"How near?"
"A few yards."
"What do you propose to do?"
Bertie the Badger—in private life he was a consulting mining engineer with a beautiful office in Victoria Street and a nice taste in spats—scratched an earthy nose with a muddy forefinger.
"I think they are making a defensive gallery, sir," he announced.
"Let us have your statement in the simplest possible language, please," said Colonel Kemp. "Some of my younger officers," he added rather ingeniously, "are not very expert in these matters."
Bertie the Badger thereupon expounded the situation with solemn relish. By a defensive gallery, it appeared that he meant a lateral tunnel running parallel with the trench-line, in such a manner as to intercept any tunnel pushed out by the British miners.
"And what do you suggest doing to this Piccadilly Tube of theirs?" inquired the Colonel.
"I could dig forward and break into it, sir," suggested Bertie.
"That seems a move in the right direction," said the Colonel. "But won't the Boche try to prevent you?"