"Along the Givenchy road," announced Danvers. "It's quite quiet. I've a wish to explore a certain spot a little way off the high road. Ready?"
The way was rough in spite of the urgent and ceaseless attentions of the pioneers. Constant motor traffic had cut deep ruts into the soft ground bordering the strip of pavé. Of the avenue that formerly fringed the road only a few trees were standing. Of the others isolated shell-scarred stumps remained, but for the most part the trees had been bodily uprooted by the titanic blows of bursting explosives. Here and there a dead horse, its stiffened legs sticking up in the air at various angles, showed up in the pale starlight. The Huns had been shelling the wood during the day, and the transport had paid toll. Shattered waggons and limbers, dragged to one side, also bore silent testimony to the work of carnage.
"'Alt!" hissed a voice, and from the shadow of a tottering wall a khaki-clad sentry appeared. The dully glinting tip of his bayonet hovering within an inch or so of Setley's chest brought both officers up with the utmost alacrity. They realized that it was unhealthy to ignore a peremptory order of that description when on active service.
Danvers gave the countersign. The sentry, who belonged to the Tank Section, recovered his rifle.
"All right, sir," he said. "You may pass."
"Everything correct?" enquired Danvers.
"Quite, sir," replied the man.
A quarter of a mile further on the two subalterns struck the main road, along which a constant stream of troops and vehicles were passing.
"Only a few yards of this," remarked Danvers. "We turn off to the left again. See that building—or the remains of one?"
He indicated the gaunt gables of a farmhouse. The roof had entirely disappeared. Not even a rafter remained. The front wall had been blown out, leaving a far-flung mass of debris; the back wall was still standing, although pierced through and through in a dozen places.