"This iss the Camerons' trenches, sirr," replied a polite West
Highland voice. "What trenches wass you seeking?"
Ayling told him.
"They are behind you, sirr."
"I was just goin' to say, sir," chanted the guide, making one last effort to redeem his prestige, "as 'ow—"
"Party," commanded Ayling, "about turn!"
Having received details of the route from the friendly Cameron, he scrambled out of the trench and crawled along to what was now the head of the procession. A plaintive voice followed him.
"Beg pardon, sir, where shall I go now?"
Ayling answered the question explicitly, and moved off, feeling much better. The late conductor of the party trailed disconsolately in the rear.
"I should like to know wot I'm 'ere for," he murmured indignantly.
He got his answer, like a lightning-flash.