The man recovered his arms.
"May you have the good fortune to find him!" said he. "Our troops have been compelled to fall back in the face of superior numbers. Turn to the right, then take the first road to the left. It will bring you back to the Visé road."
Following the sentry's direction the lads found that the route was still open, although soldiers and peasants were standing ready to barricade that exit.
A couple of miles farther on the motor-cyclists reached the firing-line—a comparatively weak detachment of infantry holding a hastily-constructed trench.
Overhead the shrapnel was flying, the iron hail for the most part bursting harmlessly in the rear. On the left the great guns of Fort de Pontisse were shelling the dense masses of German troops as they vainly sought to cross the Meuse.
A shell, happily without exploding, struck the pave five yards from the spot where Kenneth dismounted, burying itself in a hole at least two feet in depth.
"Into the ditch with the bikes," shouted Kenneth; and having assisted Rollo to place his steed in a place of comparative safety, he returned, and, helped by his companion, managed to shelter his own cycle.
"What's to be done now?" asked Rollo.
"See if the Captain is with these men. We must hasten: it will be a jolly sight safer in the trench."
Abandoning their motor-cycles, the two lads made their way along the ditch, which fortunately ran with considerable obliquity to the direction of the fire of the German artillery.