AN EXCITING FINALE

Feilding Star, Volume XIII, Issue 3234, 7 May 1917, Page 1

AN EXCITING FINALE

THE GREEN-EYED SIREN

EPISODE WITH A FASCINATING SPY.

(By "Capulet," in tho London Express.)

'Somewhere in Flanders

Noon in Flanders, and tho Archiepuffs like, snowballs high up in tho sky. Privato Hoiiry Marsden strelcliod his logs along tho l)Ciich outsido tho cstaminct and pufl'ed luxuriously at his cigarette. Ho had boon v. Cook's tourist conductor beforo tho war, and found trench life comparatively restful. A burly man with a crooked nose crossed over and sat by his side. This was his chum, Private William Bunting, known in sporting circles as tho Bermoudsoy Biffer.

"Good morning, William. Gob an eye on you like a poached egg. How d'you get on after I left?" William spat in the road and grunted, " 'Ad another bottle of that red vinegar, and then tlio cops chucked us. Lord, what wouldn't I give fo:- adrop of decent beer! I see- ineself blowin' the froth off a pewter of stout and bitter, with goes of gin to follow. Can't we get 'old of a bottle of brandy or somefing?"

"Na pooh, William. That hairdresser charges ten francs for a, gill of whisky in a bottle marked "Lotion Capillaire,' and it don't run to it." "Eros that red-haivccl piece you was walking out on Sunday coming along. She might lend us enough to make up." THE BAIT. Slio was a pretty little woman, with a .plump figure set off by her thin dress of green linen. Marsden sprang up to meet her, and she smiled a welcome from roguish green eyes beneath, long dark lashes. Marsdon, began to explain tho situation, in fluent French, but the lady interrupted liim.

"Myself, I was thinking how hard it is for you bravo English soldiers to live so poorly. Me, I have no money, but I have two rich friends for whom you can perhaps do a little service."

Bunting watched the two go off together, and retired grumbling to his tent. They wero in rest from the trenches, and for the nionent there was nothing doing. At dinner Marsden reappeared. Ho winked cheerfully at Bunting, and the pair sought tho friendly hairdresser. "Got t--n francs to go on with, and twenty quid if Ido a little job." The other grunted suspiciously. "It'll be all right the way I'll work it. Her friends are two fat civvies who've found out I'm the brigade office orderly. They'll stand twenty quid to-night for a copy of our trench map."

"Look 'ere, 'Arry, if you 'avo the impidence to arst me to go on the cross-ine, with twenty straight fights be'ind me—l'l] bash your ruddy nut in."

"You silly blighter, don't you know me better? To begin, with, there isn't any map of our trenches in the brigade office —at least, 1 never saw one. But there's last year's map of the Gel-man trenches that the A.D.C. threw away yesterday, I can find it in the dustbin, and make a copy good enough to take in those jossers."

"I don't like it, 'Arry. Them games leads to the stone jug."

"Then keep out of it, William, and let me work it on my own." "THINGS HAPPENED." The other grumbled inarticulately, and absorbed tho remains of the "Lotion Capillaire." All tho same, when Marsden met tho green-eyed lady that evening, William Bunting followed them with the light step of a man itsed to the ring. She led the way to the Trois Colombes, an estaminet deserted since the Germans had made it the object of a daily hate. Marsden followed her into the gutted bar parlour, where ho found two well-dressed civilians sitting on wine-cases. They invited him to sit down, and offered him a cigar, which he refused. Their eyes glistened when ho brought out tho faked map, and the one who took the lead held out a roll of bank notes. Marsden extended his hand to take-them.

Then things began to happen. The lady, who stood behind Marsden, skilfully whipped the front of her skirt over his head. The two men seized his wrists, and the leader, saying something about "Keino Zeugen!" produced a Browning pistol.

Private William Bunting chose this moment to appear on the scene in the character of the Bermondsey Biffer. With strict regard for etiquette, ho had taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He danced in through the kitchen door, and tapped the man with the pistol on the shoulder. That gentleman turned, to face him, and was neatly downetf with a right hook on the point of the jaw. The other man tried to pull out a revolver, and immediately realised the true inwardness of a "smeller on the conk." THE SEQUEL. Tho lady tried to break away, but Marsden held on to her skirt. With great presence of mind, she slipped tho hooks at the waist and dived over his shoulder. Bunting was too bashful to stop her. Marsden managed to get his head through the garment, but was only in time for a glimpse of shapely limbs and a flutter of white as she sped through tho doorway. Ho turned, his attention to tho men on the floor, who were glaring savagely at the impassive Bunting.

"Well, I suppose, we've got to take them to the military police?" "Them cops is no friends of mine. Besides, we'd 'aye to 'and over the dibs." "Lot's go through thorn first." Tho search realised eight hundred francs in notes, and silver, besides gold watches and rings which the two chums decided not to touch. They gagged thoir captives, bound thorn securely to the racks on which the beer barrels had stood, and pushed them under the counter. "Tlicro yoxi are, my beauties, and I hope- your friends will shell the place to-morrow morning. s. They did.