They had halted for a moment, and now another crackling string of light shells burst along the trench.

“There’s another bunch o’ humor arriving,” said Rawbon.  “But I don’t feel yet like encoring the turn any;”

They moved on to a steady accompaniment of shell bursts and Courtenay looked round uneasily.

“I don’t half like this,” he said.  “They don’t usually shell us so at this time of day.  Hope there’s no attack coming.”

“I agree with all you say, Loo-tenant, and then some.  Especially about not liking it.”

“I’m beginning to think you’d be better off these premises,” said Courtenay.  “I ought to be with my company if any trouble is coming off.  And it might lead to questions and unpleasantness if you were found here—­especially if you’re a casualty, or I am.”

“Nuff sed, Loo-tenant,” said Rawbon promptly.  “I don’t want that sort o’ trouble for various reasons.  I’d have an everlastin’ job explaining to my dad what I was doin’ in the front seats o’ the firing line.  It wouldn’t just fit wi’ my bein’ a Benevolent Neutral, not anyhow.”

“We’re only about thirty or forty yards from the Germ trench in this bit,” said Courtenay.  “Here, carry my periscope, and when I’m talking to some of the men just take a look quietly.”

But Rawbon was not able to see much when, a little later, he had a chance to use the periscope.  For one thing the short winter day was fading and the light was already poor; for another any attempt to keep the periscope above the parapet for more than a few seconds brought a series of bullets hissing and zipping over, and periscope glasses in those days were too precious to risk for mere curiosity’s sake.

“We’ll just have a look at the Frying Pan,” said Courtenay, “and then you’ll have seen about the lot.  We hold a bit of the trench running out beyond the Pan and the Germs are holding the same trench a little further along.  We’ve both got the trench plugged up with sandbag barricades.”

They floundered along the twisting trench till it turned sharply to the right and ran out into the shallow hollow of the Frying Pan.  It was swimming in greasy mud, and across the far side from where they stood Rawbon could see a breastwork of sandbags.

“We call this entrance trench the Handle, and the trench that runs out from behind that barricade the Leak.  There’s always more or less bombing going on in the Leak, and I don’t know if it’s very wise of you to go up there.  We call this the Frying Pan because—­well, ’into the fire,’ you know.  Will you chance it?”