"Trying to regain our regiment," replied Rollo.
"Same here. What's yours?"
"The 9th Regiment of the Line."
The man glanced suspiciously at his informant.
"Never heard of it," he declared. "Mine's the Northumberland Fusiliers—'Quo Fata Vocant' is our motto, and strikes me Fate has led me a pretty dance. The 9th Regiment of the Line?"
"Of the Belgian army," explained Kenneth, for the man's declaration sounded like a challenge. "We're British volunteer dispatch-riders—corporals."
"Same here; I'm a corporal, unless I'm officially dead. But that's neither here nor there. Question is, where am I?"
"In Belgium, not so very far from Liége."
"That's a blessing. It's a relief to know I'm not on rotten German soil. But it's a long, long way to Tipperary."
"What do you mean?" asked Kenneth in astonishment.