He relinquished his peep-hole. The German machine-gun was mounted in the street itself, behind an improvised barrier of bricks and sandbags. It was less than a hundred yards away, sited in a position which, though screened from the view of Angus's platoon farther down, enabled it to sweep all the ground in front of the position. This it was now doing with great intensity, for the brief public appearance of Angus and M'Snape had effectually converted intermittent into continuous fire.
"We must get the Lewis gun over at once," muttered Angus. "It can knock that breastwork to pieces."
He crossed the house again, to see if any of Mucklewame's men had arrived.
They had not. The man with the Lewis gun was lying dead halfway across the street, with his precious weapon on the ground beside him. Two other men, both wounded, were crawling back whence they came, taking what cover they could from the storm of bullets which whizzed a few inches over their flinching bodies.
Angus hastily semaphored to Mucklewame to hold his men in check for the present. Then he returned to the other side of the house.
"How many men are serving that gun?" he said to M'Snape. "Can you see?"
"Only two, sirr, I think. I cannot see them, but that wee breastwork will not cover more than a couple of men."
"Mphm," observed Angus thoughtfully. "I expect they have been left behind to hold on. Have you a bomb about you?"
The admirable M'Snape produced from his pocket a Mills grenade, and handed it to his superior.
"Just the one, sirr," he said.