Major Planchenoît took good care to put the rejoined dispatch-riders to a practical test. Although glad of the help of the two British subjects, he was not an officer likely to employ them on important work until they knew the locality. Of their courage and sagacity he already had proof, but these qualifications were almost of a negligible quantity unless they knew the "lay of the land".
Next morning the lads had their instructions.
"You will proceed with the dispatch to the officer commanding the outpost at Lierre," ordered Major Planchenoît. "This done, go on to Vremde. There you will find a detachment of the regiment. This packet is for the company officer. This done, proceed to the city, seek Commandant Fleurus, and deliver this dispatch. Await further instructions from him, and report to me."
Kenneth and Rollo saluted, and hastened to the shed where their motor-cycles were stored. As they were giving them a final overhaul, Private Labori—formerly a diamond merchant and now a dispatch-rider—hailed them.
"Are you going into the city, camarades? You are? Good! Bring me some cigars, and I will be eternally indebted to you. I smoked my last yesterday, and without cigars I am as a man doomed to perdition. Of your charity, camarades, do me this favour."
Private Labori pressed a ten-franc piece into Kenneth's hand, and with a hurried expression of gratitude returned to his task of peeling potatoes for the midday meal.
"He's taken it for granted that we get the cigars," remarked Kenneth. "I suppose it would not be a breach of discipline to get them."
"Almost like old times," declared Rollo, as the riders sped side by side over the tree-lined road. "Pity we haven't our own motor-bikes, though."
He spoke with the same sort of affection as the huntsman has for his favourite horse, but Kenneth was more practical and unimaginative.
"We're lucky to be riding at all," he said. "After all, this jigger gets along pretty well. We're doing a good twenty-five."