"That's the spirit, lad," said Sergeant Ferris, who had joined the party of watchers. "Discretion is what's wanted now. We've chucked away two men over this business already, and all for the sake of a dirty German flag."
Another twenty minutes passed. The Huns could be heard talking excitedly in their trenches, but the distance was too great to distinguish their words. Setley was of the opinion that Sidney was a prisoner. He fancied that he heard the lad's voice, but he could not be certain.
"If they'd got Ginger," declared Penfold, "there would be no doubt of hearing his voice. Well, lads, are you fit?"
The three men began to remove great-coats and everything likely to impede their movements. Suddenly Setley snatched up his rifle.
"What's up, now?" asked the sergeant.
"Something moving," declared the lad.
The sentries, too, held their arms in readiness to open fire.
"Steady on, chums," whispered Ginger. "Don't let rip. It's only me."
He wriggled over the parapet and dropped inertly upon the fire-step. For some moments he lay like one dead, his comrades forbearing to question him.
Presently he raised his head, and extending his hand showed a closely rolled bundle that was indistinguishable in the darkness.