"Lucky indeed!" replied Kenneth. "And we can't discover the cause of it; the rifle's in the mud."
"Never mind about the cause of it. We've bagged our first prisoners; that's one to us and the Rutlands."
But Kenneth was never satisfied to leave a problem unsolved. Thinking over the matter constantly during the next few days, unwilling to ascribe to luck something that must have a sufficient cause, he came to the conclusion that the breech of the rifle had become clogged with earth as the sniper forced his way up through the landslide.
They marched their prisoners back to headquarters in the village, keeping the embankment between them and the enemy as long as possible.
"I've often seen this old rascal about the village," said Ginger, referring to the civilian. "He's a spy, that's what he is. They'll shoot him, won't they?"
"The colonel will hold an enquiry, no doubt. By George! I shall be glad to get back and dry my things and have a good feed."
They received an enthusiastic welcome from their comrades, and Colonel Appleton commended them for their successful work. The sniper was sent to the rear as a prisoner of war. An investigation was held. It came out that the civilian who supplied him with food was a supposed refugee, and one of the pensioners of Monsieur Obernai. That gentleman was summoned to the court of inquiry, and was overcome with horror on learning that one of the men whom he had assisted was a spy.
"It is heart-breaking," he said. "It is enough to make one hard. Besides, it might throw suspicion on me. Still, it would not be just to abandon my humble efforts to alleviate distress because one man has deceived me. But in future I shall make the most careful inquiries before I assist a stranger."
The spy was shot, and thereafter there was no more trouble from night snipers at that part of the lines.
CHAPTER VII