‘Bourne’s getting windy,’ said Shem to Martlow.

‘’e weren’t windy goin’ out in that lot,’ said Martlow, repelling the suggestion.

‘Yes, he was,’ said Shem, chuckling; ‘that’s just why he went.’

‘If it comes to that, we’re all windy,’ grunted Martlow, loyally.

There was some truth in Shem’s observation, all the same. Bourne came back in a few minutes, and having inspected the curtain, he lit a small piece of candle. Martlow was going out, and was told to report if any light were visible from outside.

‘There will be a message to take up the line, soon,’ said Bourne, to Shem. ‘I might as well go by myself, I think. I want to try and scrounge a couple of candles from the quarter-bloke.’

‘Then I’ll take the midnight message to Brigade,’ said Shem.

Martlow returned. The light did not show from outside, but it did, of course, when the curtains were twitched aside. They were too close together for them to hope that a man entering would lift first one and then the other. Bourne said they would have to cover or blow out the light, on entering or leaving. Then, as the candle was all they had, they blew it out and talked in the dark. Fritz sent three shells over, a regular interval between them. Our own guns had been completely silent during the strafe. Now, however, after an appreciable pause, a trench-mortar battery sent three back to the Hun; and then, after an interval to give emphasis and point to their reply, added another for luck. Bourne looked at his wrist-watch, and saw that it was a couple of minutes after six.

‘That sounded like a regular stunt,’ he said.

A few minutes later they heard a couple of men shouting above-ground, and Martlow, going half-way up the steps, called to them. Two runners from Brigade came in, and when the sacking curtain had been put in place, Bourne lit the candle.

‘Thought you’d all gone west,’ said one runner, ‘when I saw the bloody barn.’

‘I left a notice on the door,’ said Bourne, thoughtlessly.

‘Well, I can’t read it in the bloody dark, can I?’ objected the runner. ‘’ere’s the usual. We’ll ’ave a fag, before we go back, chum. You chaps know ’ow to make yourselves comfortable.’

‘It’s the first duty of a good soldier,’ said Bourne.

They talked about the strafe; now that it was over, none of them exaggerated its importance.

‘Only a few shells came into Courcelles,’ said the runner; ‘but we knew Colincamps and the dump were getting it.’

‘I’m going now,’ said Bourne. ‘Don’t show any light.’

‘You’re getting wind-up,’ said Shem, laughing.

‘Wind-up! ’e’s talkin’ bloody sense,’ said the runner. ‘You don’t want to take any bloody chances up ’ere, I can tell you. It looks to me as though Jerry ’ad rumbled somethin’ already.’

That was Bourne’s notion, but he did not pursue the subject.

‘D’you go alone?’ they asked him.

‘Yes, we nearly always go alone,’ answered Bourne. ‘Good night.’