"There's something wrong," said Tom to himself; "they tried to shake me, but they failed; I know what I heard well enough." And then he watched them as they quickly crossed the dangerous corner, and hurried into a sheltered position.
That same night, after the staff officers had returned to their Headquarters, Tom, who was passing the Water Tower, saw, much to his surprise, the retreating form of a staff officer. Of course this might mean nothing—he was utterly ignorant of the movements of those above him; all the same he felt as though hammers were beating against his forehead, so excited was he.
The next night Tom's company was ordered to relieve a number of men who had been a good many hours in the trenches, and just as the shadows of evening were falling they crept along the Potijze Road towards the communication trench. An hour later Tom had taken up his post in the zig-zag cutting with a feeling that something of importance was going to happen.
Hour after hour passed away, and still Tom wondered at what he had seen and heard. He had no definite data upon which to go, no tangible reason for his suspicions, and yet with that bulldog tenacity characteristic of the sharp Lancashire boy he kept thinking of what he ought to do. Presently he heard a voice which he recognised; it was that of Major Blundell, in reply to something that had been said to him.
"Yes, yes," said the Major, "I quite understand."
"You are sure you have the instructions plain?"
"Perfectly sure."
"Then I will get along here and speak to Captain Winfield."
"Let me come with you," said Major Blundell.
"Oh no, certainly not. I know the way perfectly well. Good night,
Blundell."