Bending low he raced along in front of the trench, looking for the body, dead or alive, of his chum.
Dick, however, was not to be found.

Greg continued the search desperately.
Had the Germans sent up flares just then, and turned on their machine guns, Greg would have made an inevitable mark.
Captain Ribaut, more practical, sent a French corporal through the nearby sections for word of Captain Prescott.
"Captain Holmes, return to the trench," Major Wells ordered, in a hoarse whisper.
So Greg obeyed, in time almost to bump into Captain Ribaut.
"Four men from this platoon are missing, and presumably were captured by the enemy," said that officer.

"I much fear that Captain Prescott was also taken away by the enemy." "What?
Captured by the Huns ?" Greg demanded, divided between amazement and consternation.

"Dick captured?
Let me lead a force over to the enemy line to bring him back!" "Only the division commander could sanction that," replied Captain Ribaut, with grave sympathy.

"And it is never done, Captain." "Oh, I wish I had B company at my back, with A company thrown in for good measure!" quivered Greg.