On the first of July there was forwarded to me from the club a letter in an unknown handwriting.

I had to turn to the signature to discover the identity of my correspondent.

It was Reggie Dacre, Colonel Dacre, whom I had met in London a couple of months before.

As it tells its own little story, I transcribe it.
"Dear Major Meredyth: "I should like to confirm by the following anecdote, which is going the round of the Brigade, what I recently told you about our friend Boyce.
I shouldn't worry you, but I feel that if one has cast an unjustifiable slur on a brother-officer's honour--and I can't tell you how the thing has lain on my conscience--one shouldn't leave a stone unturned to rehabilitate him, even in the eyes of one person.
"There has been a good deal of scrapping around Ypres lately--that given away by the communiques; but for reasons which both the Censor and yourself will appreciate, I can't be more explicit as to locality.
Enough to say that somewhere in this region--or sector, as we call it nowadays--there was a certain bit of ground that had been taken and retaken over and over again.

B.'s Regiment was in this fighting, and at one particular time we were holding a German front trench section.