It was made by a loose end of wire swaying in the night-wind and
tapping on a broken helmet.

They were getting close to the German barbed wire. The leader had
swung around to the west, following what he judged to be the line
of the front trench, perhaps forty yards away. He was determined
to hear something before he went back. And he did!

Just as he had made up his mind to call up the other fellows for the
final spreadout in fan formation, his groping right hand touched
something round and smooth and hard. It seemed to be made fast to
a string or wire, but he pulled it toward him and gave the "stop"
signal to his followers.

The thing he had picked up was a telephone receiver. How it came
to be there he did not know. Perhaps a German listening post had
carried it out last night, in order to receive directions from the
trench; perhaps the mining party--man killed, receiver dropped,
wire connection not cut, or tangled up with other wires--who can
tell? One thing is sure--here is the receiver, faintly buzzing.
Phipps-Herrick joyfully puts it to his ear. He hears a voice and
words, but it is all gibberish to him. With a look of desperation
on his face he gives the "get together" signal.

Rosenlaube crawls up first and takes hold of the cylinder, puts it
to his ear. He hears the sound, but it says absolutely nothing to
him. It is like being at the door of the secret of the universe
and unable to get over the threshold.

Then comes Mitchell, slowly, a little lame, and almost "all in."