Near it, tearing from his person the last vestiges of a German uniform, he found Birrell.

He also was puffing painfully.
"What happened to Herbert ?" panted Ford.
"I don't know," gasped Birrell, "When I saw him last he was diving over the cliff into the sea.

How many times did you die ?" "About twenty!" groaned the American, "And, besides being dead, I am severely wounded.

Every time he fired, I fell on my face, and each time I hit a rock!" A scarecrow of a figure appeared suddenly in the rays of the head-lights.

It was Herbert, scratched, bleeding, dripping with water, and clad simply in a shirt and trousers.