‘Shall we go back?’ he asked the others quietly, and they followed him out into the mist and mud.

After they had had their rum-ration they took off boots, puttees, and tunic, and rolled themselves into their blankets, spreading their greatcoats over them as well, because of the cold. Bourne felt quiet, and was almost asleep, when suddenly full consciousness came to him again, and, opening his eyes, he could just see Martlow looking abstractedly into the dark.

‘Are you all right, kid?’ he whispered, and put out a hand to the boy’s.

‘Yes, I’m all right,’ said Martlow quietly. ‘You know, it don’t matter what ’appens to us’ns, Bourne. It don’t matter what ’appens; it’ll be all right in the end.’

He turned over, and was soon sleeping quietly, long before Bourne was.

And the next day was the same, in all outward seeming. They got their tea, they washed, shaved, and had their breakfast, smoked, and fell in on parade, in the ordinary course of routine. The extra weight they were carrying was marked, but the overcoat worn banderole had been washed-out, a rumour among the men being that the Colonel had sent a man up to Brigade, equipped as they had ordered, to show the absurdity of it. As he arrived in front of A Company’s huts, Bourne, Shem, and Martlow found groups of men talking among themselves.

‘What’s up?’ he asked.

‘Miller. ’e’s ’opped it, again. I knew the bugger would. ’e’s a bloody German spy, that’s what ’e is. They should ’ave shot the bugger when they ’ad ’im! One o’ them fuckin’ square-’eads, an’ they let ’im off!’

There was an extraordinary exultation in their anger; as they spoke, a fierce contemptuous laughter mingled with speech.

‘Yes, they let a bloody twat like ’im off; but if any o’ us poor fuckers did it, we’d be for th’ electric chair, we would. We’ve done our bit, we ’ave; but it wouldn’t make any differ to us’ns.’

The angry, bitter words were tossed about from one to another in derision. Bourne was more struck by the severity and pallor of Sergeant Tozer’s face, when he saw him in the hut. He did not ask any questions; they just passed the time of day, and then there was a pause, broken by Bourne.

‘You shouldn’t blame yourself, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘It’s not your fault.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Sergeant Tozer. ‘I’m not blamin’ meself. On’y if I saw the bugger in the road I’d put a bullet into ’im; an’ save ’em any bloody fuss with a court-martial.’