'English.' He heard speech behind the parapet.

An electric torch was flashed on him for a second.

A voice spoke, a friendly voice, and the sound of it seemed to be telling him to come over.
He was now standing up, and as he got his hands on the parapet he seemed to feel bayonets very near him.

But the voice that spoke was kindly, so with a heave he scrambled over and flopped into the trench.
Once more the electric torch was flashed, and revealed to the eyes of the onlookers an indescribably dirty, lean, middle-aged man with a bloody head, and scarcely a rag of shirt on his back.

The said man, seeing friendly faces around him, grinned cheerfully.
'That was a rough trek, friends,' he said; 'I want to see your general pretty quick, for I've got a present for him.' He was taken to an officer in a dug-out, who addressed him in French, which he did not understand.