Here Barham paused for a glance up at the roof of the dug-out, as two explosions sounded pretty near at hand. "Huns saying good-night," he interpolated. "Can't have spotted us. Nothing doing aloft these three days."
Polkinghorne looked across the light at the C.O., who sat unaccountably silent, his face inscrutable in the penumbra. Taking silence for "yes," Polkinghorne arose and put his head outside for a look around.
"Queer story, you'll admit, sir?" put in Sammy Barham during this pause. "Shall I go on, or wait for the rollicking Polly to hear it out?—for the queerest part is to come."
"I know," said Otway, after some two or three seconds' silence.
"Eh?… But it's just here, sir, the thing of a sudden gets mysteriouser and mysteriouser—"
Polkinghorne came back. "Nerves," he reported. "They're potting all over the place.… Here, Sammy, pass over that scrap of paper if you've finished reading. I want to hear the end."
"It hasn't any," said Otway from the shadow.
"But, sir, when I was just warning you—"
"Dashed good beginning, anyway," said Polkinghorne; "something like Our Mutual Friend."
"Who's he?" asked Sammy.