There was no need for Bob Dashwood to give any command, for strong arms had already seized the gun, and, sluing it round, pointed it at the opening.
A sergeant sprang into the operator's seat, but before he could fire, a crowd of white-faced men, with hands raised above their heads, came running out of the secret passage, crying: "Mercy, mercy!"
"Shall I let her go, sir?" said the sergeant, with a red gleam in his eye.
"Not unless they play any tricks," said Major Dashwood.
He stood there, revolver in hand, and as they filed past him, all the fight gone out of them now, he counted 580 prisoners, including 20 unwounded officers.
"I am the colonel commanding this battalion," said a black-moustached Prussian haughtily. "I shall, of course, be permitted to keep my sword."
"No; hand it over and fall in with the rest of your men," said the major coldly. "And be thankful you are permitted to keep the clothes you stand in."
Within half an hour, thanks to the magnificent energy of our Royal Engineers, a message had been 'phoned to the brigadier, and the answer came back: "Bravo, my boy! Send an officer to me who can explain the exact position verbally, and one who speaks German, who will be useful in interrogating your capture. Let me have Dennis if you can spare him."
That was why, very much against his own inclination, Dennis accompanied the long column of disarmed men that found its way under escort to brigade headquarters just as the dawn was breaking, passing a joyous battalion sent up by the brigadier to consolidate the splendid gains of his beloved Reedshires.
Dennis woke at noon in his father's dug-out.