"Carefully, now," whispered Danvers. "While I was visiting rounds I spotted someone making for this house. Kept him under observation with my night-glasses. I waited nearly twenty minutes and he didn't show up again. That is in itself suspicious. I would have sent out a piquet, only there was too much risk of the men giving themselves away. It's a task best tackled by us, I imagine. You work round by the right; I'll go to the left. If the fellow is still there, well and good. We'll soon find out his business. If he isn't, we'll wait and see if he returns."
The two officers separated. Keeping close to the ground and taking advantage of a slight natural dip in the untilled field, Ralph approached his objective. Presently he stopped and listened. He could hear a voice either muttering or else expostulating in a sort of jibberish unintelligible jumble.
"Not English, nor French—nor German," declared Setley. "Flemish perhaps, but hardly likely. There's only one man, I should imagine; but why does he carry on in this excited fashion?"
Drawing his revolver, Ralph continued his approach. Cover there was now none. He had to cross twenty yards of open ground before he gained the shadow of one of the gabled walls. In spite of his caution, his boots squelched loudly in the tenacious mud. It seemed impossible that anyone on the alert could help hearing him.
The muttering ceased. Ralph stopped dead. Had the mysterious individual an inkling of danger? For a long-drawn half-minute Setley waited, his feet sinking slowly and surely into the slime. Then the flow of incoherent words was resumed.
Gaining the shelter of a wall, Setley paused. There were no signs of Danvers. He decided to wait until his companion put in an appearance; not that he was unable to tackle the suspect single-handed—there was that predominating factor, his revolver. But, since he wished to take the man alive, he resolved to leave nothing to chance and await assistance.
Peering over the jagged edge of a hole in the brickwork Ralph saw the object of his quest. On the mound of stones that at one time comprised the farmhouse floor lay two scorched beams. On these a door had been placed so as to form a rough table, and spread out upon this was a coloured plan, illuminated by the shaded gleam of a military map-reading lamp.
Bending over the plan was a tall, burly man, dressed in the uniform of a British infantry officer. His face was in darkness, and whether young or middle-aged Ralph was unable to determine.
On the floor by the side of the suspect lay a folded garment—a cloak apparently—and a German army revolver; while to keep the edges of the plan from being disturbed by the wind the man had made use of four clips of cartridges as weights. By the brass material of the clips Ralph knew that they were not British but German.
"Cool cheek," thought Setley. "Quite enough evidence to place him in front of a firing party. He looks a tough customer, too." Presently Danvers crawled up and also took stock of the suspect. The two subalterns glanced at each other meaningly and nodded. Then, bounding swiftly and agilely through the gap in the wall, they threw themselves upon their quarry.