"Smith's group, sir."
"Oh, hang! that tells me nothing. What are they—artillery?"
"Yes, sir—heavies, I think, sir."
I felt myself at a standstill. Orders for us were not likely to be with a group of heavy artillery. "Whom are you from?" I asked finally, preparing to move on.
"From the —th Div. Artillery, sir."
"Oh!"—with a rush of hopefulness—"you have no orders, I suppose, for the —nd Brigade?"—mentioning our Brigade.
"No, sir."
I broke off and strode up the hillside, determined at any rate to gather some sort of information from the house the motor-cyclist had just left. I came upon a bare-looking, two-storied brick building with plain doors and windows. Through the keyhole of the front door I could see a light coming from an inside room. I opened the door and walked down the passage, calling, "Is this the —rd Field Artillery Brigade?"
"No! This is the —nd Field Company," replied a fair-moustached sapper captain, who was lying on a mattress in the room from which the light came, reading a book of O. Henry stories.