"Cher ami, nothing is simpler. Jump in. I am going straight to Fricourt, if that will help you."
"Great Scott! I left my Governor not a mile from there the day before yesterday!" shouted Dennis, vaulting into the motor-car. "How are things with us?"
"Magnificent!" laughed Martique; "but what are you doing down here?"
"Just escaped from the German lines, old chap," was the reply; and as the brave little car raced away at a really dangerous speed he recounted his latest adventure, to the delight and envy of his old acquaintance.
By good roads and bad roads and no roads at all Martique found his way across country with unerring sagacity, until they found themselves at a level crossing a few miles behind the British advanced line.
A long hospital train was waiting in a siding for the next convoy of motor ambulances which should arrive from the various dressing-stations.
The little village, not much knocked about by shell-fire, was occupied by a reserve brigade, and as the cap crossed the rails Martique shut off his engines.
"I thought so," he said, getting out and looking at one of his back tyres, "we punctured half a mile back on the road, and I must put on a spare wheel. She wants some water too, and an oil up, so I am afraid you will have to cool your heels for the next quarter of an hour. No," he added, as Dennis prepared to help him, "I do all my own repairs—much rather. Thanks, yes, I will have a cigarette," and Martique slipped off his coat.
It was good to be back among his own people once more, and with a smile of immense satisfaction on his face Dennis strolled along the little street, taking everything in.
There were Army Service Corps motor wagons on supply, and an infantry platoon came swinging round the corner, looking very bronzed and fit. From their black buttons he saw that they belonged to a rifle battalion in the reserve.