miners, he made a farther and final push, which actually landed him in
the "Piccadilly Tube" itself.

"This is a rum go, Howie!" he observed in a low voice to his
corporal. "A long, beautiful gallery, five by four, lined with wood,
electrically lighted, with every modern convenience--and not a Boche
in it!"

"Varra bad discipline, sir!" replied Corporal Howie severely.

"Are you sure it isn't a trap?"

"It may be, sirr; but I doot the oversman is awa' to his dinner, and
the men are back in the shaft, doing naething." Corporal Howie had
been an "oversman" himself, and knew something of subterranean labour
problems.

"Well, if you are right, the Boche must be getting demoralised. It is
not like him to present us with openings like this. However, the first
thing to do is to distribute a few souvenirs along the gallery. Pass
the word back for the stuff. Meanwhile I shall endeavour to test your
theory about the oversman's dinner-hour. I am going to creep along and
have a look at the Boche entrance to the Tube. It's down there, at the
south end, I think. I can see a break in the wood lining. If you hear
any shooting, you will know that the dinner-hour is over!"

At the end of half an hour the Piccadilly Tube was lined with
sufficient explosive material--securely rammed and tamped--to ensure
the permanent closing of the line. Still no Boche had been seen or
heard.