“Well, that points the moral of your remarks about handwriting,” said the A.P.M. encouragingly.  “The Camp Commandant had written what looked like an ‘o’ in place of an ‘a.’  Ammonol is a drug; ammonal is an explosive.”

“Well, I wish some one would teach the Huns how to write decently.”  The speaker was Summersby of the Intelligence Corps.  The Intelligence are a corps of detectives and have to estimate the strength, the location, and the composition of the enemy’s forces.  Everything is grist that comes to their mill and they will perform surprising feats of induction.  They can reconstruct a German Army Corps out of a Landwehr man’s bootlace, his diary, his underclothing, or his shoulder-strap—­but the greatest of these is his diary.  “I’ve been studying the diaries of prisoners until I feel a Hun myself.  They remind me of the diary I used to keep at school, they are all about eating and drinking.  The Hun is a glutton and a wine-bibber.  But I found something to-day—­’Keine Gefangene’ in an officer’s field note-book.”

“Translate, my Hunnish friend,” said the A.P.M.

“No prisoners,” replied Summersby shortly.

“I hope you handed the swine over to the P.M.,” said the Camp Commandant.

“Well, no,” said Summersby.  “You see he had a plausible explanation—­by the way, what perfect English those German officers talk; I’ll bet that man has eaten our bread and salt some time.  He said it was a Brigade order to the men not to make the taking of prisoners a pretext for going back to the rear in large parties but to leave them to the supports when they came up.  The curious thing is that that officer belongs to the 112th and we’ve our eye on the 112th.  One of their men, a fellow named Schmidt, who surrendered on the 19th of last month, said they’d had an order to take no prisoners but kill them all.  His regiment was the 112th,” he added darkly.

“The filthy swine!” we cried in a chorus, and our talk grew sombre as we exchanged reminiscences.

“What pleases me about you fellows,” said Ponsonby, who had been listening with a languid air, and who was formerly in the F.O. where he composed florid speeches in elegant French for Hague Plenipotentiaries, “is your habits of speech.  In diplomacy we contrive to talk a lot without saying anything, whereas Army men manage to talk little and say a great deal.  You’ve got four words in the Army which seem to be a mighty present help in trouble at H.Q.  Their sustaining properties are remarkable and they seem to tide over very anxious moments.  When you are in a hole you say ‘Damn all,’ and when you are asked for instructions you cry ‘Carry on.’  I suppose it’s by sitting tight and using those words with discrimination that you fellows arrive at greatness and attain Brigadier rank.  That seems to be the first thing a third-grade staff-officer learns.”