“Here’s Sergeant Clancy coming along the trench,” said Riley.  “You have the notion now, so play up to me, and make sure Clancy hears every word you say.”

“I want to see that General of theirs the Bosche prisoner spoke about,” said Riley, as Clancy came well within earshot.  “An old man, the Bosche said he was, with a head of hair as white and shining as a gull’s wing.”

“I’m not so interested in his shining head,” said Brock, “as I am in the shining gold he carries on him.  Doesn’t it seem sinful waste for all that good money to be lying out there?”

Out of the tail of his eye Riley saw the sergeant halt and stiffen into an attitude of listening.  He turned round.

“Was it me you wanted to see, Clancy?” he said.

“No, sorr—­yes, sorr,” said Clancy hurriedly, and then more slowly, in neat adoption of the remarks he had just heard:  “Leastways, sorr, I was just afther wondering if you had heard anything of this tale of a German Gineral lying out there on the ground beyanst.”

“You mean the one that was shot last week?” said Riley.

“Him with the five thousand francs in his breeches pocket, and the diamond-studded gold watch on his wrist?” said Brock.

“The same, sorr, the same!” said Clancy eagerly, and with his eyes glistening.  “And have you made out which of them he is, sorr?”

“No,” said Riley shortly.  “And remember, Sergeant, there are to be no men going over the parapet this night without orders.  The last battalion in here lost a big handful of men trying to get hold of that General, but the Germans were watching too close, and they’ve got a machine-gun trained to cover him.  See to it, Clancy!  That’s all now.”

Sergeant Clancy moved off, but he went reluctantly.

“Why didn’t you give him a bit more?” asked Brock.

“Because I know Clancy,” said Riley, whispering.  “If we had said more now, he might have suspected a plant.  As it is, he’s got enough to tickle his curiosity, and you can be sure it won’t be long before a gentle pumping performance is in operation.”

Sergeant Clancy came in sight round the traverse again, moving briskly, but obviously slowing down as he passed them, and very obviously straining to hear anything they were saying.  But they both kept silent, and when he had disappeared round the next traverse, Riley grinned and winked at his companion.

“He’s hooked, Brockie,” he said exultantly.

“Now you wait and—­” He stopped as a rifle-man moved round the corner and took up a position on the firing step near them.

“I’ll bet,” said Riley delightedly, “Clancy has put him there to listen to anything he can catch us saying.”

He turned to the man, who was clipping a tiny mirror on to his bayonet and hoisting it to use as a periscope.

“Are you on the look-out?” he asked.  “And who posted you there?”

“It was Sergeant Clancy, sir,” answered the man.  “He said I could hear better—­I mean, see better,” he corrected himself, “from here.”