"The Bosche broke through up by Souchez last night," he said, pointing a fat thumb towards the locality of the firing line. "He broke through in hundreds. He is unable to get back now and he is roving all over the country."
"They haven't been captured?" said Fitzgerald.
"Some of them," said Jean. "Most of them perhaps, but not all. Last night they were about here."
"Here?" enquired Fitzgerald. "Did you see them?"
"Have I seen them?" asked Jean, shivering with laughter. "They can't be seen. They disguise themselves as turnips, as bushes, as English soldiers.... Last night two of your countrymen, soldiers, left here at nine o'clock; and got killed."
Jean paused.
"Where were they killed?" asked Fitzgerald.
"You are billeted at Y—— Farm, are you not?" enquired the innkeeper. "You are. Then you came along the road to-night coming here. Did you see a ruined cottage on your right, a little distance back from the road?"
"A mile from here?" said Fitzgerald. "Yes, we saw it."
"That is where it happened," said Jean Lacroix. "The two soldiers were found there this morning with their throats cut, lying on the floor."