notice it.  Grigson meanwhile had been examining the under carriage with scientific care, and turned to ask him how he had got on.

“Bong,” said Toddles, beaming; “absolutely bong.  They spotted us, but Archie was off colour.”

“Did you see your pills burst?”

Toddles beamed more emphatically than ever.  “One in what I took to be the station yard, one right on the line, and one O.K. ammunition truck; terrific explosion—­nearly upset me.  Three perfectly good shots.”

So far Toddles’ account agreed very fairly with the two we already had.

“Didn’t have any trouble with the release gear, I suppose?” said Grigson.  “Nasty thing that.  I’ve known it jam before now.”

“Well,” answered Toddles, “it did stick a bit, but I just yanked it over and it worked.”

“Splendid!” said Grigson brightly.  “A nice bit of work, and very thoughtful of you to bring home such jolly souvenirs.”

“Look here,” replied Toddles with warmth, “who the devil are you getting at?”

“Nothing; oh, nothing at all.”

Grigson moved away towards the Mess.  “By the way,” he said, “you’re quite certain they were your own shots?  I should have a good look at that under carriage if I were you.”

We all went down on hands and knees.  Lying placidly in the rack with an air of well-merited ease born of the consciousness that they had, without any effort of their own, avoided a fatiguing duty, were three large bombs.

“Er—­ah—­hum,” said Toddles.  “Now then, Sergeant, hurry up and get this machine back into the shed!”

And the Sergeant’s face was the best joke of all.

* * * * *

    “Man, handy at vice, been in motor repair shop.”—­Daily
    Chronicle.

Still, it must not be assumed that life in a garage is necessarily fatal to virtue.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  PERFECT INNOCENCE.

CONSTABLE WOODROW WILSON.  “THAT’S A VERY MISCHIEVOUS THING TO DO.”

SWEDEN.  “PLEASE, SIR, I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS LOADED.”]

* * * * *

THE WATCH DOGS.

LXV.

MY DEAR CHARLES,—­I feel some hesitation in passing the following story on to you, less from the fear of what it will divulge to the enemy than from the fear of what it may divulge to our own people.  As far as the enemy is concerned be it stated boldly that the train was going to Paris and “I” got into it at Amiens.  Yes, HINDENBURG, there is a place called Paris and there is a place called Amiong.  Now what are you going to do about it?  As far as our own people are concerned it is asked of them that, if ever they come to read it, they may not inquire too closely as to who “I” may be.