“There’s a light burning just round that bend,” said Bertie the Badger to himself.  “I wonder if it would be rash to go on and have a look at it!”

He was still straining at this gnat, when suddenly his elbow encountered a shovel which was leaning against the wall of the gallery.  It tumbled down with a clatter almost stunning.  Next moment a hand came round the bend of the tunnel and fired a revolver almost into the explorer’s face.

Another shot rang out directly after.

The devoted Howie, hastening to the rescue, collided sharply with a solid body crawling towards him in the darkness.

“Curse you, Howie!” said the voice of Bertie the Badger, with refreshing earnestness.  “Get back out of this!  Where’s your fuse?”

The pair scrambled back into their own tunnel, and the end of the fuse was soon recovered.  Almost simultaneously three more revolver-shots rang out.

“I thought I had fixed that Boche,” murmured Bertie in a disappointed voice.  “I heard him grunt when my bullet hit him.  Perhaps this is another one—­or several.  Keep back in the tunnel, Howie, confound you, and don’t breathe up my sleeve!  They are firing straight along the gallery now.  I will return the compliment.  Ouch!”

“What’s the matter, sirr?” inquired the anxious voice of Howie, as his officer, who had tried to fire round the corner with his left hand, gave a sudden exclamation and rolled over upon his side.

“I must have been hit the first time,” he explained.  “Collar-bone, I think.  I didn’t know, till I rested my weight on my left elbow....  Howie, I am going to exercise my discretion again.  Somebody in this gallery is going to be blown up presently, and if you and I don’t get a move on, p.d.q., it will be us!  Give me the fuse-lighter, and wait for me at the foot of the shaft.  Quick!”

Very reluctantly the Corporal obeyed.  However, he was in due course joined at the foot of the shaft by Bertie the Badger, groaning profanely; and the pair made their way to the upper regions with all possible speed.  After a short interval, a sudden rumbling, followed by a heavy explosion, announced that the fuse had done its work, and that the Piccadilly Tube, the fruit of many toilsome weeks of Boche calculation and labour, had been permanently closed to traffic of all descriptions.

Bertie the Badger received a Military Cross, and his abettor the D.C.M.

V

But the newest and most fashionable form of winter sport this season is The Flying Matinee.

This entertainment takes place during the small hours of the morning, and is strictly limited to a duration of ten minutes—­quite long enough for most matinees, too.  The actors are furnished by a unit of “K(1)” and the role of audience is assigned to the inhabitants of the Boche trenches immediately opposite.  These matinees have proved an enormous success, but require most careful rehearsal.