In ordinary circumstances he could whistle well. Often while in billets or standing by in a dug-out his chum would ask him to oblige with a whistling solo; but now he was forced to confess that the result was not exactly melody.
"Nicht mehr!" exclaimed a corporal peremptorily.
Although he did not know what the Saxon said, the accent and the emphatic gesture were sufficient.
"He means 'shut up'," soliloquized Malcolm. "That's a nasty one. I suppose it gets on his nerves. Well, I'm not surprised. I fancy I was a trifle flat and wobbly."
A few seconds later the dug-out shook violently. Some of the men who were standing upright were thrown forward, gear was hurled from the racks and shelves, while the concrete walls cracked from top to bottom, bulging ominously under the pressure of earth behind them.
"A near one!" decided Malcolm. "Another five yards this way and it would have been all up."
A hoarse voice shouted through the tunnel that formed the entrance. Without showing any tendency to bestir themselves the men looked at each Other enquiringly. Evidently they were wanted outside, but were debating as to who should make the first move. The carrying out of orders promptly--generally the German soldiers' chief concern--was noticeably absent. It was not until the command had been given three times that the men reluctantly left their shelter.
Left to himself, Malcolm discussed the situation. Now was his opportunity to slip out at the heels of the Hun and trust to luck in the open. If he escaped being blown up, he might be able to go over the parapet unobserved and make his way towards the British lines. While the bombardment was in progress there was little chance of the Huns manning the trenches. On the other hand, prudence counselled him to stay where he was. Should the infantry attack develop and be successful his rescue would be merely a question of time. Then again came the maddening thought that if the British troops did not capture the position he would remain a prisoner in the hands of the enemy.
"I'll chance it and go outside," he decided.
Without, the air was thick with smoke. At the most, Malcolm could see but twenty to twenty-five paces to right and left. In front was the parados, the ground covered with a yellowish dust from the high-explosive shells. At the entrance to the dugout into which he had been taken to be questioned, a dozen men were vigorously plying pick and shovel, the while urged to still greater efforts by a gigantic sergeant.