"Bomb 'em out of it!" shouted M'Turk, swinging a purely imaginary missile. "Hands up, Fritz!"
The Huns stirred not a muscle.
"What's the fuss?" sang out Captain Nicholson.
"Four Boches, sir," replied Malcolm.
In a trice the Captain dropped from the tunnel into the dug-out. With his revolver ready for instant action he rejoined his two men, while M'Kane, preceded by his rifle, followed his superior officer's example.
"Hands up!" ordered Captain Nicholson, levelling his revolver at the head of one of the Huns at a range of less than ten yards. The Boche's eyes stared unblinkingly at the muzzle of the weapon, while his companions showed no signs of shaking off their apathy.
"By gum, sir," exclaimed M'Turk, "I believe they've been done in!"
Holding the candle above his head, the rifleman strode over the littered floor and gripped one of the Prussians by the shoulder. Like a log the heavy body toppled forward and fell on its face.
"Stone dead, sir," replied M'Turk. "Every man jack of 'em. And there are more of them over there."
Curiosity prompted Captain Nicholson to examine the corpses. Not one bore the trace of a wound. In addition to the four by the doorway sixteen lay partly hidden by the overturned tables and chairs. Without a mark to show how they had been killed, all the men were dead. Some had been struck down in the act of writing. One man still held a pencil firmly clenched in his hand. Others were eating when death overtook them suddenly and painlessly.