“Rather! And there was that big machine-gun behind the Half-House waiting for you if you got out,” said Keede.
“I remembered that too. But it was just on dark an’ the fog was comin’ off the Canal, so I hopped out of Little Parrot an’ cut across the open to where those four dead Warwicks are heaped up. But the fog turned me round, an’ the next thing I knew I was knee-over in that old ’alf-trench that runs west o’ Little Parrot into French End. I dropped into it—almost atop o’ the machine-gun platform by the side o’ the old sugar boiler an’ the two Zoo-ave skel’tons. That gave me my bearin’s, an’ so I went through French End, all up those missin’ duckboards, into Butcher’s Row where the poy-looz was laid in six deep each side, an’ stuffed under the duckboards. It had froze tight, an’ the drippin’s had stopped, an’ the creakin’s had begun.”
“Did that really worry you at the time?” Keede asked.
“No,” said the boy with professional scorn. “If a Runner starts noticin’ such things he’d better chuck. In the middle of the Row, just before the old dressin’-station you referred to, sir, it come over me that somethin’ ahead on the duckboards was just like Auntie Armine, waitin’ beside the door; an’ I thought to meself ’ow truly comic it would be if she could be dumped where I was then. In ’alf a second I saw it was only the dark an’ some rags o’ gas-screen, ’angin’ on a bit of board, ’ad played me the trick. So I went on up to the supports an’ warned the leaf-men there, includin’ Uncle John. Then I went up Rake Alley to warn ’em in the front line. I didn’t hurry because I didn’t want to get there till Jerry ’ad quieted down a bit. Well, then a Company Relief dropped in—an’ the officer got the wind up over some lights on the flank, an’ tied ’em into knots, an’ I ’ad to hunt up me leaf-men all over the blinkin’ shop. What with one thing an’ another, it must ’ave been ’alf-past eight before I got back to the supports. There I run across Uncle John, scrapin’ mud off himself, havin’ shaved—quite the dandy. He asked about the Arras train, an’ I said, if Jerry was quiet, it might be ten o’clock. ‘Good!’ says ’e. ‘I’ll come with you.’ So we started back down the old trench that used to run across Halnaker, back of the support dug-outs. You know, sir.”
Keede nodded.
“Then Uncle John says something to me about seein’ Ma an’ the rest of ’em in a few days, an’ had I any messages for ’em? Gawd knows what made me do it, but I told ’im to tell Auntie Armine I never expected to see anything like her up in our part of the world. And while I told him I laughed. That’s the last time I ’ave laughed. ‘Oh—you’ve seen ’er, ’ave you?’ says he, quite natural-like. Then I told ’im about the sand-bags an’ rags in the dark, playin’ the trick. ‘Very likely,’ says he, brushin’ the mud off his puttees. By this time, we’d got to the corner where the old barricade into French End was—before they bombed it down, sir. He turns right an’ climbs across it. ‘No thanks,’ says I. ‘I’ve been there once this evenin’.’ But he wasn’t attendin’ to me. He felt behind the rubbish an’ bones just inside the barricade, an’ when he straightened up, he had a full brazier in each hand.
“‘Come on, Clem,’ he says, an’ he very rarely give me me own name. ‘You aren’t afraid, are you?’ he says. ‘It’s just as short, an’ if Jerry starts up again he won’t waste stuff here. He knows it’s abandoned.’ ‘Who’s afraid now?’ I says. ‘Me for one,’ says he. ‘I don’t want my leaf spoiled at the last minute.’ Then ’e wheels round an’ speaks that bit you said come out o’ the Burial Service.”
For some reason Keede repeated it in full, slowly: “If, after the manner of men, I have fought with beasts at Ephesus, what advantageth it me if the dead rise not?”
“That’s it,” said Strangwick. “So we went down French End together—everything froze up an’ quiet, except for their creakin’s. I remember thinkin’——” his eyes began to flicker.
“Don’t think. Tell what happened,” Keede ordered.