"OF WHAT OFFENCE AM I ACCUSED, SIR?" [Page 202]. Frontispiece

The
Dispatch-Riders

The Adventures of Two British
Motor-cyclists in the Great War

BY

PERCY F. WESTERMAN

Author of "Rivals of the Reef"
"The Sea-girt Fortress" &c. &c.

Illustrated by F. Gillett

BLACKIE & SON LIMITED
LONDON AND GLASGOW
1915

By Percy F. Westerman
The Red Pirate.
The Call of the Sea.
Standish of the Air Police.
Sleuths of the Air.
The Black Hawk.
Andy All-Alone.
The Westow Talisman.
The White Arab.
The Buccaneers of Boya.
Rounding up the Raider.
Captain Fosdyke's Gold.
In Defiance of the Ban.
The Senior Cadet.
The Amir's Ruby.
The Secret of the Plateau.
Leslie Dexter, Cadet.
All Hands to the Boats.
A Mystery of the Broads.
Rivals of the Reef.
A Shanghai Adventure.
The Junior Cadet.
Captain Starlight.
The Sea-Girt Fortress.
On the Wings of the Wind.
Captain Blundell's Treasure.
The Third Officer.
Unconquered Wings.
The Riddle of the Air.
Chums of the "Golden Vanity".
Clipped Wings.
Rocks Ahead!
King for a Month.
The Disappearing Dhow.
The Luck of the "Golden Dawn".
The Salving of the "Fusi Yama".
Winning his Wings.
A Lively Bit of the Front.
The Good Ship "Golden Effort".
East in the "Golden Gain".
The Quest of the "Golden Hope".
Sea Scouts Abroad.
Sea Scouts Up-Channel.
The Wireless Officer.
A Lad of Grit.
The Submarine Hunters.
Sea Scouts All.
The Thick of the Fray at Zeebrugge.
A Sub and a Submarine.
Under the White Ensign.
With Beatty off Jutland.
The Dispatch Riders.

Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow

Contents

Illustrations

[ "OF WHAT OFFENCE AM I ACCUSED, SIR?" . . . . . . . . . Frontispiece ]

[ KENNETH HAD A MOMENTARY GLIMPSE OF THE UHLAN'S PANIC-STRICKEN FACE ... THEN CRASH! ]

[ KENNETH SUCCEEDED IN THROWING THE SPY TO THE FLOOR ]

THE DISPATCH-RIDERS

CHAPTER I

The Coming Storm

"Let's make for Liége," exclaimed Kenneth Everest.

"What's that?" asked his chum, Rollo Harrington. "Liége? What on earth possesses you to suggest Liége? A crowded manufacturing town, with narrow streets and horrible pavé. I thought we decided to fight shy of heavy traffic?"

The two speakers were seated at an open window of the Hôtel Doré, in the picturesque town of Dinant. In front of them flowed the Meuse; its placid water rippled with craft of varying sizes. Huge barges, towed by snorting tugs, were laboriously passing along the busy international waterway that serves an empire, a kingdom, and a republic. On the remote bank, and to the right of a bridge, were the quaint red-tiled houses of the town, above which rose the fantastic, pinnacled tower of the thirteenth-century church of Notre Dame, in turn overshadowed by the frowning limestone crag on which stands the citadel.

Kenneth was a well-set-up English youth of seventeen. He was tall for his age, and withal broad-shouldered and well-knit. His features were dark, his skin burnt a deep tan by reason of more than a nodding acquaintance with an open-air life. In character and action he was impulsive. He had the happy knack of making up his mind on the spur of the moment, and yet at the same time forming a fairly sound judgment. He was quick, too, with his fingers, having been gifted with a keen, mechanical turn of mind.

Rollo Barrington, who was his companion's junior by the space of three days, was rather the reverse of his versatile friend. He was shorter in height by a good four inches; he was slightly built, although he possessed an unlooked-for reserve of physical strength and endurance. He was fresh-complexioned, with blue eyes and wavy chestnut hair.

If Kenneth acted upon impulse, Rollo went by rule of thumb. He was cool and calculating when occasion served; but when in the company of his chum he was generally content to allow his will to be dominated by the impetuous Everest.

Both lads were at St. Cyprian's—a public school of note in the Home Counties. The vacation started about the middle of July, and it was the custom for the senior members to put in a fortnight's camp with the Officers' Training Corps during the latter part of that month.

At the time this story opens—the first day of August, 1914—the two chums were on a motor-cycling tour through Northern France and Belgium. The parents of neither had offered any objection when their respective sons announced their intention of wandering through the high-roads and by-roads of that part of the Continent.

Kenneth had sprung the suggestion upon his father like the proverbial bombshell; and Mr. Everest, who was largely responsible for his son's impetuosity, merely acquiesced by observing: "You lucky young dog! I didn't have the chance when I was your age. Well, I hope you'll have a good time."

On his part Rollo had broached the subject with his customary deliberation, and Colonel Barrington had not only given his consent, but had gone to the extreme toil of producing maps and a Baedeker, and had mapped out a route—to which neither of the lads had adhered. The Colonel also realized that there was a considerable amount of self-education to be derived from the tour. There was nothing like travel, he declared, to expand the mind; following up this statement by the practical action of "forking out", thereby relieving his son of any fear of pecuniary embarrassment.

Both lads rode identically similar motor-cycles—tourist models, of 3-½ horse-power, fitted with three-speed hubs. But again the difference in character manifested itself in the care of their respective steeds.

Rollo had been a motor-cyclist ever since he was fourteen—as soon as he was qualified in point of age to obtain a driver's licence. The close attention he bestowed upon his motor-bike never varied; he kept it as clean as he did in the first few days after taking over his new purchase. He had thoroughly mastered its peculiarities, and studied both the theory and practice of its mechanism.

Kenneth Everest had first bestrode the saddle of a motor-cycle a week before their Continental tour began. No doubt his experience as a "push-cyclist" helped him considerably; he quickly mastered the use of the various controls, without troubling to find out "how it worked". With his companion's knowledge at his back he felt quite at ease, since, in the event of any mechanical break-down, Rollo would point out the fault, and Kenneth's ready fingers would either do or undo the rest.

But so far, with the exception of a few tyre troubles, both motor-cyclists had done remarkably well. Landing at Havre, they had pushed on, following the route taken by the English army that had won Agincourt. This, by the by, was Rollo's suggestion. From the site of the historic battle-field they had sped eastward, through Arras, St. Quentin, and Mézières. Here, finding themselves in the valley of the Meuse, they had turned northward, and passing through the French frontier fortress of Givet, entered Belgium, spending the first night on Belgian soil in picturesque Dinant.

Hitherto they had overcome the initial difficulty that confronts British road users in France—the fact that all traffic keeps, or is supposed to keep, to the right. They had endured the horrible and seemingly never-ending cobbles or pavé. The language presented little difficulty, for Kenneth, prior to having joined St. Cyprian's, had been educated in Paris; and although his Parisian accent differed somewhat from the patois of the Ardennes, he had very little trouble in making himself understood. Rollo, too, was a fairly proficient French linguist, since, in view of his future military career, he had applied himself with his usual diligence to the study of the language.

"I say, what's this wheeze about Liége?" persisted Harrington. "There's something in the wind, old chap."

"It's not exactly Liége I want to see," replied Kenneth, "although it's a fine, interesting old place, with a history. Fact is, my sister Thelma is at a boarding-school at Visé—that's only a few miles farther on—and we might just as well look her up."

"By Jove! I ought to have remembered. I knew she was somewhere in Belgium. Let me see, she's your youngest sister?"

"Twelve months my junior," replied Kenneth, "and a jolly good pal she is, too. It's rather rough luck on her. The pater's just off on that Mediterranean trip, so she hasn't been able to go home for the holidays. We'll just cheer her up a bit."

Rollo gave a final glance at the map before folding it and placing it in his pocket. In response to a summons, the garçon produced the bill and gratefully accepted the modest tip that Everest bestowed upon him with becoming public schoolboy dignity.

This done, the two lads took their travelling cases and made their way to the hotel garage, where their motor-cycles had been placed under lock and key, out of the reach of sundry inquisitive and mischievous Belgian gamins.

"Hello! What's the excitement?" asked Kenneth, pointing to a crowd of gesticulating townsfolk gathered round a notice that had just been pasted to a wall.

"Ask me another," rejoined his companion. "A circus or something of the sort about to turn up, I suppose. If you're curious I'll hang on here while you go and find out."

Kenneth was off like a shot. Half-way across the bridge that here spans the Meuse he nearly collided with the proprietor of the Hôtel Doré. The man's face was red with excitement.

"Quel dommage!" he exclaimed, in reply to the lad's unspoken question. "The Government has ordered the army to mobilize. What inconsideration! Jules, Michel, Georges, and Étienne—all will have to go. I shall be left without a single garçon. And the busy season approaches also."

"Why is the army to be mobilized, then?"

"Ciel! I know not. We Belgians do not require soldiers. We are men of peace. Has not our neutrality been guaranteed by our neighbours? And, notwithstanding, the Government must have men to vie with the French piou-piou, give them rifles, and put them in uniforms at the expense of the community. It is inconceivable!"

The proprietor, unable to contain his feelings, rushed back to the hotel, while Kenneth, still wishing to satisfy his curiosity by ocular demonstration, made his way to the edge of the semicircular crowd of excited townsfolk.

The proclamation, dated the 31st day of July, was an order for partial mobilization, calling up the First Division of the Reserves. No reason was given, and the lack of it, rather than the fact that the order had to be obeyed, was the subject of general comment. From the nature of the conversation the lad gathered that military service was not regarded by the Belgians in anything approaching a tolerant spirit.

"Nothing much; only a mobilization," announced Everest in reply to his companion's enquiry. "Let's make a move. We may see something of the Belgian troops. It would be rather interesting to see how they take to playing at soldiering."

"Why playing?" asked Rollo as he proceeded to secure his valise to the carrier.

"What else would you expect from Belgians?" rejoined Kenneth. "Even old Gallipot—or whatever the hotel proprietor's name is—was grumbling about the uselessness of the business, and most of those johnnies over there are of the same opinion. No, Rollo, take my word for it, the Belgians are not a fighting race. Let me see—didn't they skedaddle at Waterloo and almost let our fellows down?"

"They may have done," remarked Rollo. "But that's nearly a century old. Ready?"

With half-closed throttles, and tyres sufficiently soft to absorb most of the shocks, the young tourists bumped over the pavé, swung round, and soon settled down to a modest fifteen miles an hour along the Namur road.

For the best part of the journey the Meuse, with its limestone crags and dense foliage, was within a few yards on their right, while trees on either side of the road afforded a pleasant shade from the fierce rays of the sun. The dust, too, rose in dense clouds whenever, as frequently happened, a motor-car tore past, or a flock of frightened sheep scampered madly all across the road. At Namur their wishes regarding the Belgian troops were gratified. The narrow street swarmed with soldiers and civil guards. There were men with head-dresses resembling the busbies of the British guardsmen, leading teams of dogs harnessed to light quick-firing "Berthier" guns; infantry who, in spite of the broiling heat, wore heavy greatcoats; cavalry whose mounts were powerful enough to evoke the admiration of the critical Kenneth.

"I wonder what all this fuss is about," he exclaimed.

Before Rollo could furnish any remark a little Belgian officer accosted them.

"You gentlemen are English, without doubt?"

"We are."

"It then is well," continued the officer, speaking in English with considerable fluency. "You have not heard, eh? The news—the grave news?"

"No, monsieur."

"Germany has declared war upon the Russians."

CHAPTER II

A Break-down

"Is that so?" asked Kenneth. "Then I hope to goodness the Russians will give the Germans a thundering good licking. But why are your troops mobilizing?"

The Belgian officer replied by producing a newspaper and pointing to a heavy-leaded column.

"You understand our language?" he asked.

The report, though a piece of journalistic conjecture, afterwards proved to be very near to the mark. It was to the effect that Germany had declared war against Russia and also France, and that her troops were already pouring over the respective frontiers. To take all necessary precautions the King of the Belgians had ordered a mobilization, and had appealed to King George to assist him in preserving the integrity of his small kingdom.

"You'll notice it says that it is reported," observed the cautious Rollo. "By Jove, if it is true, the Kaiser will have a handful. But, monsieur, surely Belgium will be out of it? Her integrity is protected by treaties."

The Belgian officer shrugged his shoulders.

"Let us hope so," he remarked. "We Belgians have little faith in the honour of a German. Therefore, we arm. Where do you propose to go?"

"To Liége, monsieur."

"Then do not go. It is not advisable. If you take my advice you return to England as soon as possible. Perhaps, soon, you come back again with a brave English army."

"Whatever is the fellow aiming at?" asked Kenneth, after the officer was out of ear-shot. "It's all so very mysterious about nothing."

"Do you call war between Germany and France and Russia nothing, old fellow?"

"I wasn't referring to that," replied Kenneth. "Of course it is. The Russians will simply walk over Prussia while the Germans are trying to batter the French frontier forts. No; what I meant is, why should we be balked in going to Liége? We'll go, and risk it—though I don't believe there is any risk. If there is, so much the better for us."

"Perhaps that Belgian officer knows more than he told us."

"Or else less. I'll tell you what, Rollo. We'll see what's doing at Liége; then, if there's time, we'll run back almost to the French frontier and see what the excitement is like there. Let's make another start."

The suggestion was quickly put into practice, but progress was tedious and slow. The highway between Namur and Liége was crowded with traffic. Military wagons, both motor-driven and drawn by horses and mules, seemed an unending stream. The rattling of the huge motor-lorries prevented the chauffeurs from hearing any sounds beyond the pulsations of their engines. In vain the two English lads sounded their horns. It was invariably a case of throwing out the clutch and waiting for a favourable moment to dash past, often with a bare yard between the off-side wheel of the powerful lorries and the deep ditch by the side of the road.

There were thousands of troops, too, with their supply-carts; swarms of peasants driving cattle into the fortresses; motor-cars, motor-cycles, and ordinary cycles galore, till Rollo remarked, during one of the enforced halts, that it was ten times worse than Barnet Hill on fair night.

At length, after taking two hours to traverse fifteen miles, the lads came in sight of the town of Huy. Here the traffic lessened slightly, and Kenneth called for an increased speed.

Suddenly Rollo saw his companion's cycle slip from under him. It was all he could do to avoid coming into collision with the prostrate mount. When he pulled up and dismounted, Kenneth was regaining his feet.

"Hurt?" asked Barrington laconically, yet with considerable anxiety.

"Not a bit," replied Kenneth cheerfully. "Only barked my knuckles. Get up, you brute!"

The last remark was addressed to the motor-cycle, which was lying on its side across a rounded stone embedded in the ground on the edge of the footpath. Kenneth found, for the first time, that it required a fair amount of physical energy to restore a fallen motorcycle to its normal position.

Thrice he tried a running start, but without success. The motor refused to fire.

"Jack it up on its stand," suggested Rollo. "Inject a little petrol into the compression tap and have another shot."

Kenneth promptly acted upon this advice, but still without satisfactory result. By this time Rollo had placed his cycle on its stand and was ready to give assistance.

"There's no spark," he announced after testing the plug. "I hope it isn't the magneto."

With the usual perversity of things in general and motor-cycles in particular, it was the magneto that was out of action. The round stone on which the cycle had fallen had given the delicate mechanism a nasty blow.

"This job's beyond me," declared Rollo. "We must see what can be done in the next town. Thank goodness it isn't far. Off with the belt and push her; I won't risk towing you with this traffic about."

Already the disabled motor-cycle was surrounded by a crowd of peasants and soldiers, all of whom offered advice; but, as the majority of the onlookers were Walloons, their Flemish tongue was not understood by the two English lads.

At length Kenneth managed to get into conversation with a French-speaking corporal, and from him learnt that there was an efficient motor-repairer in Huy, whose place of business faced the market square.

It was exhausting work pushing the two motor-bicycles along the undulating, rough cobbled road in the fierce glare of the August sun. The crowd followed.

About a quarter of a mile farther along the road a chasseur passed. Reining in his horse he addressed the corporal.

"What, then, has happened, Pierre?"

The Belgian non-com. shrugged his shoulders.

"Only two German tourists, Gaston," he replied. "They have had an accident."

"German!" exclaimed Kenneth indignantly. "You are wrong. We are English."

"Can Monsieur produce proof?" asked the corporal.

Fortunately both lads possessed permits de circulation—documents issued to foreign tourists on entering French territory, and which they had not given up at the douane at Givet. On each document was pasted a photograph of the bearer and particulars of his name, nationality, occupation, and place of abode.

In less than a minute the indifferent demeanour of the crowd underwent a complete change. Amid shouts of "Vivent les Anglais!" several of the Belgians took possession of the two motor-cycles, and, in spite of frequent wobblings, pushed them right into the town.

Here another set-back greeted the tourists. The repairer gravely informed them that a new magneto was absolutely necessary, and since he had not one in stock he would be obliged to send to Brussels for it.

Under the circumstances an enforced stay would have to be made at Huy, so the lads booked a room at a modest but cheerful-looking hotel. The town and environs seemed delightfully picturesque, and, although Kenneth chafed under the delay, both lads eventually admitted they might have been hung up in many a worse place than Huy.

The next day, Sunday, they were awakened early by a clamour in the street, and found that newsvendors were doing a roaring trade. The papers were full of sensational reports, and although definite news was not forthcoming, it was quite evident that the war clouds were rapidly gathering.

Rollo, the cautious, suggested the abandonment of the Liége trip and a hasty return home, but Kenneth set his face against any such proposal.

"Look here," he said, "if there's any truth in this report, and England does chip in, we will do no good by returning home. The powers that be have decided that we are not yet of an age to take up a commission, although I flatter myself that we are both better men than Tompkins, late of the Upper Sixth, who was gazetted to a line regiment a week before the holidays, you'll remember. If there is a dust-up we'll try our luck with the French. They don't object to fellows of sixteen, so long as they are keen. Take the case of Lord Kitchener, for instance. He served as a cadet in the war of '70 and '71."

"Don't be in such a violent hurry, old man. Stick to our original programme and go to Liége, if you will. It may be necessary for us to look after your sister, you know."

"I don't think so; I firmly believe that Belgium will be left out of the business. This scare will be over in a few days. The pen is mightier than the sword, you know, so Germany will respect her plighted word to preserve the neutrality of both Holland and Belgium."

It was nearly noon on Monday morning when the lads wended their way to the motor-repairer's. Outside the burgomaster's house a huge crowd had gathered. The chief magistrate was making ready to read a document. It was a copy of the momentous ultimatum from the bully of Europe to one of the smallest of her neighbours: a peremptory demand that the Belgian Government should allow the legions of the Kaiser to pass through Belgium in order to attack the least-defended frontier of France, and threatening to make war upon the little buffer State should she refuse.

A dead silence greeted the burgomaster's announcement. The news, though not unexpected, was astounding.

Again he spoke:

"Fellow-townsmen! I can assure you that the spirit of independence lives amongst us. We will resist to the death this outrageous demand. Nor are we without powerful friends. Listen to the words of an appeal of our heroic Sovereign to the King of England: 'Remembering the numerous proofs of your Majesty's friendship and that of your predecessors, and the friendly attitude of England in 1870, and the proof of friendship you have just given us again, I make a supreme appeal to the diplomatic intervention of your Majesty's Government to safeguard the integrity of Belgium."

"And what is the reply of the King of England?" shouted a voice.

"If it has been received it has not up to the present been communicated to me," replied the chief magistrate pompously. "Rest assured that I, your burgomaster, will not be tardy in keeping the worthy burgesses fully posted with the latest news from the capital. If any of you still have faith in German promises, let me inform you it is definitely established that the German troops have already invaded the independent Grand Duchy of Luxemburg."

The burgomaster withdrew, leaving the townsfolk to shout "Down with Germany!" "Long live England!" and cheer madly for their young king, who was yet to display proof of his personal courage.

"It's getting serious," admitted Kenneth as the chums resumed their way. "I don't mind owning I was wrong in my opinion of German honesty. If they don't draw the line at Luxemburg they evidently won't at Belgium. Rollo, my boy, it's a mortal cert that Great Britain will be scrapping with Germany in less than a week."

CHAPTER III

Major Résimont

"I vote we get off this main road with its wretched pavé," exclaimed Rollo prior to resuming their ride on the following day. "There's a road shown on the map which ought to be a jolly sight better. At any rate we'll miss most of the heavy traffic."

"Right-o," assented Kenneth; "anything so long as we can have a speed-burst. I'm tired of crawling along at ten miles an hour."

The road, which turned out to be little better than a cart-track, led a considerable distance from the left bank of the Meuse, and with the exception of an occasional farm wagon laden with hay, very little traffic was met with.

At the end of an hour's steady riding, the lads found themselves at the junction of two forked roads, where, contrary to the usual custom, there was no signpost to indicate the direction. On either side was a steep bank.

"Now, which way?" asked Rollo. "Neither of the roads looks particularly inviting."

"It's one of the sunken roads of Belgium, I suppose," said Kenneth. "We'll climb up this bank. Perhaps we shall be able to see where we are. It will be awkward for our bikes if a motor-car comes tearing along."

The incline was nearly fifteen feet in height and fairly steep. When the lads reached the summit they found, to their surprise, that they were on a slightly undulating grass field liberally guarded with barbed wire. About four hundred yards off was a rounded hillock. Even as the two looked they saw a huge cylindrical turret, from which projected the muzzle of a large gun, rise from the ground. For a few seconds the giant weapon moved horizontally and vertically, as if seeking a target, then as swiftly as it had appeared it disappeared into the ground.

"I say, we've stumbled across one of the frontier forts," exclaimed Kenneth. "Let's go a bit closer and have a look. I'd like to find out how they work."

"Thanks, I'm not having any," objected Rollo. "There's too much barbed wire knocking about. Besides, there are our bikes."

"We needn't wriggle under the wire, this road on our right evidently leads to the fort. We'll get a bit closer; but hold on a minute, we'll see if that gun pops up again."

They waited for at least five minutes, but without the expected result. As they turned to retrace their steps, they were confronted by a tall Belgian soldier wearing the blue uniform of the artillery.

"C'est défendu: marchez!" he ordered sternly.

"All right, monsieur," replied Kenneth. "We've lost our way. Which is the Liége road?"

"You are foreigners," exclaimed the soldier, bringing his bayonet to the "ready".

"Yes, English."

"You must come with me."

"We have motor-bicycles."

"No matter. They will be attended to. Forward!"

Realizing the uselessness of attempting to argue the point the lads obeyed, the soldier following three paces in the rear with his rifle and bayonet at the slope.

After covering a distance of about a hundred yards between the edge of the barbed-wire entanglements and the dip formed by the sunken road, the arrested lads found themselves in the presence of a corporal and a file of men.

"You must be taken before the major. I am sorry, but these are my orders," declared the corporal civilly, after ascertaining that the two chums were English. "No doubt you will be permitted to go with but little delay."

"Will our motor-bicycles be all right?" asked Rollo anxiously. "We left them a little way down the lane."

"I will send a man to look after them," was the reply. "We must take you into Fort Loncine, and you must be blindfolded. These are my orders whenever we find strangers in the vicinity of the defences."

"Very well," replied Kenneth with as good a grace as he could command, at the same time producing his handkerchief.

Guided by soldiers, the two blindfolded youths were led into the fort. Kenneth kept count of the number of paces before crossing the drawbridge; they totalled four hundred and eighty-five, which, allowing thirty inches for his long stride, meant that the glacis, or level grassy ground surrounding the fort, was a little over four hundred yards in breadth.

When the handkerchiefs were removed from their eyes the lads found themselves in a large vaulted room lighted by electricity. On three sides were several low-arched doorways, on the fourth a fairly broad gateway through which they had been brought. Although it was impossible to see straight into the open air, a distant glimpse of diffused daylight showed that this entrance communicated either with the glacis or else an enclosed portion of the fort that was exposed to the rays of the sun.

Seated on benches or lolling against the walls were quite a hundred soldiers, yet the place was by no means crowded. Beyond looking with evident curiosity at the two lads under arrest, they took no further interest in them.

Presently a sergeant approached and questioned the guards concerning their prisoners.

"English? Perhaps they are sent ... but, no; they are but youths. Bring them along. I will inform Major Résimont."

The sergeant knocked at one of the doors, and in reply to a muffled "Entrez!" he passed through. The lads noticed that the door was of steel, and required considerable effort on the part of the non-commissioned officer to open it.

"Englishmen found in the vicinity of the fort, mon major," announced the sergeant, saluting and standing stiffly at attention.

"Let them enter. Ah, my young friends, this, then, is the manner in which you come to Liége?"

The two chums could well express astonishment, for their questioner was none other than the officer who in Namur had advised them to abandon their proposed visit to the Birmingham of Belgium.

"Well, what have you to say?" proceeded the major.

"We lost our way and scrambled on to the bank to see where we were. We happened to catch sight of one of the guns, with disappearing mountings, and we were curious to see what happened," replied Kenneth.

"Your curiosity might lead you into trouble," said the Belgian officer gravely. "How am I to know that you are not German spies?"

Kenneth bridled indignantly.

"We give you our word that we are not."

"Your word will hardly do, monsieur, at a time like this. Can you produce proofs? Have you anyone in the district who can identify you?"

The lads produced their permits.

"This will hardly do," continued the major as he scanned Kenneth's document. "These are only too easy to obtain. Ha! Your name is Barrington?" he asked, turning to the owner of that patronymic.

"Yes, sir," replied Rollo. "My father is a retired colonel in the British army."

"His Christian name?"

Rollo told him.

"Then I know your father; not intimately, perhaps, yet I am acquainted with him. I met him at your great manoeuvres at Aldershot, to which I was sent as attaché in 1904. But, tell me, why are you both so anxious to go to Liége?"

"My sister is at a boarding-school near Visé," replied Kenneth. "I want to see her, as she is not returning home for the holidays."

"She is at the institution of Madame de la Barre?"

"Yes, sir; how did you know that?" asked Kenneth eagerly.

"I have the pleasure of Mademoiselle Everest's acquaintance," replied the major with a deep bow. "In fact, she is a great friend of my daughter, Yvonne. You are free to depart, messieurs, but perhaps you will do me a favour. Convey my compliments to Madame de la Barre, and say that it is advisable that she should remove her school from Visé as soon as possible. Should you find it inconvenient to take your sister to England, please inform her that she may find a temporary home with Yvonne at my house in the Rue de la Tribune in Brussels."

"That we will gladly do, and let you know the result."

Major Résimont smiled.

"My duty prevents me from being my own messenger," he said. "I was on the point of sending one of my men with a letter, but you will, according to your English proverb, kill two birds with one stone. To-night, if you wish to see me, I hope to be at the Café Royal, in the Rue Breidel at Liége, from eight till eleven. Will you, before you depart, honour me by taking a glass of wine?"

"What do you think of the situation, sir?" asked Rollo.

Major Résimont shook his head.

"Serious," he said solemnly. "At any moment these pigs of Prussians may cross the frontier. Only one thing will hold them back: the fear of your English fleet. You are fortunate, you English, in having the sea around your country, yet I think you do not give sufficient thought towards the significance of the fact."

"But Great Britain has not declared war on Germany."

"No, not yet, but perhaps soon. Your country would do incalculable service to France and Belgium simply by holding the sea; yet in addition she has generously pledged herself to send almost the whole of her army to Belgium if the Germans attack us. Then the rest will be a question of time. We in Liége will do our utmost to keep the invaders at bay until your brave army arrives. Then, with the French, to say nothing of the Russians on the east, Germany will be assailed and conquered, and the vile spectre of Teutonic militarism will be for ever laid low."

The Belgian major spoke with conviction. His earnestness in the hope of British aid was intense.

"And we are ready," continued the major. "Already the bridges across the Meuse are mined; our armoured forts will defy the heaviest of the German artillery. We will keep the Germans at bay for a month if need be. Meanwhile you two messieurs journey through Belgium as calmly as if you were on an English country road. You English are brave, but you are enigmas. But take this and show it if you are challenged," and he wrote out a pass on an official form.

The major accompanied his involuntary guests as far as the edge of the glacis. This time they were not blindfolded; yet there was very little to be seen, except to the practised eye of a trained man. There were mountings for quick-firing guns, and just discernible above the turf the rounded tops of the steel cupolas. Beyond that the fort looked nothing more than an earthworked enclosure.

Somewhat to the lads' astonishment they found their motor-cycles placed on a trolley. The Belgian soldiers, not understanding the action of the exhaust lever, had been unable to wheel the heavy mounts; and since their orders had to be obeyed, they had first resorted to the toilsome task of carrying the mounts. This, owing to the heat of the day and the thickness of their clothing, was eventually abandoned, and a trolley procured.

"You have a clear road," announced Major Résimont. "When you re-enter the lane, keep to the left; that will bring you speedily upon the highway. Au revoir, messieurs!"

Somewhat to the wonderment of the Belgian soldiers, who could not understand how the unwieldy machines could be moved by manual power, the lads took a running start. Both engines fired easily, and soon the tourists were speeding along through the outskirts of the city of Liége.

CHAPTER IV

Enlisted

"Madame de la Barre presents her compliments, but regrets that the regulations of her establishment do not permit her pupils to receive visits except during certain hours," announced a stern-faced Flemish woman in broken French.

Kenneth glanced at his companion,

"What's to be done now?" he asked.

"Give her Major Résimont's message. Say it's very urgent," advised Rollo.

The lads, curbing their impatience, waited for another ten minutes outside the lofty blank wall surrounding the boarding-school. The air was sultry, and the glare from the whitewashed walls was almost blinding. The pavé seemed to throw out a stifling heat. The village street was practically deserted, but in the neighbouring fields a row of peasant women were bending over their monotonous task of pulling vegetables. Farther away some cows were lying down under the scant shade afforded by a few gaunt trees. Otherwise the landscape was devoid of life.

Presently a woman passed, leading a little girl by the hand. She was a buxom, comely peasant, the child bright-faced and apparently well-cared-for. They were laughing and chattering. Then a man on a dog-drawn cart came down the street. The animals, their tongues protruding and their sides heaving with the heat, were moving at a leisurely pace. The man made no attempt to hurry them. He was smiling contentedly, and called out a cheery greeting in Flemish to the patient audience before the gate of Madame de la Barre. A little way down the street he halted his team and entered a cottage. He was lame, hence he had not been called up on mobilization.

Presently the maid-servant reappeared.

"Madame thanks Monsieur the Major, but at present sees no reason for taking his advice. Should war be declared she will take necessary steps to safeguard her pupils. If Mademoiselle Résimont is to be sent to her home at Brussels, no doubt Monsieur the Major will communicate in writing with Madame. If Monsieur Everest desires to see his sister he can do so in the presence of Madame at eleven o'clock to-morrow."

Having delivered this ultimatum, the maid shut the door and shot the massive bolts.

"Done this time!" ejaculated Kenneth. "Let's get back to Liége. There'll be plenty to see."

The lads set off at a rapid pace in spite of the heat. They were on foot, having placed their motor-cycles in the village of Argenteau.

By the time they regained Argenteau a change had come over the little hamlet. A detachment of engineers was in possession. The men, discarding their heavy greatcoats, were busily engaged in throwing up earthworks, while almost within arm's-length their rifles were piled, each weapon with its bayonet fixed.

"Halte-là!" The tip of a bayonet presented within a couple of inches of Rollo's chest brought both lads to a sudden stop. "Qui v'là?"

The production of the pass with which Major Résimont had provided them was sufficient, and without further hindrance the two friends gained the inn.

As they passed under the archway they found that their beloved motor-cycles had vanished.

"Pardon, messieurs!" exclaimed the landlord on catching sight of the two lads. "It was not my fault, I assure you. It is the order of the Government. They have taken away all the horses, all the carts——"

"And our motor-cycles?"

"Hélas, messieurs, it is a fact. Nevertheless, the Government will pay——"

"Where are they taken to?" asked Kenneth.

"They were placed in a transport wagon, monsieur. It left in the direction of Liége not fifteen minutes ago."

"Let's hurry and catch it up," suggested Rollo. "It's daylight robbery. I believe that rascally innkeeper has played a trick on us."

Alternately running and walking, the English lads kept up a rapid pace along the road that followed the right bank of the Meuse between Argenteau and Liége. Mile after mile they went, without a sign of a transport wagon. Troops there were in plenty, all carrying entrenching tools in addition to arms. Yet, in spite of these warlike movements, the women were toiling unconcernedly in the fields, either indifferent to the danger that threatened them, or else basking in the confidence of the ability of the Belgian troops and their allies to thrust back the approaching tide of invasion.

At the village of Wandre Rollo gave vent to a shout of delight. Standing outside an inn was an army wagon, and under its tilt, in company with a medley of other articles, were their motor-cycles.

"Now, what's to be done?" asked Rollo.

"I vote we take them and make off as hard as we can," suggested Kenneth. "The soldiers in charge are evidently after more official loot."

"Won't do," replied the cautious Rollo. "Ten to one we would hopelessly damage the bikes getting them off the wagon. The best we can do is to tackle the fellow in charge."

"The fellow in charge" turned out to be a phlegmatic Walloon corporal. When appealed to he replied that he was acting under the orders of his lieutenant, and that he must account for all the articles on his list upon his return to Liége. The production of Major Résimont's pass did not save the situation, although the Belgian's demeanour thawed considerably.

"Nevertheless, if messieurs are English, perhaps they would like to ride on the wagon. At Liége, no doubt, all will be set right," he added.

It was, fortunately, the last of that particular corporal's work, and he was at liberty to return without delay. A sapper drove, the corporal sitting beside him on the box seat. On the tail-board, with their backs against their precious motor-cycles, sat the two lads, another sapper keeping them company.

As the cart jolted through the village of Jupille there came a dull rumbling, like that of distant thunder.

"Guns!" exclaimed Rollo.

"Thunder, I think," declared his chum.

The Belgian soldier, when questioned, merely remarked in matter-of-fact tones:

"We are blowing up the bridges, monsieur."

The work of demolition had already begun. The Belgian troops, with commendable forethought, had destroyed four bridges across the Meuse in order to delay the momentarily expected German advance. Yet, on either side of the sluggish river, peasants were unconcernedly toiling in the fields.

As the wagon passed the loftily-situated and obsolete fort of La Chatreuse a round of cheering could be heard from the city of Liége. Presently the strains of "La Brabançonne"—the Belgian National Anthem—could be distinguished above the din.

The sapper began to grow excited.

"All is well, messieurs," he exclaimed. "We are now ready for these Prussians. Our Third Division has arrived."

Presently the head of the column of blue-greatcoated troops swung blithely along the road to take up positions in the newly-constructed trenches between Fort de Barchon and Fort de Fléron. The men marched well, although covered with dust from head to foot; for during the previous forty-eight hours they had, by forced marches, covered more than eighty miles from Diest to their allotted positions at Liége. Yet, for some unaccountable reason, these troops went into what was soon to be the firing-line in blue tunics with white facings, which would offer a conspicuous target to their foes.

It was late in the afternoon when the cart drew up in a large open space by the side of the Church of St. Jacques. The square was crowded with all kinds of military transport and commissariat wagons. Officers were shouting orders, men were rushing hither and thither, motors were popping, horses neighing.

The corporal in charge of the wagon descended and stood rigidly at attention. For quite a quarter of an hour he remained in this attitude, without any of the officers approaching to give him further directions. The crowd of wagons became more congested, till Kenneth and Rollo realized that, should they regain possession of their mounts, there would be great difficulty in wheeling them out of the press.

Suddenly Kenneth gripped his friend's shoulder and pointed in the direction of a group of officers.

"There's Major Résimont!" he exclaimed. "He'll get us out of the fix."

"Ah! You have got yourselves in a difficulty again, that I can see," declared the genial Major. "What, then, is the trouble?"

Briefly Kenneth described the commandeering of their motor-cycles.

"I am indeed most busy," said Major Résimont, and the perspiration on his face did not belie this statement. "Nevertheless, come with me, and we will find the Quartermaster of the Commissariat."

He led the lads at a rapid pace through several crowded thoroughfares. At one point the press was so great as to impede their progress. The Liégeois were shouting and cheering, cries of "Vive la Belgique!" and "Vive l'Angleterre!" predominating. Outside a large building a Union Jack and the Belgian tricolour had been hoisted side by side. A telegraphic communication had just been received that Great Britain had declared war on Germany.

"Ah! I thought it," chuckled the Major. "Now the Prussians will get the right-about. My friends, the Germans are also now your enemies," and he shook Kenneth and Rollo by the hand. "What will you do? Return to England and join the army?"

"We are not old enough for commissions, sir," replied Kenneth; then on the spur of the moment he added: "Couldn't we be attached to the Belgian army as dispatch-riders?"

Rollo almost gasped at his chum's impetuosity, but loyalty to his chum and a desire to do something against the oppressor of Europe checked his inclination to counsel caution.

"We will see," said the Major gravely. "It is good to see such a spirit amongst Englishmen to come to the aid of our brave Belgians. You are resolute?"

"Rather!" declared Kenneth stoutly; and Rollo likewise signified his willingness.

The Quartermaster having been found at his office, Major Résimont soon obtained the requisite order for the release of the Englishmen's motor-cycles.

"Now, this way!" he exclaimed.

Five minutes' brisk walk brought them to the door of a large building at which were stationed two soldiers in the uniform of the Grenadiers. These stood stiffly at attention as the Major entered, drawing themselves up with an alertness that was almost entirely lacking in most of the men of the line regiments.

Giving his name to a staff officer, the Major had to wait in an ante-room, with at least a dozen other officers, mostly of brevet rank. At length his turn came, for business was being carried out with dispatch.

"Monsieur le Major Résimont, mon Général," announced a junior officer, as he opened the door and motioned for the Belgian Major and his two companions to enter.

Seated at a table was a man in the undress uniform of the Belgian staff. He was sparely built, although from his attitude it was impossible to judge his height. His features were sallow, one might almost say cadaverous, with a bright tinge of red upon his prominent cheek-bones. Heavily-bushed eyebrows overhung a pair of deep-set eyes that seemed hawk-like in their intensity. His closely-cropped hair was iron-grey. A slightly drooping moustache hid a resolute mouth.

The two English lads were in the presence of a man whose name, hitherto practically unknown outside his own country, was soon to be on the lips of everyone who was likely to hear of the gallant stand of Liége—General Albert Leman.

A quick vertical motion of the General's right hand—he was a man of few words—was the signal for Major Résimont to make known his business.

"I have here two Englishmen, mon Général," began the Major. "They are desirous of entering our army as motor-cyclist dispatch-riders."

Without a moment's delay the General asked: "Can they read a map?"

Kenneth and Rollo both replied that they could.

"Good!" exclaimed General Leman; then, turning to his secretary, he added: "Make out an order for these gentlemen to be attached to the 9th regiment of the line—your company, Major?"

"If you please, sir."

"Here, then, is the order," continued the General after a brief instant, during which the secretary had been writing as hard as he possibly could. "They can be sworn in as soon as an opportunity occurs. I wish you good day."

That was all. The whole business was over in less than five minutes. Not a word of thanks or encouragement to the two British volunteers. A chill had descended upon their ardour.

"The General—he is magnificent," said their companion as they gained the street. "Down to the humblest private we swear by him. One has to earn praise from the General before it is bestowed: it is our General's way. He is a man of few words, but his heart is in the right place. Now go and demand your motor-cycles and proceed to Fort de Barchon. I will meet you there and see you are attested."

With that the Major hurried off, and the two lads hastened to take possession of their own property.

"Fancy Great Britain being at war with Germany at last!" exclaimed Kenneth. "We can hardly realize it, although most people have been talking about it for years. Perhaps even now our fleet is giving the Germans a good hiding. The rotten part about our job is that we may not be able to get news of how things are going on at home."

Therein Kenneth was right. The news they received was mostly rumour. In fact, the statement they had just heard, that Great Britain had declared war, was premature. An ultimatum had been sent to Berlin stating that, unless Belgian neutrality were respected, hostilities would commence at midnight. The Liégeois had anticipated the hour, and so had the Germans, for already their mine-layers were at work in the North Sea.

An hour later, just as the sun was sinking behind the smoke-enshrouded city of Liége, Kenneth Everest and Rollo Barrington were enlisted as volunteer dispatch-riders in the 9th regiment of the line of the Belgian army.

CHAPTER V

A Baptism of Fire

At eight o'clock on the following morning the motorcyclist section—nine in number—was paraded in front of the orderly-room of Fort de Barchon. Already the bulk of the regiments had marched out to take up a position in the trenches between the fortifications and the right bank of the Meuse.

The two English lads had been served out with a dark-blue uniform, with heavy boots and brown gaiters, and had been armed with a Belgian service revolver—a .45-bore, made by the famous firm of Cockerill of Seraing.

Already they had been instructed in its use, and had—thanks to their cadet training—met with the approval of their musketry instructor. Their motor-cycles had also been subjected to a critical inspection. The officer—who in civil life had been in the motor industry at Liége—had to report, in spite of slight professional jealousy, that the English motor-cycles were fit for service, and almost equal to those owned by the other members of the dispatch-riding section.

One by one the men were called into the orderly-room, where they received instructions and dispatches, till only Kenneth and Rollo remained.

"Private Ever-r-rest and Private Bar-r-rington," shouted the orderly-room sergeant, sounding his r's like the roll of a drum.

Within they found Major Résimont, and, as befitting their relative rank, the lads saluted and stood at attention.

"Deliver this to Captain Leboeuf at Visé," ordered the Major. "In view of the German advance, he is to cross the river and impede the enemy as much as possible, retiring upon Fort de Pontisse if in danger of being outflanked." Then dropping the official voice, he added in English, "Since Madame de la Barre would pay no heed to my request, it is necessary for strategic reasons to occupy her house. You may now have an opportunity of seeing your sister, Monsieur Everest. There are, I believe, only our pupils there during the holidays. Captain Leboeuf will arrange for them to be sent into Maastricht by train, or by a carriage if railway communication is interrupted. They can then proceed to Brussels in the ordinary way. You might give this to Mademoiselle Yvonne for incidental expenses for herself and her friend, your sister," and the Major handed Kenneth a packet containing a sheaf of notes.

"Be cautious," he added. "The Germans have already advanced upon Lembourg."

The lads saluted and withdrew. A minute later they were dashing over the drawbridge, bound on their first duty as dispatch-riders in the Belgian army, though with a semi-official motive.

Away on their right came the rapid booming of light artillery fire. Beyond the woods of Verviers a thick cloud of black smoke rose sullenly in the heavy air.

Their route lay along a fairly level road bounded on each side by tall trees. In the centre was a strip of pavé, but between it and the ditch on either hand was a dusty path which afforded good going. The cyclists were soon touching thirty miles an hour, the rapid beats of their engines drowning the noise of the distant cannonade.

Once they had to slow down in order to allow a cart to draw up on one side. The floor of the cart was covered with straw, and on the straw lay some strange objects. The lads did not realize what these burdens were. They were new to the game of war, but not for long.

Presently they noticed a group of soldiers approaching. Thrice the lads sounded their horns without effect. Again they had to slow down.

"Good heavens! Look!" ejaculated Kenneth.

The men were limping painfully. One had his arm thrown around a comrade's neck, and his head falling limply upon the other's shoulder. Another, his head bound by a blood-stained scarf, was using the butt of his rifle as a crutch.

"There's been an action already," said Rollo.

"Yes, and on the Visé road," added his companion. "Let's push on. I hope we are not too late."

During the slowing-down process the thunder of the guns became horribly distinct. There was terrific firing in the direction of Argenteau. More, there were heavy Belgian losses, for the men they had just passed were but the van of a ghastly procession of wounded.

At Argenteau a body of reserves was in possession of the village. Barricades had been hastily constructed, walls of buildings loopholed, and barbed-wire entanglements placed across the road.

"Halte-là!"

Rollo came to a standstill with the point of a Belgian bayonet within a couple of inches of his chest. Kenneth, who was twenty yards in the rear, almost as promptly alighted.

"Qui v'là?" demanded the sentry.

"Dispatches for Captain Leboeuf," replied Kenneth.

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.

At length they reached the trench where the Belgian infantry, taking admirable cover, were replying steadily to the hail of ill-directed rifle bullets. The only unwounded officer was a slim young lieutenant—a mere boy.

"We have dispatches for Captain Leboeuf, sir," announced Kenneth. "He was in charge of an outpost at Visé."

"Visé is all aflame," replied the officer. "No doubt the Captain has crossed the Meuse. But we are about to retire, so look to yourselves. The enemy is threatening our right flank, otherwise we might hold this trench for another twenty-four hours."

"Any orders, sir, before we return to Fort de Barchon?"

"Yes; ride as quickly as you can to Saint André. The rest of our company is there. Tell the officer in command that I am retiring, and that unless he falls back he is in danger of being cut off. You understand? Good, now——"

The lieutenant's instructions ended in a faint shriek. His hands flew to his chest, and he pitched forward on his face.

A grizzled colour-sergeant instantly took command.

"Retire by sections!" he shouted. "Steady, men, no hurry. Keep them back as long as you can."

The caution was in vain. While the untried troops were lining the trench and replying to the German fire, all went well; but at the order to retire, men broke and ran for their lives. Heedless of the cover afforded by the ditch, they swarmed along the road in the direction of Argenteau, shrapnel and bullet accounting for half their numbers. Only the sergeant, two corporals, and the British dispatch-riders remained.

The Germans, advancing in close formation, were now eight hundred yards off.

Without a word the Belgian sergeant crawled along the trench, picking up the rifles and caps of the slain and placing them at intervals along the top of the mound; while the rest, including Kenneth and Rollo, who had taken possession of a couple of abandoned rifles, maintained a rapid magazine fire at the approaching troops.

"Each for himself, mes enfants," said the veteran at length. "One at a time and trust to luck."

With that a corporal cast aside his greatcoat and heavy knapsack. He was about to make a plunge through the zone of hissing bullets when Kenneth stopped him.

"There's a ditch farther along," he announced. "We came that way."

The man hesitated, then, communicated the news to his sergeant.

"Come then, mes braves," exclaimed the veteran.

One by one, crawling along the ditch the five made their way, till they gained the comparative shelter afforded by the walls of a ruined cottage. Proof against bullets, the house had been practically demolished by shell-fire.

"We must go back and get our bikes," declared Kenneth. "It's fairly safe. Those fellows are apparently directing their fire against those caps and rifles showing above the trench."

They found their steeds uninjured. In record time they were in the saddle and tearing along the avenue, which here and there was dotted with dead Belgians. The wounded had evidently been carried off by their comrades.

As they passed the ruined cottage where they had parted from the three soldiers the latter were no longer to be seen, but a hoarse cry of "A moi, camarades!" caused Rollo to turn. He alone caught the appeal, for Kenneth had secured a slight start and the noise of his engine had drowned the shout for aid.

"Hold on!" shouted Rollo; but Kenneth, unaware of the call, was out of ear-shot, and doing a good thirty or forty miles an hour.

Leaving his engine still running, Rollo dismounted and made his way towards the building. Shots were whistling overhead. He crouched as he hastened, for he had not yet acquired the contempt for the screech of a bullet that the old soldier has, knowing that with the whizzing of the missile that particular danger has passed.

Lying against the bullet-spattered wall was the old sergeant. A fragment of shrapnel, rebounding from the masonry, had fractured his left ankle.

There was no time for first-aid. The Germans were now within three hundred yards of the abandoned trench. Throwing his arms round the sergeant's body, Rollo lifted him from the ground, then kneeling, he managed to transfer him across his back. Fortunately the wounded man was not very heavy, and the lad, staggering under his burden, carried him to the place where he had left his motor-cycle.

Just then came the rapid pop-pop of another motor-bike. Kenneth, having discovered that his chum was no longer in his company, had returned.

"Give me a push off, old man," panted Rollo, as he set his burden across the carrier and stood astride his steed.

In went the clutch; Kenneth, running by the side of the cycle for a few yards, steadied the wounded sergeant, who was clinging desperately to the young dispatch-rider.

"All right, let go!" shouted Rollo.

The bike wobbled dangerously under the unusual burden. The sergeant's grip wellnigh destroyed the lad's power of command on the steering. The zipp of a bullet did much to add to the difficulty, and momentarily Rollo thought that nothing could save him from toppling into the ditch.

"Let go my arms and catch hold of my waist," he shouted desperately. The sergeant fortunately understood and obeyed; the motor-cycle began to recover its balance, and as Rollo opened the throttle and increased speed it settled down to its normal condition.

On either side the trees seemed to slip past like the spokes of a wheel; the pace was terrific, and although the wounded man must have been suffering agonies, not a groan came from his lips.

Presently Kenneth rode up alongside, for they were out of range and the road was no longer encumbered with the fallen. Five minutes later the two lads dismounted at the barricade of Argenteau.

Here ready arms relieved Rollo of his burden; soldiers assisted in lifting the cycles over the barrier. As they did so one of them pointed to one of the tool-bag panniers on Rollo's cycle. It was pierced by a bullet.

"Where are you going to?" demanded a major.

"To Saint André, to warn a half-company of the 9th regiment to retire, sir."

"It is unnecessary. The men have already rejoined. Return to Fort de Barchon and say that if need be we can still hold the enemy in check, but that we are losing heavily."

Soon they were back again at Argenteau, with instructions for the remains of the badly-mauled regiment to fall back upon the lines of defence prepared between the two forts in the north-eastern side of the circle surrounding Liége.

The invaders had been delayed sufficiently to allow General Leman to complete his dispositions. They were yet to learn that even the much-vaunted German infantry could not afford to despise the gallant Belgians.

"It's a jolly sight better than Rugby, anyway," declared Kenneth, as at the end of their first day on active service they returned to their quarters at Fort de Barchon.

But Rollo did not reply. He was thinking of the bullet hole in the pannier of his cycle. It had been a narrow squeak.

CHAPTER VI

A Vain Assault

"I say, how about your sister, old man?" asked Rollo.

"She's all right," replied Kenneth optimistically. "These Germans don't make war on women and girls. Besides, Madame de la Barre doubtless dropped a little of her standoffishness directly she heard the sound of firing. I'm pretty sure they are now either safe in Dutch territory or else on their way to Brussels."

"If I had a sister I would be a jolly sight more anxious about her than you are," persisted Rollo.

"Now, how can I help it? Besides, you don't know Thelma. She wouldn't, under the circumstances, wait for Madame to give her permission to clear out, and, since Yvonne is her special friend, she'll look after the Major's daughter as well. I'm sorry we haven't come across Major Résimont since our return."

"He must feel a bit anxious," remarked Rollo.

"About the money he entrusted us with?" laughed Kenneth. "Well, I admit that it was a bit of a risk, for we might have been bowled over by one of those German shells. Ah! there's another!"

The two dispatch-riders were under cover at Fort de Barchon, enjoying a hasty meal after their return from their fruitless errand. It was late in the day, and many hours had elapsed since they had had anything to eat. It was a kind of preliminary to the period of short rations through which they were to pass.

The German artillery was furtively shelling the Liége forts as a prelude to the general bombardment that was to take place as soon as the shades of night began to fall.

General von Emmich had brought up a force of 88,000 men against the 23,000 Belgian troops manning the Liége defences; but, owing to the difficulty of transporting his heavy guns, the German commander decided to open a furious cannonade with his light field artillery, and to follow up with an assault by means of dense masses of troops.

Soon the cannonade became general, the heaviest of the hostile fire being directed upon Forts d'Évegnée and de Fléron, while Fort de Barchon came in for a hot bombardment.

It was by no means a one-sided encounter. The Belgian infantry, lying snugly sheltered either in the trenches or in the bomb-proof galleries of the forts, were for the time being inactive. The Belgian gunners, however, worked their guns in the armoured cupolas with skill, bravery, and precision, and at the end of two hours' bombardment the forts were practically intact.

Kenneth and Rollo, in the galleries of Fort de Barchon, could feel the concussion of the revolving guns and the detonations of the exploding German shells, although they were, like the rest of the infantry, in ignorance of what was taking place. The inaction was far more nerve-racking than actual exposure with the chance of getting in a shot.

Suddenly above the roar of the artillery came a bugle-call, followed by excited shouts of "Aux armes!" Instantly there was a wild rush to man the parapets on the inner face of the glacis.

"Come along, old man!" exclaimed Kenneth. "We may as well have a look in."

Snatching up a rifle and making sure that the magazine was charged, he dashed out of the gallery, Rollo following hard on his heels.

A weird sight met their eyes. The blackness of the night was pierced by the dazzling rays of powerful searchlights and punctuated by the rapid flashes from the heavy ordnance. The thunder of the guns was ear-splitting, the crash of the exploding projectiles appalling, yet the attention of the two lads was directed towards the scene that lay before them.

All along the parapet, protected by sandbags, were the Belgian infantry, ready, with their rifles sighted to 800 yards, to open fire at the word of command. Beyond the turf of the glacis, where almost every blade of grass stood up under the sweeping rays of the searchlights as if made of gleaming silver, were dense masses of grey-coated, spike-helmeted Germans.

On they came as steadily as if on parade, while between the rapid crashes of the artillery could be distinguished the harsh voices of the men as they sang "Deutschland über Alles" and the "Wacht am Rhein". The only relief to those grey-clad battalions was the glitter of the forest of bayonets.

If numbers could annihilate, the fate of the comparative handful of Belgians was sealed; but von Emmich had, like many another man, underrated the courage of the plucky little Belgians.

The Germans were now within the danger-zone of shell-fire. Shrapnel tore ghastly lanes through their serried ranks, but other men were instantly forthcoming to fill up the gaps. On and on they came till they reached the outer edge of the glacis. Here the huge fortress-guns in the armoured cupolas could not be sufficiently depressed to do them harm.

The crackle of the Belgian musketry added to the din. The men, firing steadily, swept away hundreds of their Teutonic foes, but the ant-like swarm of ferocious humanity still swept onwards.

Kenneth and Rollo were firing away as hard as they could thrust home the bolts of the rifles and press trigger. The hostile gun-fire had now ceased, lest German should fall by German shell. The infantry, firing with the butts of their rifles at the hip, let loose a terrific volley. The air was torn by the zipp of the bullets, but for the most part the hail of missiles either flew high or harmlessly expended itself in the soft earth. Now, in spite of the withering fire, the foremost of the German stormers were almost up to the parapet of the outer defences. Victory seemed within their grasp. Their shouts redoubled. Drunk with the apparent success of their suicidal tactics, they rushed to overwhelm the slender line of Belgian riflemen.

Through the rapidly-drifting clouds of smoke—for there was a strong wind blowing athwart the line of attack—the two British lads could clearly see the features of the exultant foes, as they recklessly plunged straight into the dazzling rays of the searchlight.

Mechanically Kenneth began to wonder what would happen next, for it seemed imminent that bayonet would cross bayonet, and that the handful of Belgian infantry would be cut off to the last man.

Then, even as he faced the enemy, the dense masses of Germans seemed to melt away. They fell, not in sixes and sevens, but in scores and hundreds, till a barricade of dead prevented the massacre of the living. The Belgians had machine-guns in readiness to take up the work that the heavier weapons had been obliged to suspend.

The commandant of the 9th regiment of the line saw his chance. The rattle of the Berthier machine-guns ceased as if by magic, and the shout was heard "A la baïonnette!"

Instantly the active Belgians swarmed over the glacis and threw themselves upon the demoralized foe. The repulse of the Germans became a rout.

Carried away by the enthusiasm of the charge, the British dispatch-riders tore along with their Belgian comrades, Kenneth with rifle and bayonet, while Rollo was brandishing his Mauser and using the butt-end like an exaggerated hockey-stick.

Just in front of them was a little Belgian officer who, on the point of cutting down a burly German major, had arrested the fatal stroke upon the latter crying out for quarter. The German, who had been beaten to the ground, tendered his sword, and the Belgian, casting it aside, rushed on to continue the counter-charge.

Before he had taken two strides he fell, hit in the ankle, and Kenneth, who was following, promptly tripped across his body.

The sight of his chum pitching on his face caused Rollo's heart to jump into his mouth. He stopped, and to his great relief Kenneth regained his feet. The Belgian also attempted to rise, but could only raise himself to the extent of his outstretched arms.

Rollo was on the point of going to assist his chum, who was directing his attention to the wounded Belgian officer, when he saw the German major stealthily produce his revolver and take aim at the man who had spared his life.

Perhaps it was well for the ungrateful major that Rollo was a keen footballer. Forgetting that he held a clubbed rifle in his hand the lad took a flying kick; his boot caught the German major on the wrist, and the revolver, exploding harmlessly, went spinning a dozen paces away.

Standing over the recreant officer Rollo swung the butt of his rifle. The German howled for mercy.

"Hold hard, old man!" shouted Kenneth, grasping his chum by the shoulder. He could scarcely credit his senses, seeing the usually deliberate and self-possessed Rollo about to kill a defenceless German officer.

"That brute was about to shoot down a fellow who had given him quarter," hissed Rollo: "that captain over there, the one sitting up with a wounded leg."

"We'll collar the cad in any case," declared Kenneth, for the Belgian troops were now being recalled. The attack had been repulsed, but the defenders were too wary to risk being caught out in the open.

Drawing his revolver Rollo ordered the German to rise. The Major apparently did not understand French, for he only cried the more.

"Get up instantly," exclaimed Rollo in English.

The German looked at his captor in surprise. His appeals for mercy ceased. He stood up.

"I surrender," he said in the same language.

With one of the British lads on either side the prisoner was urged onwards at a rapid pace, surrounded by swarms of exultant Belgians, many of whom were limping or nursing their wounded arms. Others were supporting or carrying those of their comrades who were more seriously hurt, yet all were uplifted by their enthusiasm at the thought of having vanquished von Emmich's hordes.

Upon gaining the shelter of Fort de Barchon the British lads handed their prisoner over to the charge of a corporal and a file of men. It was well for the German that his captors refrained from giving the Belgian soldiers an account of the circumstances under which he had been made prisoner.

The German major seemed dazed. He could not understand how he had been captured by Englishmen; for it had been given out to the troops of von Emmich's division that Great Britain had decided to remain neutral. Her attitude had been gained by a promise on the part of the German Government that only the French and Belgian colonies should be annexed, and that no permanent occupation of these two countries was contemplated. And now he had been informed that Great Britain and her vast empire beyond the seas had fallen into line to aid right against might. The news troubled him beyond measure—far more than the probability of what the result of his treacherous act would be; for he was a Teuton imbued with the belief that all is fair in war, and that treaties and conventions are alike mere matters of form.

"Ah! you have been in the fight," exclaimed Major Résimont. "That should not be. Dispatch-riders are required for other things."

Kenneth and Rollo saluted.

"Couldn't help it," explained Kenneth. "When the men charged we simply had to go. It was splendid."

"You think so? So do we," said the Major proudly. "We have taught the Bosches a lesson; we have shown them that Belgians can fight. We must hold them in front of the Liége forts for a few days, and then the French and the English armies will be here. A matter of three days, perhaps, and then, pouf! they blow the Kaiser and his armies upon the bayonets of the Russians. It is good to think that the English are so close."

CHAPTER VII

Disabling a Taube

"Here is the money and the letter you entrusted us with, sir," said Kenneth. "We couldn't get within five miles of Visé."

"The place is burned to the ground, I hear," announced Major Résimont. "Those Prussians are like devils, they spare neither man, woman, nor child. Liége is filled with terrible stories brought by the peasants who escaped. I could, alas! gather no definite tidings of my daughter or of her friend your sister, Monsieur Everest. One thing is certain. They left before the German shells began to fall in Visé, but whither, I know not. Let us hope they went to Maastricht."

It was now early morning. The bombardment, which had ceased during the futile assault, was now being renewed, although the fire lacked the fierceness that characterized the beginning of the siege of Liége.

The Belgian reply, too, had almost ceased, for so rapidly had the big guns been served that they had become overheated. Moreover—a further proof of German methods—the ordnance supplied by Krupp's to the Belgian Government before the war was obviously inferior in workmanship and material, and in consequence had rapidly deteriorated.

The two British dispatch-riders had run across Major Résimont in one of the vaulted galleries. He looked tired and worried: tired owing to the fact that he had been for seventeen hours on duty in the trenches or in the fort; worried by reason of anxiety for his daughter. Yet he was willing and anxious to face the Germans at any time they should take it into their heads to attempt another assault.

"If I were you I would take the chance to get a few hours' sleep," he advised as he bade the lads au revoir. "Remember what I said the next time there is an attack: a dispatch-rider's duty is not in the firing-line. His work lies in another sphere, equally hazardous and equally important."

"Jolly good advice about getting some sleep, at all events," remarked Kenneth, after the Major had gone. "I vote we turn in. I had no idea I was so horribly sleepy until just now."

"Guns or no guns, I think I can do my share of sleep," agreed Rollo. "Let us put the scheme into practice."

Just then the heavy armoured door of the gallery was thrown open, and an authoritative voice shouted:

"Dispatch-riders! Are there any dispatch-riders here?"

"Here, sir," replied the lads promptly.

"Ah! The English motor-cyclists," exclaimed the Belgian—a staff officer. "Do you know the headquarters offices in the Palace of Justice in Liége?"

"Yes, sir," was again the reply.

"Good! Take this paper—you!" (pointing to Kenneth)—"and deliver it into the hands of Commandant Fleurus at all costs, and await his commands. Your comrade will accompany you, so that should you meet with any mishap he is to take the paper from you and proceed. You understand? Good! Now, away!"

"A good spin will be almost as refreshing as a few hours' sleep, Rollo," said Kenneth, as the two chums made their way to the place where their motor-cycles were stored, protected by three feet of concrete and six feet of earth from hostile shells.

"With plenty of excitement thrown in," added Rollo. "We'll have a difficulty to dodge those shells as we get clear of the fort, I'm thinking."

"Rush it and trust to luck. We'll do it all right," declared Kenneth optimistically, as he hurriedly overhauled his cycle and proceeded to warm up the engine.

It was a tricky business getting out of the fort, for the sunken lane that wound through the extensive glacis was littered with debris of exploded shells. There were deep holes in several places, while at various points the effect of the German projectiles was evident by the fact that the approach to the fort was choked by landslides. Thrice the lads had to dismount and push their cycles over obstacles, to the accompaniment of the dull crash of the shells, some of which burst unpleasantly near.

All the while, although not a defender was visible, the armoured cupolas were appearing and disappearing with the regularity of clockwork, sending out their iron hail upon the pontoons which the German engineers were constructing to replace the broken bridges at Visé and Argenteau.

"All out!" exclaimed Rollo as they reached the open road.

With throttle well open and spark advanced, both motor-cycles bounded forward. The pace was terrific. At times the riders were almost jerked from the saddles as their steeds leapt across the irregularities on the surface of the pavé. The lads could no longer hear the thunder of the guns: it was drowned by the roar of their exhausts. The wind shrieked past their ears, grit flew in showers, a cloud of dust followed in their wake. Suddenly they saw a large silvery-grey object swoop down about a quarter of a mile ahead, close to the outskirts of the village of Jupille, which had been abandoned by the terrified inhabitants. The riders recognized it as one of the German Taubes that had been aggressively active during the operations by locating the position of the Belgian trenches.

The monoplane was in difficulties. It took all the skill of the pilot to prevent it from making a nose-end dive to earth. With superb presence of mind he managed to restore the disturbed equilibrium and to bring the Taube to rest without much damage.

Bringing his motor-cycle to a halt, Kenneth dismounted and placed his mount on its stand. Rollo did likewise.

"What's the game?" he asked as his companion unfastened the flap of his holster.

"We'll collar those fellows," declared Kenneth resolutely "They must not get away."

"But the dispatch?"

"This is more important, I guess. See, those fellows are already setting things to rights. Before any of the Belgian vedettes can come up they will be off again."

Kenneth was right in his surmise. There were no troops within a mile of the place. The two men who formed the crew of the monoplane were feverishly tackling the work of making good the damage. One of the wires actuating the elevating gear had been cut through by a chance Belgian bullet—one amongst a thousand more that had been fired at the troublesome Taube.

"Surrender!" shouted Kenneth, advancing to within fifty feet of the aviators and levelling his revolver. Rollo, cooler than his companion, steadied the barrel of his heavy pistol in the crook of his arm.

The pilot had been so engrossed in his work that he had not noticed the arrival of the lads. At the sound of Kenneth's voice he had just completed the joining up of the severed wire. He made a rush to the propeller and began to swing it in order to start the engine.

This was more than Kenneth had bargained for. It seemed too much like shooting down a man in cold blood. He need not have been so chivalrous, for the next instant a bullet tore through his hair and sent his cap a couple of yards away. The observer of the Taube had, at the first alarm, flung himself upon the ground and had fired at the lad with a rifle.

Before the man could thrust home a fresh cartridge Kenneth was snug behind a rise in the ground. Rollo, twenty paces to the right, had likewise taken cover.

The powerful motor was now working. The propeller blades glittered like a circle of light as they revolved with a terrific buzz. The draught of the propeller threw up a cloud of dust as high as a three-storied house. Through the haze thus caused the lads could distinguish the forms of the aviators as they scrambled into their seats.

Both dispatch-riders emptied the contents of their revolvers, perhaps a little wildly, but the result was none the less disastrous to the Taube. There was a blinding flash, a report, and a rush of air that drove the dust-cloud in all directions. One of the bullets had pierced the petrol-tank, and a spark had done the rest.

In an instant the Taube was enveloped in flame. The pilot, his hands held to his face, was stumbling blindly away from the inferno, his clothes burning furiously. The observer ran for nearly twenty yards, spun round thrice, and collapsed.

Rollo was the one in this instance to take the initiative. He ran to the pilot, tripped him up, and began to heap handfuls of dust upon his burning clothing. By Kenneth's aid the flames were extinguished, but by this time the unfortunate German was unconscious.

As for the observer, he was found severely wounded, one of the heavy revolver bullets having passed completely through his shoulder.

"Now, what's to be done?" asked Rollo, as the lads ejected the expended ammunition and reloaded their revolvers.

"Carry on with the dispatch, of course," replied Kenneth. "We can do no more here. Hello! Here are the Belgian cavalry."

Up rode a patrol of lancers. Dismounting, and leaving their horses in charge of one-third of their number, the men advanced. The officer in charge took in the situation at a glance, for the twelve empty revolver cartridges on the ground told their own tale.

"You had better proceed; enough time has already been wasted," he said, when he learnt the mission of the dispatch-riders. "We will attend to these."

"That's a nasty knock," observed Rollo ruefully, as they hurried back to their motor-cycles.

"H'm, yes," admitted his companion reluctantly. "Perhaps the chap was a bit nettled because his men didn't bag the Taube."

But as they rode past the scene of their exploit the Captain called his men to attention—a tribute to the resource and daring of the British lads. Already the Belgian cavalrymen had shown signs of their humanity, for by means of their lances two stretchers had been improvised, and the wounded aviators were on the way to one of the hospitals in the beleaguered city.

CHAPTER VIII

In British Uniforms

Shells were intermittently dropping upon the houses and in the streets as Kenneth and Rollo entered the apparently deserted city of Liége. The majority of the inhabitants, their numbers augmented by hundreds of terrified refugees from the surrounding villages, had taken refuge in cellars, while crowds, under the mistaken belief in the immunity of the churches from shell-fire, had sought doubtful shelter in the sacred edifices. Others, again, fearful at the threat of von Emmich to begin a general bombardment upon the city unless the forts surrendered—a threat that the gallant General Leman treated with contempt—were boarding the last trains to leave Liége.

The day was excessively hot and close. The wind that had blown strongly during the preceding night had dropped. Several of the houses had taken fire, and the pungent smell of smoke filled the air. Frequently, before the dispatch-riders reached their destination, they were compelled to slacken pace, owing to the clouds of smoke that drifted slowly across the almost deserted streets.

They found the commandant, with several of his staff, calmly engaged in his work, and heedless of the fact that several shells had already burst in front of the Palace of Justice in which he had taken up his quarters.

Commandant Fleurus was a short, stocky man of about fifty, and rather inclined to corpulence. His head was as bald as an egg, with the exception of a ring of jet-black hair like a monkish tonsure. His eyes were small, resembling black beads, and rapid in their movements.

He was writing when Kenneth was shown in. Without moving his head, which was slightly inclined, he fixed the dispatch-rider with his piercing stare.

"Message, sir, from Major le Tourneur."

The commandant took the letter and, with a swift movement, tore open the flap of the envelope.

"This is marked 7.15 a.m.!" he exclaimed. "It's now a quarter to nine. Why this delay?"

"We—that is, my comrade—crippled a Taube, sir."

"Crippled a Taube? What, pray, has a dispatch-rider to do with Taubes?" demanded Commandante Fleurus sternly. "Do you know that it is your duty to deliver messages at all costs, and in the least possible time, regardless of Taubes, Zeppelins, and the German Emperor himself?"

Kenneth did not reply. The fiery nature of the little Belgian literally consumed him. He had, however, the good sense to see that the rebuke was merited.

"Well, sir, what have you to say?"

"It was an error of judgment, sir, which I regret," said Kenneth. "We crippled the Taube as it was on the point of rising. Otherwise——"

"Were there no troops available?"

"Some lancers arrived while the Taube was burning."

The commandant turned and took hold of a telephone that stood on the table at his side.

"Send Captain Planchenoît to me," he ordered; then, leaning back in his chair, he again fixed the British lad with his beady eyes.

It was quite two minutes before the captain appeared, and the time seemed like two hours to the crestfallen Kenneth. He had yet to learn the lesson that cast-iron discipline demands, and it seemed galling that his part in crippling one of the aerial spies should be practically ignored by the man who ought to have gone into ecstasies over the news.

Presently Captain Planchenoît entered, clicked his heels and saluted, then waited his superior officer's pleasure. The captain was a smart-looking man of more than average height, with a pleasant, open countenance. He was on the intelligence staff, attached to the brigade that had been hurriedly brought up from Diest.

"Any information respecting the destruction of one of the enemy's aeroplanes?" demanded the commandant.

"Yes, mon commandant. It descended near the village of Jupille. Before our lancers could approach it took fire. Our men found both pilot and observer wounded and brought them back. The captain of the troop reported that the Taube was set on fire by the pistol-shots of two dispatch-riders."

"At any risk to themselves?"

"I know not, sir."

"At any risk?" repeated Commandant Fleurus, shifting his glance from Captain Planchenoît to Kenneth.

In reply the lad removed his Belgian military cap and pointed to the double hole made by the German observer's bullet.

To Kenneth's surprise the commandant leant back in his chair and gave vent to a hearty laugh. Then he stood up and grasped the hand of the astonished youth.

"Go, bring in your compatriot," he exclaimed.

"What's the game, old man?" asked Rollo, who was cooling his heels in the corridor.

"Goodness knows! I can't make the little commandant out. He's an enigma. I've had a gruelling. Come along."

Kenneth jerked out his sentences awkwardly, then, catching hold of his chum's arm, led him into the commandant's presence.

"Captain Planchenoît," said the latter, after returning Rollo's salute. "You applied for two additional dispatch-riders, I believe?"

"That is so, mon commandant," replied the captain.

"Good! Now listen to this, you brave Englishmen. This is the dispatch you brought. It is from Major Résimont: 'In reply to your request for dispatch-riders I send you two English motor-cyclists, MM. Kenneth Everest and Rollo Barrington. From what I already know of them they are courageous and resolute, and their services are likely to be of more use in the operations before Brussels than within the fortress of Barchon. More so in view of the possible early appearance of the English forces who are to co-operate with the Belgian armies in the field.'"

"It is very good of Major Résimont to speak so well of us," said Kenneth. "Of course we must go where we are ordered, and that willingly; but we should be sorry to part from Major Résimont and the 9th Regiment of the Line."

"It does not necessarily mean severing your connection with your old regiment—if old I might term it," declared the commandant. "In strict confidence I may tell you—I know that English gentlemen are always honourable—that perhaps before to-morrow we must abandon the city to the invaders. Our numbers are insufficient to hold the trenches linking the chain of forts. We must concentrate our armies to the west of Liége, leaving the forts to hold out until the English and French armies arrive. It is a sad thing to have to abandon such a city as this to the ruthless Germans, but sacrifices must be made for the honour of our country. Captain Planchenoît will give you instruction where to proceed."

Just at that moment an orderly-sergeant entered the room, his face purple with excitement.

"Sir," he announced, "four English officers are without. They have arrived from Ostend by motor-car and desire to see the General Leman."

Commandant Fleurus took the pieces of pasteboard the sergeant held in his hand, and passed them on first to Kenneth and then to Rollo.

"See if you know any of these gentlemen," he said.

"Yes," replied Rollo. "I know Major Athol Duncan-Dean of the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry. Hello! What's the meaning of this?" he added in his native tongue.

"Jolly rummy, anyhow," commented Kenneth, for in the word "Cornwall's" the apostrophe was after the "s".

"And Major Duncan-Dean is too mighty particular to pass a mistake on his visiting-card like that," added Rollo.

"Perhaps he lost his own and had them printed in Belgium, and didn't notice the mistake until it was too late."

"I'll mention it to the commandant. It's fishy."

"Since you know the officer, Monsieur Barrington," said the commandant, when Kenneth had explained the nature of the error, "perhaps you will go with this sergeant. Present my compliments, and say that the General Leman is at Fort de Loncin, and that I, Commandant Fleurus, will be pleased to receive the English officers in his absence. But, listen; if by any chance the Major Duncan-Dean is not the one you know, say that the General will receive presently, ask them to wait, and return immediately to me."

Escorted by the sergeant, Rollo was taken to a room where four officers, correctly dressed in British field-service uniform, were seated. One glance was sufficient. None of them bore any resemblance to the Major Duncan-Dean whom the lad knew well. There was only one major of that name in the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry, and he was a fairly frequent visitor at Colonel Barrington's house, especially during the shooting season.

Rollo delivered the commandant's message in English, explaining that he was British but attached to the Belgian army, and that he was a son of Colonel Barrington of Holmfrith, near Truro.

There was no sign of recognition on the part of the supposed Major Duncan-Dean; instead, an awkward silence prevailed. None of the four officers seemed at all anxious to reply. They all looked disappointed and embarrassed.

"Our message is of great importance and for only the ears of General Leman," said one of them at last. "We will not trouble the commandant except to give us permits to enter Fort Loncin and to telephone to the General that we are about to arrive."

Suddenly a hand grasped Rollo's shoulder in a vice-like grip, and the muzzle of a revolver was clapped against his temple.

"One sound and you are dead!" exclaimed a stern voice.

The lad was already convinced that the so-called British army officers were Germans in disguise. Not only was he sure that the pseudo Major Duncan-Dean was an impostor; the peculiar phraseology of the man who had replied to the commandant's message confirmed his conclusions. To crown everything, there was the conviction carried by the muzzle of that revolver.

Rollo spent a nasty minute. His mind was working furiously, weighing up the factors of the situation. To raise the alarm meant death to himself; to fail to do so might result in the cold-blooded massacre of Commandant Fleurus and several of the staff; while, with the head-quarters telephone at their disposal, the four Germans might play havoc with the plans of the Belgian Commander-in-Chief.

The Germans were talking rapidly in a low tone. The one who held Rollo prisoner still kept the revolver against the lad's temple; the rest had each drawn an automatic pistol, and were evidently about to force their way into the presence of the commandant.

"I'll wait till those fellows go out into the corridor," thought the lad, "then I'll try the effect of a sudden blow in this gentleman's wind. It may do the trick; if not, my number's up. Anyway, it's better than being snuffed out without making an attempt to fight for it."

Although he kept as quiet as he possibly could, Rollo could feel his heart thumping violently, while his temples throbbed until the muzzle of the German's revolver seemed to be beating a tattoo.

"Keep steady!" hissed his captor. "This pistol has hair-trigger. Might go off if you shake."

It was on the tip of Rollo's tongue to reply that he was not shaking by reason of fear; but realizing that such a statement might put the German additionally upon his guard, the lad kept silent.

Presently one of the conspirators replaced his revolver, and with his free hand grasped the handle of the door. The other two stood behind, ready to sally forth on their murderous and treacherous work.

Rollo mentally pulled himself together. Another ten or twenty seconds would decide the fate of his plan—and of himself.

Suddenly the subdued daylight of the room was pierced by a dozen simultaneous flashes. The rattle of musketry sounded like the discharge of a twenty-one-inch howitzer. The place was filled with the haze of smokeless powder.

Instinctively the lad ducked. There was a tremendous crash above his head. A thousand lights danced before his eyes, and he lost consciousness.

CHAPTER IX

A Midnight Retirement

When Rollo opened his eyes he found himself lying in the open air. He was in one of the courtyards of the Palace of Justice. The thunder of the bombardment still roared. The noise of the guns recalled his scattered thoughts to the event that had almost cost him his life.

A Belgian army doctor was kneeling by his side, while Kenneth supported his head. Around him stood a number of soldiers, some of whom had paused in the act of cleaning their rifles in order to watch their English comrade's return to consciousness.

"Hello, Kenneth!" exclaimed Rollo, somewhat vacantly. "What has happened? Ah, I know—those Germans!"

"They won't trouble us again, old man," replied Kenneth. "You're in luck again. It was your suspicions that put the commandant on his guard. But I'll tell you more about it later on."

"You must not unduly excite your friend," cautioned the doctor. "He has no bodily injury, but his nerves are stricken. He must rest until to-morrow. I will have him taken into a safe cellar, where he need fear nothing from those German shells."

"Won't you come with me, Kenneth?" asked Rollo.

"Sorry, old man, but I'm warned for duty at five o'clock—seventeen hours, they call it. All being well, I'll look you up in the morning."

"See that my bike is all right."

"Rather!" replied Kenneth cheerily. "Don't worry about it. I'll look after it."

Later on in the evening Rollo heard of the circumstances under which the supposed British officers were shot down.

The room in which they had been asked to wait was, years ago, used as a place of observation for prisoners awaiting trial. The carved oak panelling terminated about six inches from the heavily-raftered ceiling. At one end was a space between two parallel massive beams, through which, from a gallery without, it was possible to observe all that was taking place, although the watchers were themselves unseen.

Upon his attention being called to the error on the pseudo British major's visiting-card, the commandant's suspicions were aroused. As soon as Rollo was dispatched with his message, a file of skilled riflemen ascended the observation gallery. Noiselessly they took up their positions, and having witnessed the holding up of their British comrade, they delivered a volley that instantly exterminated the treacherous Germans.

Rollo had, indeed, a narrow escape, for his captor in falling had convulsively pressed the trigger of his revolver. The bullet missed the lad's head by a couple of inches, but the blast from the muzzle had scorched his temple.

Barrington was in the midst of a deep slumber, in spite of the thunder of the guns, when he was awakened by someone shaking him by the shoulder.

"What's up?" he asked sleepily, for at the moment he fancied himself back at St. Cyprian's. By the feeble glimmer of a candle-lantern he saw his chum.

"Sorry to disturb you, old man," said Kenneth apologetically, "but if you don't want to find yourself a prisoner in the hands of the Germans you must make a move. The bulk of the Belgian infantry is evacuating the town. The mayor is going to surrender Liége at noon, I believe."

"The forts haven't fallen?" asked Rollo, springing out of bed, only to discover how shaky he felt.

"Not a bit of it," replied Kenneth confidently. "They'll hold out for months, I expect. No, it is only on account of the damage to the public buildings and private property that Liége is to be given up. I don't think it will be of much use to the Germans. They'll have considerable difficulty to pass between the forts. They say the Germans have had another nasty reverse, and that they asked for an armistice in order to bury their dead. Our fellows have refused; they are beginning to sum up the cultured Teuton at his true price. But how do you feel?"

"Pretty fit, though a bit rocky," admitted Rollo. "Where are the bikes?"

"We'll have to wheel them. I've taken off the belts. Orders have been given for the troops intended for the field to withdraw as quietly as possible, you know. Come along."

Rollo had now thrown on his clothes, his chum assisting him to buckle on the belt to which was attached his revolver holster. Together they left the vaulted cellar and gained the street. It was a perfectly dark night. The stars were obscured, the air was misty and hot. Away to the north, south, and east the sky was illuminated by the lightning-like glare of the heavy guns as the forts exchanged a hot fire with the German field artillery.

"Can you manage it?" asked Kenneth anxiously, as Rollo wheeled his deliberately crippled motor into the street.

"Rather," replied his companion with forced determination. "I'm not keen on leaving my jigger for a rascally Prussian to smash. I'm jolly glad we are still attached to the 9th Regiment of the Line. We may see more of Major Résimont. He's quite a decent sort."

"And Captain Planchenoît is a brick," added Kenneth. "I've been talking to some of the men in his company. They swear by him; but he's awfully keen on discipline, they say, and gets plenty of work out of his men."

The dispatch-riders found the regiment drawn up in column of fours in a narrow street behind the Church of St. Jacques. In this dense formation the men would have suffered severely had a shell fallen in their ranks; but owing to the fact that the Germans were hoping to take early possession of the city, their gunners no longer dropped projectiles into Liége, devoting their attention to the stubborn forts that had already thrown the imperial time-table into confusion.

Although the Belgian troops were no longer elated, they were far from being downcast. They realized that strategic reasons necessitated the evacuation of the city. They hoped that the forts could hold out. Already they had proved themselves equal man for man to the vaunted soldiers of the Kaiser. Their object was now to contest every yard of the way to Brussels, their determination being strengthened by the widespread belief that the pick of the English army would speedily be fighting by their side.

Several of the men of the 9th Regiment bore evidences of the hard part they had taken in the repulse of the initial German attacks. Many had bandages round their heads; others had their hands swathed in linen, while a few limped badly; yet one and all showed resolute courage that augured ill for any Prussian regiment which should happen to cross steel with the valiant defenders of the cockpit of Europe.

Presently the Colonel gave an order. The men unfixed bayonets and sloped arms. In the centre of the column the lads could see the cased colours round which a fierce struggle had taken place during the preceding day. Then, at the word of command, the regiment swung briskly along the narrow street.

Kenneth and Rollo found themselves with two other dispatch-riders at the rear of the column. The other motor-cyclists had gone on a journey that knows no return. There was also a detachment of twenty cyclists belonging to the regiment, but most of these silent scouts were far afield, making certain that the line of retreat was in no danger of being ambushed by the wily Uhlans.

The route lay between Forts de Hollogne and de Flémalle, through tortuous by-lanes. Over and over again the column was obliged to halt owing to the congestion of the roads, for twenty thousand Belgian troops—field artillery, cavalry, and infantry—were evacuating the doomed city that night.

Before they were clear of the environs of Liége, Rollo began to feel the effects of his adventure with the German officers. The sweat poured from him as he gamely pushed his unwieldy motor-cycle. Anxiously Kenneth watched him, unable to give assistance save by a few words of encouragement. Every time there was a halt Rollo leant across the saddle, welcoming the rest, yet dreading the exertion required to resume the tortuous march. To lag behind was to risk capture, for small parties of Uhlans were known to have penetrated into the villages of Hollogne and Montegnée, which lay between the as yet unconquered forts and the city of Liége; otherwise he would have fallen out, waited till dawn, and then cycled to overtake the regiment.

During one of these short, unavoidable, halts a voice came through the darkness.

"Monsieur Everest—is Monsieur Everest there?"

"Here I am, sir," replied Kenneth, recognizing the voice as that of Captain Planchenoît.

"Ah, good! I wish to enquire after your English comrade."

"He is here, sir."

"Ah, again good! I thought he would be unfit to move."

"He's not very much up to the mark, sir."

The captain flashed an electric torch upon the motor-cyclists.

"Ciel! you are indeed right, Monsieur Everest. I will see to matters. Private Roulaix," he added, addressing a Belgian who was walking his "push-bike", "place your bicycle in the first wagon that passes. Say that I, Captain Planchenoît, orders it. Then relieve your English comrade of his motor-cycle. Monsieur Barrington, as soon as Private Roulaix returns I will take you to one of the wagons. You are not, at present, fit to walk, still less to push that motor-cycle."

For the rest of that night Kenneth was without the company of his chum. As the grey dawn began to break, he too felt that he was nearly done up, but still the steady retreat continued.

It was not until six o'clock in the morning that the 9th Regiment of the Line was ordered to bivouac outside the village of Omal. Here trenches were dug, barbed-wire entanglements set up, barns and cottages loopholed and placed in a state of defence in order to keep in check the German hordes until the expected aid was forthcoming.

For the next twenty-four hours the 9th Regiment was inactive, as far as actual fighting was concerned. With the rest of the mobile Belgian forces, the men were enjoying a well-earned respite and improving their position.

Although Rollo still remained off duty, Kenneth, with the rest of the motor dispatch-riders, had plenty to do. Frequently the lad had to ride off at full speed to carry orders to bands of armed civilians to cease firing upon Belgian airmen; for these plucky air-scouts were so harried by the fire of their undisciplined fellow-countrymen that it is not to be wondered at that after a time they declined to fly at all.

Kenneth had just returned from one of these errands when the Colonel of the regiment sent for him.

"You know the way to Tongres?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," replied the lad promptly, for although he had never been there, a close study of the map had enabled him to fix its position in his mind.

"Then bear a verbal message to General Féchard. Say that in view of an impending strong attack upon our position reinforcements are urgently requested to hold the village of Omal. Mitrailleuses are particularly desirable. Is that clear? Then repeat the message."

Kenneth did so satisfactorily. The Colonel nodded approval.

"Now go," said he. "As quickly as you can, for the situation is critical."

CHAPTER X

The Uhlan Patrol

Rollo was standing by his chum's motor-cycle when Kenneth left the Colonel's quarters—a cottage standing well apart from the rest of the village.

"Thought you'd be off somewhere when the Colonel sent for you, old man," he said. "Well, I could go with you, but I feel absolutely rotten. Look here," and Barrington opened his coat and displayed the tops of two soda-water bottles, "I managed to get hold of these. Take one."

"No, thanks," replied Kenneth. "You want them a jolly sight more than I do."

"But you must," persisted Rollo. "It's fearfully hot to-day. Besides, I think I can get hold of some more."

"All right," agreed his chum reluctantly, and taking one of the bottles he placed it in the outside breast-pocket of his coat, resolving to restore it intact upon his return.

The request of the Colonel of the 9th Regiment was most essential. To the north of Omal was a gap of nearly two miles in the Belgian line, as a portion of one of the brigades had failed to take up its allotted position. Omal was a salient angle in the defenders' formation, and should the village be carried by the Germans the Belgian army would be split asunder by the wedge-like advance of their far more numerous foes.

Although the country was fairly open Kenneth rode cautiously. It was a nerve-racking ordeal, since every bush or tree might be affording concealment to the Uhlans, who were known to have already penetrated far into the country. Almost as dangerous were the Belgian guerrillas, who often fired indiscriminately upon any man in a uniform that they failed to recognize.

But beyond being twice stopped by Belgian patrols and made to produce his military pass, Kenneth reached his destination without being molested. He delivered his message, receiving a reply that a machine-gun detachment would be sent off as quickly as possible, and set off on his return journey.

Perhaps the fact that he had but recently passed along the same road without difficulty made him slightly reckless. He increased his speed till the motor-cycle was travelling at nearly forty miles an hour.

Soon he came to a straight, narrow road lined with gaunt trees—one of the avenues that are a common feature in the eastern part of Belgium. Suddenly he gave a gasp of surprise. A horseman had just appeared at the farthermost end of the avenue. At first the lad took him to be one of the Belgian lancers, whose similarity to the German Uhlans was somewhat pronounced, but a rapidly nearing view assured him that the man was one of the enemy.

Another Uhlan joined the first. They both lowered their lances and waited.

Kenneth slipped out his clutch and applied both brakes. The motor-cycle came quickly to a stop, the engine running furiously, while the open "cut-out" emitted a rapid succession of sharp reports like the detonations of a Maxim-gun.

There was yet time to turn his cycle, remount, and escape by the way he had come, he reasoned; but, even as he was in the act of facing about, he made the additionally disconcerting discovery that his retreat was cut off. Five or six Uhlans had evidently been in ambush, and, having allowed the solitary dispatch-rider to pass them, were waiting to assist in his capture. The ditch and the trees formed an impassable barrier for the heavy motor-cycle; while without it flight was almost out of the question, when it was the case of a man on foot pursued by the fleet Uhlan horses.

For one brief instant the thought of surrendering tamely flashed through the lad's mind. He bore no written dispatch; his capture would result in no important information being gained by the enemy. It seemed the easiest solution to the problem.

"I'm dashed if I do," ejaculated Kenneth, banishing the temptation almost as soon as it suggested itself. "Here goes; it's neck or nothing."

He was back in the saddle in double-quick time. With the clutch in and the engine barking furiously he tore towards the two Uhlans, who were sitting on their horses at a distance of about fifty yards from each other.

Kenneth drew his revolver. With his right hand thus occupied, throttle and air lever had to take care of themselves. At thirty miles an hour he tore towards the nearmost of his antagonists.

The Uhlan lowered his lance-point. He was trembling to such an extent that the glittering point was describing erratic curves in the sunlight. His resolution had vanished at the sight of the rapidly-approaching motor-cycle. His horse began to rear, alarmed by the loud and rapid pulsations of the engine.

Kenneth's hopes rose. He saw the possibility of being able to slip past the plunging, terrified animal, and in order to improve his chances he let fly a couple of shots, both of which missed their mark.

No longer was the long lance a menace. The Uhlan's whole efforts were centred in trying to keep his seat, while the now maddened animal snorted and plunged in a most frantic manner.

Still grasping his revolver, although he made no further attempt to use it, the young dispatch-rider placed his wrist upon the right handle-grip in order to steady the steering. He shut his jaw tightly. The critical moment was nigh.

Suddenly the horse backed, barring the narrow path to safety. Kenneth saw in the fraction of a second that a collision was inevitable. He had a momentary glimpse of the Uhlan's panic-stricken face, his staring eyes and wide-open mouth—then crash!

KENNETH HAD A MOMENTARY GLIMPSE OF THE UHLAN'S PANIC-STRICKEN FACE ... THEN CRASH!

Hardly knowing whether he was injured or not, Kenneth scrambled to his feet. His motor-cycle was on its side within a yard of the prostrate and still kicking horse. His revolver had vanished. In his fall it had flown from his grasp into the ditch. The Uhlan lay upon the ground motionless—whether killed or merely stunned the lad knew not; nor had he an opportunity to ascertain, for in front of him was another German, and four hundred yards behind him the five or six who had cut off his retreat.

The man in front had succeeded in regaining control over his less startled horse and, lance in rest, bore down upon the defenceless motor-cyclist.

Hardly knowing how he did it, Kenneth cleared the ditch and sought a temporary refuge behind a tree. He realized that the respite would be but a brief one, for on the approach of the rest of the patrol his "number would be up". Infuriated by the mishap to their comrade, the savage Uhlans, whose chief mission it was to strike terror into the inhabitants of a conquered district, would not be likely to give quarter.

Suddenly Kenneth's hand came in contact with the soda-water bottle that Rollo had pressed upon him. He drew it from his pocket, and as the Uhlan rode up to the edge of the ditch he dashed it to the ground at the feet of the restless horse.

The result exceeded the lad's wildest expectations, for the bottle broke with a report almost equal to that of a small shell. Fragments of glass flew in all directions. The horse reared, maddened by the slight wounds caused by the sharp pieces of the broken bottle. Its rider, quite as terrified, formed but one conclusion, that the desperate Belgian (as he took Kenneth to be) was armed with bombs. Spurring his horse he rode for dear life towards his comrades, who, rendered cautious at the sight of two of their number being worsted, hesitated to advance.

Kenneth, too, was on the horns of a dilemma. To all appearances his cycle was hopelessly damaged, and although the road was clear he stood little chance of escaping from the rest of the Uhlans. To remain where he was was equally hazardous. With his revolver in his possession he would readily have made a brave stand, but the weapon was lying in five feet of mud and water.

Suddenly came the tap, tap, tap of a machine-gun. The rest of the Uhlan patrol broke and fled across the fields, leaving two of their number writhing on the ground. Another had his horse shot under him, but, quite callous to their comrades' fate, the three remaining fugitives never slackened rein, their sole thoughts being for their own safety.

Kenneth recrossed the ditch—far less agilely than he had a few moments before, for his thigh was aching dully. He could see no signs of his rescuers. The fire had evidently been a long-range one.

He made his way to his motor-cycle. With considerable effort he raised it and placed it on its stand. Upon examination he found that the damage done was not so great as he fully expected. The actual collision had smashed the lamp and bent the stem of the handle-bars, but, thanks to the powerful springs, the front forks had stood the severe strain of the impact. The controls were intact, while the only other damage was that the left foot-rest was bent. In falling sideways the weight of the cycle had been thrown upon this exposed part, which had, to a great extent, saved the machine.

At the second attempt the motor fired. The hind wheel revolved without showing any signs of wobbling. The lad gave a whoop of delight; his precious mount was still serviceable.

He next directed his attention towards the Uhlan whom, in naval parlance, he had "rammed". The fellow had been stunned by the fall from his horse, but was on the point of regaining consciousness.

"You look a tough customer, my friend," soliloquized the lad as he looked upon the coarse, brutal features of his vanquished assailant. "I think you will be quite capable of looking after yourself, without requiring any attention from me. I'll take your helmet as a souvenir, though; and, while I am about it, I think I'll stop you from doing further mischief."

With this Kenneth removed the Uhlan's sword, lance, and carbine. The lance, being made of light steel, he broke into three pieces; the other weapons and the German's ammunition he threw into the ditch to keep company with his own revolver.

While thus engaged the motor-cyclist perceived the approach of a body of men accompanied by dogs. They were the Belgian machine-gun battery whose fire had effectually routed the Uhlan patrol.

"They'll be at Omal before me," thought Kenneth. "I suppose it would be best to stop and explain matters; for if I made off they might take it into their heads to pot me."

"So you have settled with one of this scum," exclaimed the Belgian major in charge of the detachment as he returned Kenneth's salute. "Ma foi! I am of a mind to shoot him."

"But he is a prisoner of war," expostulated the lad.

The Belgian shrugged his shoulders.

"You have but to go to that burning cottage"—he pointed to a building about a mile and a half away—"to see what these wretches have been doing. A whole family of inoffensive peasants shot—men, women, and children. Yes, children," he added, noting the incredulous look on the British lad's face.

"However, we Belgians must set an example to those savages," continued the officer. "We will at least take him with us, and put him on a fair trial. But you are unarmed: how did you vanquish this fellow?"

Kenneth told him. The Belgian major and those of his men who were within ear-shot simply roared with laughter.

"Charged his horse with your motor-cycle, and frightened away another Uhlan with a soda-water bottle!" exclaimed the officer when he recovered himself. "Excellent! It shows that these Germans are not a quarter as formidable as they would have us believe. Were you hurt?"

"Only bruised a little, sir. But, with your permission, I will go, or your men will be with my regiment before I am."

The lad ran his cycle and vaulted into the saddle. The motor ran as well as before, and, beyond a slight difficulty in the steering, it was none the worse for its rough handling. The damage to the lamp mattered but little, as, by night, riding lights were forbidden, since they might betray the rider to the enemy.

Having reported the success of his mission and the approach of the dog-drawn machine-gun detachment, Kenneth went to find his chum.

Rollo was sitting, in company with others of the dispatch-rider section, in a shelter made of branches of trees and rough thatch.

"Hullo, old man!" he exclaimed. "What have you there—a Uhlan helmet? And what's the matter with your bike?"

Kenneth explained, and afterwards had to repeat his story in French for the benefit of the others.

"I will help you to straighten the handle-bars," volunteered one of the Belgian cyclists, who was a motor-repairer by trade. "Meanwhile, if you are desirous of sending that helmet to your friends in England, you will do well to pack it up at once. There is a dispatch leaving for Brussels within half an hour."

"I wonder what the governor will say to this," observed Kenneth as he directed the bulky package. "My first trophy! Goodness only knows when we shall hear from home."

The lads had already written to their respective parents informing them of the drastic step they had taken, but, owing to the dislocation of the postal service, no reply had been forthcoming, and they had hardly expected one.

It took two hours' hard work in the blazing sunshine for Kenneth and his Belgian friend to set the motorcycle to rights.

"If I hadn't been so inconsiderate as to throw that bottle of soda-water away we might have had a decent drink," observed Kenneth as he fanned his perspiring brow.

"Never mind," rejoined Rollo. "You might have drunk it as soon as I gave you the bottle; in which case I don't suppose you would have felt the benefit of it now."

"I don't suppose I would," agreed Kenneth grimly.

CHAPTER XI

The Raid on Tongres

During the next few days events moved rapidly, the Belgians having to retire before vastly superior forces in point of numbers.

It so happened that on the Sunday, the 9th of August, Kenneth and Rollo were sent to Tongres with a message to the burgomaster, giving him instructions as to the removal of the town treasury to a place of greater safety.

The place had little appearance of being in the war area when the two lads rode into it. The Belgian troops had evacuated it on the previous day, and since there were no signs of the invaders, the remaining inhabitants were almost at their ease. Many of them, dressed in their best, were on their way to church.

Alighting outside the town hall, the two dispatch-riders enquired for the chief magistrate, only to be informed that he was in another part of the town on official business, but was expected back within an hour.

"Is there no way of sending for him?" asked Rollo of the member of the Civil Guard who had answered their summons.

The man shook his head doubtfully.

"It is just possible," he replied. "I will see my sergeant, and he will doubtless give the necessary orders. Meanwhile messieurs might like to rest at the inn? Immediately upon the burgomaster's return I will see that you are informed."

"Not a bad idea that," was Kenneth's comment. "We'll put up the bikes and order a decent meal. Roughing it on active service is all very fine, but there are times when one likes to have a slightly more civilized table than that of mother earth. I wonder if we could get a bath?"

Everest's hopes were not to be realized, for, with many apologies, the landlord informed the British lads that he had nothing in the way of déjeuner. Bacon and eggs? No; he was without either. He might see if his friend, Monsieur Jambonne, could oblige; but, in the meanwhile, would messieurs care to sit in the salle à manger? Café au lait? Yes; that would be ready in a few minutes.

Selecting two comfortable chairs in front of the wide-open window, the chums awaited the return of the burgomaster. There was plenty to be seen, for the townsfolk were still streaming along the broad thoroughfare, discoursing mainly upon the all-absorbing topic of the war.

All at once the people stopped. Some of them turned and fled; others backed against the walls of the houses, or else took refuge in the hastily-opened doors.

"What's up now, I wonder?" asked Rollo, leaning out of the window only to retire hastily.

Trotting along the road was a squadron of German cavalry. The enemy had made a totally unexpected raid upon the town of Tongres.

"It won't do for us to be seen," exclaimed Kenneth, "especially in uniform. And those fellows are particularly certain to make a bee-line for the various inns as soon as they break ranks. Let's clear out."

Just then up ran the landlord, who had taken the precaution of closing and barring his doors, an example which many of his neighbours hastened to follow.

"Do not remain here, messieurs, I implore you," he began in rapid sentences punctuated with excited gestures. "If the Bosches find men in uniform in my house they will be furious with me."

"All right," said Kenneth reassuringly. "If we can get our cycles out by the back way we'll clear off and give the alarm. Two regiments ought to be sufficient to trap these fellows."

"It is impossible to escape, messieurs. The Germans are holding all the approaches to the town."

"Then what do you suggest?" asked Rollo calmly.

"The roof, monsieur; thence you can make your way along by the parapets of many houses, till you reach the roof of the chapelle. There you ought to be safe, unless these rascals take it into their heads to burn the town."

"Very well; show us the way," agreed Rollo. "Only see if you can manage to hide our motor-cycles."

Having shown the lads the exit on to the roof, their host left them to their own devices. It was a comparatively easy matter to creep along the gutters, for they were hidden from observation by the parapets of the various adjacent buildings. The only difficult part of the journey was crossing the gap between the end house and the roof of the chapelle—a distance of about five feet in width. Sixty feet below there was a narrow alley, through which several terrified townsfolk were hurrying, all too intent to gaze skywards as the lads made their daring leap.

"Now we're safe for the present," exclaimed Kenneth. "We can even look over the parapet and see what's going on."

"Right-o! only take your cap off. It might attract attention," cautioned Rollo. "If we keep close to this pinnacle it ought to be as safe as anything, unless some fool of a civilian starts taking pot-shots at those fellows."

From their lofty refuge the lads were enabled to observe the methods adopted by the Germans in "holding-up" the town. With the cavalry were four armoured motor-cars in which were mounted quick-firing guns. These were stationed in the square so as to command the principal approaches. Meanwhile most of the horsemen had dismounted, and had set off on various prearranged missions. Some proceeded to the post-office, where they destroyed the telephone and telegraph instruments and, as was afterwards ascertained, seized the sum of 10,000 francs from the safe. Others tore up the railway lines at the junction, thus interrupting communications with both Hasselt and St. Trond. This work of destruction they took care to achieve without the use of explosives, in order to avoid giving the alarm to the nearest Belgian troops.

Presently the lads saw a dignified man, whom they rightly concluded was the burgomaster, being led to the town hall. Outside the building floated the Belgian tricolour, and this his captors ordered him to haul down. He refused; they threatened, but their threats failed to move the stanch patriot. In the end, one of the Germans had to perform the task; but the invaders made a counter-stroke by compelling the burgomaster to hand over the keys of the town treasury.

This done, the Germans ordered a meal to be provided, and this they paid for out of the money they had taken from the authorities. Then, having loaded their booty on a couple of commandeered wagons, they prepared to evacuate the town.

"Well, up to the present those fellows haven't done anything that any combatant force wouldn't do," declared Rollo. "I suppose it is because the townsfolk kept their heads and didn't start firing at them from the houses."

"Yes; but they're off. See, their vedettes are returning. I say, the coast is clear; let's make a dash for it."

"Easier said than done, old man," objected Rollo. "Jumping across a five-foot gap is fairly easy when the landing-place is lower than the kick-off spot. Returning is quite another matter."

"There must be some way down from these leads," persisted Kenneth. "Let's have a look round."

Investigation showed that there was a means of communication between the roof and the interior of the chapelle by a small door in one of the angle-turrets. The disconcerting part of the discovery lay in the fact that the door was heavily bolted on the inside.

"Why not try climbing down by means of the lightning-conductor?" suggested Kenneth. "It's bound to be fairly strong, and we have our motor-gloves to protect our hands."

"Thanks, I'd rather try the jump," declared his companion. "But I'd much rather try an easier method."

"I'll tackle it, and then I can get into this building, ascend the turret, and let you out."

"No you don't," objected Rollo firmly. "If we cannot find a better way, here we stop till the Germans are gone, and then we can shout for assistance."

But the restless Kenneth was far from remaining inactive. He continued his investigations on the sides of the edifice away from the view of the invaders.

"I have it!" he exclaimed. "See that spout? It runs close to that open window, you'll notice. If you can give me a hand I can lower myself sufficiently to clear the bulging top of the spout, and the rest will be easy."

The scheme looked feasible, and Rollo made no further objection. It was risky, of course, but with ordinary caution Kenneth could reach the window after he had descended about ten feet of piping—which was infinitely better than climbing down sixty feet or so of copper tape.

Having secured a firm hold upon the spouting, Kenneth began to descend hand-over-hand fashion, although he took care to let his weight act as perpendicularly as possible, lest any outward thrust with his feet might wrench the securing nails of the pipe from the cement.

Without mishap he descended until he was almost on a level with the open window, the iron casement frame of which swung outward. Then, to his consternation, Kenneth found that he had miscalculated the distance, and that the upper edge of the casement was six inches beyond his reach. At the same moment he became aware of the effect of his collision with the Uhlan. His limbs began to feel stiff and cramped.

Frantically he began to clamber back to the parapet, but the effort was too great. With a sickening shudder he felt the pipe working loose from the wall. For the first time in his attempt he gave a downward glance that wellnigh proved fatal. The pavement, fifty feet below, exercised a horrible fascination.

"What's wrong?" enquired Rollo anxiously, for he could see by his chum's ashen-grey face that something was amiss.

"Can't reach the window," gasped Kenneth. "I believe I've strained a muscle, too. I must have a shot at climbing all the way down."

"Hold hard a moment," exclaimed Rollo. "I'll half-close the window and you might reach it."

"Be quick, then," gasped his unfortunate comrade. "I can't hold on much longer."

At that moment he failed to see how Rollo could reach the casement, although his chum's confident assertion cheered him. He knew by experience that Rollo rarely suggested a plan without being able to carry it through.

Already Rollo was at work. Producing a length of stout string from his pocket, he removed his boot.

To this he attached the string, which was about four yards in length. Leaning over the parapet he lowered his boot until it dangled an inch or so before the iron rod that held the window open. A rapid upward jerk and the casement was free to swing; a little skilful manoeuvring and the weighted string drew the hitherto unattainable window frame within Kenneth's reach.

Perhaps the climber was over-anxious, and in consequence neglected to observe the precautions he had hitherto taken, but as he swung off from the pipe he gave a heavy jerk. With a loud crash about ten feet of the spouting fell into the narrow lane.

Fortunately the casement held, and white and well-nigh breathless, Kenneth slipped through the open window just as three or four Germans, alarmed by the clatter, rushed up to ascertain the cause of the uproar.

"Steady!" cautioned Rollo as his chum opened the door of the turret. "There are some Germans on the prowl. They seem a bit suspicious owing to that iron-work falling."

"They didn't spot you?"

"No, I took good care of that."

"Then we'll descend. This building is full of people; they think they are safe, being in a place of worship. Poor creatures! they don't know the Germans."

"But the Germans haven't molested them."

"There is no saying that they won't. Fortunately the people haven't tried to shoot any of their unwelcome visitors. Come, we'll descend."

As Kenneth had announced, the chapelle was packed with terrified townsfolk. Unnoticed, the lads made their way behind the altar, and gained the vestry. Here a small door communicated with the alley. The Germans, having discovered what had created the commotion, were content; they had not troubled to find out the cause but had rejoined their comrades in the market-place. The last of the pickets were already back, and the raiders were on the point of retiring.

Gaining the courtyard of the inn, the lads made sure that the German cavalrymen had, no doubt reluctantly, ceased to pester the troubled host with their attentions.

"Your motor-cycles are safe, messieurs," announced the innkeeper. "Ciel! Once those Bosches get wedded to the bottle——" and he threw up his hands and raised his eyebrows with a gesture of utter dismay.

Refusing any payment for his services, and charging only for the coffee, the landlord escorted the two British dispatch-riders to yet another door, opening into a deserted street.

"Take the third turning to the right, messieurs," he directed; "it will bring you on the high road. Yet I accept no responsibility; so take care. The Uhlans—le diable les importe!—may be prowling about."

Having walked their cycles till they felt fairly certain that the noise of the engines would not reach the ears of the German raiders, the dispatch-riders set off at a furious pace towards the position occupied by their regiment.

Suddenly Kenneth raised his hand, at the same time stopping his motor. Rollo likewise dismounted.

"Uhlans!" whispered Kenneth.

A mile or so ahead were hundreds of cavalry, the men standing easy, while the horses were picketed in lines. Apparently the enemy had thrown a strong wedge far into the position held a few hours previously by Belgian troops.

"If those fellows are acting as supports to the crowd that entered Tongres, we are nicely trapped, by Jove!" remarked Kenneth. "The best thing we can do is to risk cutting across the fields, although, frankly, I don't relish the idea of making towards that wooded district. It is too jolly favourable for an ambush."

"Half a minute," rejoined Rollo, unstrapping the case of his binoculars. "Let's make sure. Kenneth, old man, it's all right. These chaps are Belgian lancers."

In his excitement Kenneth almost snatched the glasses from his chum.

"You're right!" he exclaimed joyously, after a hasty view. "Let's push on and tell them the position of affairs. They might be able to get a little of their own back."

Three minutes later the two dispatch-riders were making a brief yet concise report to the Colonel commanding the Belgian cavalry. As soon as they had finished, a bugle call, equivalent to the British "boot and saddle", rang out, and the lancers were soon cantering along the highway, followed by a mounted machine-gun section.

"We may as well see the fun, considering what we've done in the matter," said Kenneth, to which proposal Rollo raised no objections. Following at a discreet distance, they waited until the lancers halted; then, leaving their cycles by the side of a haystack, they overtook the Belgian troops.

Thanks to his intimate knowledge of the locality, the Colonel made his dispositions skilfully. At this spot the road from Tongres to Liége entered a shallow defile through which the returning Germans were practically certain to pass. At a distance of two hundred yards on either side of the road were clumps of trees and patches of thick undergrowth, affording admirable cover for a considerable number of troops.

The machine-gun detachment was split up, an equal number of mitrailleuses, screened with torn-up undergrowth, being placed on the rising ground on each side of the road, their line of fire sweeping the approach to the defile. With the guns were posted strong bodies of dismounted lancers, armed with carbines. In a steep dip in the road, the hollow of which was invisible beyond a distance of a hundred yards, shallow trenches, sufficient to wreck the armoured motor-cars, were dug, the excavated earth being carefully removed so as not to betray the presence of these obstructions.

The bulk of the lancers, posted out of sight, were ready at the word of command to swoop down upon the rear of the German column and complete the work of destruction that the quick-firers and the rifles might leave undone.

Hardly were these preparations made when the Belgian vedettes reported the approach of the raiders from Tongres, and that the column was preceded by four men forming an advance-guard.

The Belgian Colonel gave vent to an exclamation of annoyance. He had reckoned upon the Germans making use of their armoured motor-cars for that purpose. Bagging these would be a material loss to the enemy, whereas the capture of a few scouts would be of very little value, and the main body would be warned.

He immediately detached a dozen dismounted men, ordering them to lie in ambush close to the road, and if possible to capture the scouts without having recourse to the use of fire-arms. The men quickly took up their positions in a ditch lined with tall grass, and so closely did they lie concealed that they were invisible even to their comrades on the rising ground behind them.

Presently the German advance-guard entered the defile. They had dined not wisely but too well, and, jubilant over the result of their successful raid, were sadly lax in the exercise of their military duties. Two of them had removed their helmets, which were dangling from their saddles. All of them, almost overcome with wine and the heat of the day, were drowsy.

Suddenly the Belgian ambush sprang to their feet. The startled Germans were confronted by a row of rifles, levelled from a distance that would make a miss almost an impossibility.

The lances fell from the nerveless hands of the astounded Teutons, and with machine-like precision they raised their hands above their heads. In quick time they were disarmed, secured, and led away to the rear of the Belgian machine-guns.

Barely was this done when two more troopers—the link between the advance-guard and the main body—rode up, only to be captured and secured as their predecessors had been.

But, however lax the military discipline of the scouts, the commander of the German troops was not to be caught napping so easily. Having failed to receive a signal from the advance-guard that all was well, he halted his men.

The Belgian Colonel shrugged his shoulders. His keen insight told him that the enemy was suspicious; yet, knowing that the German officers were equipped with powerful field-glasses, he dared not order two of his men to give the supposed signal to advance.

"At what range is the head of yonder column?" he asked, addressing the captain in charge of the mitrailleuse section.

"Five hundred and fifty metres, Monsieur le Major."

Thinking it better to open fire upon the Germans, who were as yet in close formation, rather than wait for them to extend and take cover, the Belgian commander was about to give the necessary order when the four armoured motor-cars were observed to dash forward.

They advanced in pairs, ten yards separating the first two, with an interval of about a hundred yards between the second and third. The third and last were the same distance apart as were the first and second.

To give the Belgians their due, although they had good cause to think that their position had been divulged, they maintained perfect discipline and kept admirable cover.

Into the silent defile tore the first pair of cars, the gunners training their quick-firers in readiness to greet a possible but as yet unseen foe. Down into the hollow plunged the first car. Its front wheels dropped into the pitfall, and the next instant it toppled completely over. The second car tried in vain to pull up. The driver tugged at the steering-wheel; the heavy vehicle swerved, crashed into the wreckage of the first, and instantly burst into flame.

The remaining cars, their occupants alarmed by the crash, halted. The road was too narrow to turn; to back at any rate of speed was impossible.

The valley now echoed and re-echoed to the rattle of the mitrailleuses and the sharp crackle of musketry. The armoured cars were swept by a hail of bullets that killed or wounded every member of their crew, while the German horsemen were greeted with a devastating fire that threw them into disorder. Some attempted to advance against the unseen foe, others threw themselves from their horses and, taking cover, replied with a feeble and futile rifle-fire. The majority turned and fled in spite of the threats and efforts of the officers.

Taking advantage of the confusion of their foes, the Belgian mounted lancers were ordered to charge. In grand style they cleared the intervening ground, and, although several saddles were emptied, rode dashingly through the broken ranks of the invaders. In ten minutes they were in possession of the field, with the bulk of the money captured at Tongres.

"Ha!" exclaimed Captain Planchenoît when, an hour later, the two British dispatch-riders reported themselves. "What is the adventure this time? Have you delivered the message to the Burgomaster of Tongres?"

"No, sir," replied Kenneth. "We had no chance to do so. The Germans have raided the town."

"Peste!" exclaimed the Captain. "Have they burned the place? Did they seize the treasury?"

"They did little damage, sir. They took the money with them, but our lancers ambushed them and recovered it."

"Just like our intrepid cavalry," remarked the Captain complacently. "Well, you may go, messieurs. I do not think you will be required any more at present."

But before the day was done both lads were required. An account of their part in the successful counter-operations had been sent to the Colonel of the 9th Regiment of the Line by the officer commanding the Belgian lancers, and in front of their comrades Kenneth Everest and Rollo Barrington were promoted to the rank of corporal.

CHAPTER XII

The Mail Escort

During the next few days the Belgian field army had no respite. Landen was occupied by the Germans on the 10th of August, and strong cavalry screens of the enemy advanced along the Dutch border to within a few miles of the capital. Other large bodies of cavalry threatened the Belgian right wing, and in consequence a retirement of the small yet determined army was necessary.

Two days later the Belgians gained a brilliant success at Haelen, where the Germans, incautiously attempting to force a passage of the River Gethe, were driven back in disorder and with great loss.

Of this action Kenneth Everest and his companion saw nothing, having been sent on duty to the Belgian capital.

In Brussels the lads remained two days, having to await a reply to the dispatch they had brought. During their brief periods of leisure they hastened to call at the house of Major Résimont in the Rue de la Tribune, but the place was in charge of servants. No news was to be obtained of Mademoiselle Yvonne Résimont or of Kenneth's sister. Beyond the unauthenticated report that the two girls had left the school at Visé a few hours before the commencement of the German bombardment, all traces of them were lost.

"Perhaps," suggested Rollo, "your sister went back to England and took Yvonne with her. They say that numbers of refugees have passed through Rotterdam on their way across the North Sea."

"Possibly," agreed Kenneth. "In which case we are completely in the dark until we are lucky enough to get letters from home."

The inhabitants of Brussels were strangely calm. The fact that the German invaders had gained a firm footing in their country did not drive them into a panic. Possibly events of past history had taught them to regard the overrunning of Belgium as a foregone conclusion when the neighbouring Great Powers were at war. Above all, they continued steadfastly to rely upon the prompt arrival of the British Expeditionary Force, which, in conjunction with their own army and that of the French nation, would quickly send the barbarous Teutons fleeing for their lives across the Rhine.

"Hark!" exclaimed Rollo. "The papers are out. Something important has happened."

The chums had retired early to bed in their modest lodgings of the Rue Pontus, as they had been warned for duty at five on the following morning. Their stock of money, although augmented by their scanty army pay, was visibly dwindling; but after more than a week in bivouacs they were grateful to sleep under a roof, undisturbed by the nerve-shattering roar of hostile guns.

"It can wait till to-morrow," said Kenneth with a prodigious yawn. "I feel too jolly tired——"

The next moment he was out of bed and making for the window, for above the cheering on the Grands Boulevards came the oft-repeated cries of: "The English Army in Belgium".

Hastily scrambling into their clothes, the two excited lads made their way into the street and through the swarm of wildly exuberant citizens. After a struggle they succeeded, at the cost of a franc, in obtaining a copy of one of the local papers, and bore it back to their room in triumph.

In huge letters were the words: "LES ANGLAIS SUR LE CONTINENT", the report being taken from the French paper, Le Journal, dated Thursday, the 13th August:—

"By our Special Correspondent.—For several days the valiant British troops, who are to co-operate with our soldiers to repel the German aggression in Belgium, have been crossing the Straits. Kept back at first by the risks of a naval combat which the English fleet was waiting to offer, in the North Sea, to the principal units of the enemy marine, the disembarkation has now taken place in perfect order and with surprising regularity. Up to the present the contingents sent forward in the direction of Namur are considerable.

"Under the favour of darkness and in great mystery the transports were organized. During Saturday night, by small detachments all along the Belgian coast from Ostend to Zeebrugge, the steamers chartered by the British Admiralty disembarked at first a small army, which moved before dawn to the position allotted to it. Farther south, that same night, semaphores signalled the arrival of mysterious ships, which, after a brief stay, returned towards English shores. On the following day, too, at the same hour, similar operations and disembarkations took place with such rapidity and such silence that the inhabitants saw nothing."

"Sounds promising," remarked Rollo thoughtfully. "But this is Friday. Do you think it likely that our troops have been on Belgian soil for nearly a week and this is the first we've heard of it?"

"The Press Censor perhaps——"

"Cannot gag the mouths of a million, old chap. However, I hope it's true. Of course I know an army cannot be expected to land and proceed straight to the front, but if they are to do anything they'll have to jolly well hurry up."

"Don't put a damper on the good news, old man."

"All right, I won't, Kenneth; but, until I see a khaki regiment on Belgian soil, I'm hanged if I will believe. Take me for a doubting Thomas if you will. Anyway, I'm going to turn in again; we've to be up early, you know."

In spite of the deafening clamour without, the chums slept soundly until the concièrge knocked loudly at the door to announce that it was a quarter to five, and that the breakfast of messieurs les Anglais was ready to be served as ordered.

Upon arriving at the place indicated in their order, the two dispatch-riders found that they were to be temporarily attached to the mail escort. Letters and parcels for the troops in the field had accumulated during the last three days to enormous proportions. Five large motor-cars had been requisitioned to take this mass of correspondence from the capital, the convoy being accompanied by a patrol of lancers, cyclists, and motor-cyclists.

"Wonder if there's anything for us in that lot?" hazarded Kenneth, as four large wicker hampers addressed to the 9th Regiment of the Line were unceremoniously dumped into a car. The correspondence had already been passed by a Belgian censor, and the baskets had been secured by an imposing wax seal.

"Perhaps," replied Rollo. "At all events we'll keep a special eye on the car. One never knows where to expect the unwelcome attentions of those ubiquitous Uhlans, and it will never do to let them pry into the family secrets of our comrades of the 9th."

Through the flag-bedecked streets of Brussels the mail convoy made its way. The route, as supplied to the officer in command, was a circuitous one. Proceeding in an almost southerly direction, past the villages of Waterloo, Genappe, and Quatre Bras, the mails for Namur and the left flank of the Belgian field army were to be detached at the village of Sombreffe. The remainder of the convoy was then to proceed through Gembloux to Tirlemont, dropping the crates addressed to various regiments at the nearest points to their ultimate destinations.

The motor-cars set out at a rapid pace, so much so that by the time they were clear of the Forest of Soignies, less than ten miles from the capital, the horses and the cyclists were almost "done up". Either speed or the force at the disposal of the convoy had to be sacrificed, and after a hasty consultation with his subordinates, the officer in charge decided upon the latter alternative.

Accordingly the lancers were sent back, while a dozen of the cyclists were ordered to leave their machines at a wayside inn and to ride on the cars. From information received from various sources, there was every reason to believe that that part of the country was free from the attentions of the invaders, and no cause to doubt that the mail would be delivered in safety and with celerity. Again the convoy was set in motion, Kenneth and Rollo riding at a distance of about two hundred yards ahead, for their wish to keep an eye on one particular car had been abruptly nipped in the bud.

"We've seen the field of Waterloo at all events," shouted Rollo, in order to make himself heard above the noise of the motors. "But it's under different circumstances from those we expected."

They had had but a distant and momentary glimpse of the famous pyramid of earth surmounted by the Lion of Belgium. The ground that, less than a century before, was drenched with the blood of men of half a dozen nationalities was again being prepared for a similar object on a vaster scale. Belgian troops and peasants were busily engaged in digging trenches; for here, according to the expectations of military experts, was to be fought the decisive battle that was to save Brussels and Belgium from the Teutonic invasion.

At Quatre Bras the convoy struck the Namur road. A couple of miles farther on Kenneth's keen eyes detected a movement towards their left front. In double-quick time the lads dismounted and held up their hands, a signal that brought the convoy to a standstill.

"Cavalry, sir!" said Kenneth, pointing in the direction of a clump of trees.

"Our vedettes, without doubt," declared the Belgian officer, leisurely unstrapping his field-glasses. Before he could get them to bear, Kenneth was sweeping the country with his powerful binoculars. There was no mistake: the cavalry were Uhlans. They had already spotted the convoy, and were advancing at the trot to capture or destroy the weakly-protected mail escort.

Just then came a dull rumble at some distance to the rear of the line of halted cars. The enemy had blown up the railway bridge on the line between Charleroi and the north, thus cutting off the retreat of the convoy.

"Mon capitaine," exclaimed one of the cyclists who had been given a place in one of the cars; "I know this part of the country well. A kilometre farther on is a road to the right. It will bring us to Ligny."

The officer gave one glance towards the advancing Uhlans, now barely a mile and a half away.

"En avant!" he ordered.

It was touch-and-go which would first reach the junction of the roads. Only a momentary hesitation on the part of the Uhlans saved the situation, for, seeing the convoy advance at full speed, they feared an attack by the already dreaded motor-cars armed with mitrailleuses.

But as the convoy swung round the sharp corner a hail of bullets came from the carbines of the German cavalry; then, realizing that their discretion had got the better of their valour, the Uhlans dashed in pursuit.

The Belgians cheered ironically. The idea of horses competing with motor-cars seemed absurd. The latter covered three yards to the Uhlans' one, and every moment the animals were becoming more and more fatigued.

Suddenly Rollo gave vent to a warning shout. Ahead was the village of Ligny, but between the convoy and the nearest houses were dense masses of cavalry. Their capture seemed inevitable.

Again the motor-cars came to a halt. The Belgian captain saw that he was in a trap.

"Turn about!" he ordered. "We must charge these Prussians behind us. It will be easier to force our way through a hundred than——"

"Mon capitaine!" shouted an excited voice.

The Belgian officer turned, almost angrily.

"We are saved—regardez!" continued the speaker, pointing to the railway line about three hundred yards to the right of the road.

Making their way along the hollow by the side of the line were swarms of men in blue coats, red trousers, and kepis. There was no mistaking them: they were French troops. The cavalry, too, close to the village of Ligny were French chasseurs. The long-expected aid had become an accomplished fact. French armies were on Belgian soil.

Already the Uhlans had perceived their peril. They turned and rode for dear life.

Up came a group of French officers. Gravely they exchanged salutes with the commander of the convoy.

"We hope to effect a junction with the Belgian army before nightfall, monsieur," announced a colonel. "We have been instructed to occupy the line Ligny-Tirlemont. It is to be hoped that these pigs of Prussians have not tampered with the railway."

"Unfortunately they have, sir," replied the Belgian captain. "Already they have blown up a bridge on the Quatre Bras road."

The Frenchman rapped out an oath.

"More work for our engineers," he remarked. "Nevertheless, the Prussians shall pay. We have them. With the English between Antwerp and Louvain, and your army between Louvain and Tirlemont, these Germans are in front of a wall that cannot be climbed. You say that part of your convoy is destined for Namur? Send them on, monsieur. We hold both banks of the Sambre. For the rest we cannot, unfortunately, offer you any guarantees."

Accordingly the convoy was split up, Kenneth and Rollo going with the cars containing the mails for the Belgian troops at Tirlemont.

"The papers were right after all, old man," remarked Kenneth. "Our troops are in Belgium. Now, admit that your doubts were ill-founded."

"I suppose so," admitted Rollo; "but all the same I should like to see a khaki regiment, if only for the sake of ocular demonstration."

Before four that afternoon the mail for the 9th Regiment of the Line was safely delivered, and with the utmost dispatch the work of distribution began. It seemed a fitting reward that Kenneth should receive half a dozen letters, three of which, bearing different dates, were from his father. Rollo had to be content with four.

While the latter, with his usual deliberation, opened his communications in the order of their postmarks, Kenneth impetuously tore the envelope of his latest-dated one, and read as follows:—

"DEAR KENNETH,

"I wrote you at the Poste Restante at Liége, on the off-chance that you might receive it on the eve of the declaration of war. From the contents of your letter I have reason to believe that you did not. I am naturally most anxious concerning Thelma. Up to the time of writing I have had no tidings whatsoever, although I made enquiries of the British Consuls at Antwerp, Rotterdam, and The Hague.

"In my previous letters addressed to you at the Field Post Office of the 9th Regiment of the Line, I expressed my fullest approval of the step you have taken. In case you have not received my former letters I must repeat these sentiments. You are doing your duty to your country by serving under the Belgian flag as faithfully as if you were under your own—for ours is a united cause. Perhaps more so, since you are not yet of an age to accept a commission. Should you be in need of funds, I have placed the sum of Fifty Pounds to your account in the Credit Belgique at Brussels.

"I am also sending you a batch of newspapers ["They have gone adrift," thought Kenneth] which will be of interest to you.

"I hear also that ... [Here was a long excision by the Censor.]

"Once more, good luck. Do your duty manfully and fearlessly. Regards to young Barrington. I made a point of seeing his father the other day, and he is with me in my view of the step you two have taken. Needless to say, my Mediterranean trip is off. There is other work even for an old buffer such as I am.

"Your affectionate father,
"THOMAS EVEREST."

"The pater's a brick," declared Kenneth, after he had finished wading through his other correspondence; then, observing that Rollo was still scanning his budget, he made his way across to the motor-cycles. In his excitement he had forgotten to turn off the petrol tap of his mount, and had just remembered the fact.

On the way back he ran across Major Résimont, whom he had not seen since the night of the evacuation of Liége.

The Major greeted him warmly, congratulated him upon gaining his stripes, and asked him how he had fared.

"I have, unfortunately, bad news," said the Major sadly. "It would be well to keep the information to yourself: the Liége forts have fallen, and General Leman is a prisoner."

"I thought they could hold out for months," Kenneth blurted out, his sense of discretion overcome by the suddenness of the news.

"We all thought so," rejoined Major Résimont quietly. "But those huge German guns, they cracked the cupolas like nutshells, and killed or wounded every man in the forts."

"The French are here, though," announced Kenneth. "We came in touch with them this morning."

"I know," said the Belgian. "They have already succeeded in taking Dinant. We have certain hopes in the French."

"And the British troops are in Belgium."

The Major shook his head.

"See, sir," persisted Kenneth, producing the copy of the paper he had purchased in Brussels.

"I have already seen it," said Major Résimont; "it is only a rumour. It is, moreover, false; there is not a single English regiment in Belgium. Your country is, I fear, too late to save Brussels from the invaders."

CHAPTER XIII

Separated

Major Résimont's sentiments were shared by the majority of his deep-thinking compatriots. The great faith in the prompt action of Great Britain in sending a strong Expeditionary Force to Belgium had received a severe set-back. Even yet the promised aid might be forthcoming—but it would be too late to spare the greater portion of the country, including the capital, from invasion.

When the Major stated that the Belgians had "certain hopes" in the French, he spoke with a justifiable sense of caution. He realized that the object of throwing French troops into Belgium was not to stay the threatened occupation of Brussels, but to avoid, if possible, the disastrous results of the presence of a German army on French soil. In short, Belgium was once more to be made the battle-ground between French and German troops, provided the fortresses on the borders of Alsace-Lorraine were strong enough to hold back the invaders in this quarter.

Unfortunately, in spite of the utmost efforts of the War Office, backed by the whole-hearted support of a united Parliament, Great Britain was just four days too late in the dispatch of her Expeditionary Force. Yet the brave Belgians did not repine, nor did they relax for one instant their opposition to the enormous and relentless masses of Germans who were now pouring in through the strategic railways between Aix-la-Chapelle and Liége.

But the sacrifice of Belgium was not in vain. By the heroic resistance of General Leman the clockwork regularity of the German time-table had been thrown hopelessly out of gear. The stubborn defence of Liége had delayed the Teuton advance to such an extent that France and England were able to complete their respective mobilizations, and to thwart the German Emperor's hopes of "rushing" Paris and thus forcing France to conclude a humiliating and disastrous peace.

"Corporal Everest!"

"Sir?"

"You are to take this dispatch to Major Foveneau, who is holding the village of Cortenaeken. Your compatriot may accompany you. Exercise particular care, for there are numerous Uhlan patrols in the neighbourhood of Diest."

It was on the second day after the British dispatch-riders' return with the mail-escort. Captain Planchenoît, who had already fully recognized the intrepidity and common sense of the two lads, had been instructed by his Colonel to communicate with the isolated post of Cortenaeken, and he could decide upon no fitter messengers than Kenneth Everest and his friend Rollo Barrington.

"You will observe that the dispatch is at present unsealed," continued Captain Planchenoît. "You must commit the text to memory. Should you be in danger of capture, destroy the dispatch at all costs. It is far too important to risk being hidden, yet Major Foveneau must have, if humanly possible, written orders."

"Very good, sir," replied Kenneth, saluting.

He then went off to find his chum, whom he found cleaning his mount. Kenneth had given up cleaning his motor-cycle days ago; beyond satisfying himself that it had plenty of oil and was in good running order, he troubled nothing about its appearance. Both lads had, moreover, wrapped the handle-bars in strips of brown linen, while the remaining bright parts had been covered with dull-grey paint.

"It's Cortenaeken this time," announced Kenneth. "Goodness knows how we get to the place, for there doesn't seem to be a vestige of a road leading to it, according to the map. Here's the dispatch—sounds important, doesn't it? We have to commit the words to memory, in case we have to destroy the paper."

"The best thing we can do is to ride for Tirlemont and make enquiries there," suggested Rollo, handing the dispatch back to his chum. "As regards concealing the paper, we must place it somewhere where we can get at it easily. I have it: we'll stow it in your petrol tank; the stuff won't injure the paper or interfere with the writing, and if things came to the worst, you can whip it out and set fire to it."

Accordingly the dispatch, cleverly rolled, was placed inside the gauze strainer to the patrol tank, and the metal cap replaced. Five minutes later the two motor-cyclists were buzzing along the congested road at a modest twenty miles an hour, dodging between the lumbering transport wagons and the military vehicles with an agility that surprised themselves.

Presently, as they struck towards the rear of the long lines of troops, the road became less encumbered and speed was materially increased. Soon the pace reached nearly forty miles an hour, for the highway was fairly broad, and ran as straight as a Roman road as far as the eye could reach.

"Puncture!" shouted Kenneth, as the front wheel of his cycle began to slither and bump upon the pavé, the machine running nearly fifty yards before he brought up and dismounted.

A hasty examination showed that a rusty iron nail, quite six inches in length, had penetrated the tread of the tyre, while to make matters worse its point had worked out close to the rim. The offending piece of metal, catching against the front forks, had already enlarged the hole in the tread till it became a slit nearly half an inch in length.

"Don't wait," he continued, as he unscrewed the cap of the petrol tank and produced the dispatch. "Take this, and hurry on. I'll patch this up and follow. If you can, wait for me at Cortenaeken till two o'clock."

"Right-o!" assented Rollo. "You can manage all right?"

"I can't ask you to bear a hand if I don't," replied Kenneth. "I'll make a job of it somehow. Good luck!"

Rollo was off. Kenneth stood beside his crippled steed and watched his friend's receding figure out of sight; then taking out his repair outfit he began his task. It was a long job. The cover, being practically a new one, was an obstinate one to remove. It had to be patched with canvas, while the double puncture in the inner tube took a considerable time to clean and prepare.

While he was waiting for the solution to get "tacky", a peculiar buzzing sound greeted his ears.

"Aeroplanes!" he muttered. "Whose, I wonder?"

He looked upwards. The sun shining in a cloudless sky dazzled his vision. He put on his tinted goggles, which during the repair operations he had removed. Then he saw, perhaps three thousand feet above him, a large Zeppelin moving in a westerly direction. He watched it with a sort of contemptuous interest.

"The vaunted German terror of the air—perhaps!" he soliloquized. "I wouldn't give much for its chances if even half a dozen aeroplanes tackled it. Ah! Thinking better of it?"

This last remark was uttered as the gigantic airship began to turn, pitching as it did so like a lively ship in a sea-way.

Bringing his binoculars to bear upon the Zeppelin, Kenneth watched its undignified progress. Apparently it had encountered a strong air-current that tended to drive it in a westerly direction. By the aid of the glasses Kenneth could see that the immense fabric showed, in spite of its supposed rigidity, a decided tendency to "whip" as it swung broadside on to the direction of the wind. Then, steadying itself on a course in exactly the opposite direction to that which it had previously been following, the Zeppelin forged ahead, still see-sawing ominously.

Suddenly the bow portion dipped, then with ever-increasing velocity the huge airship plunged earthwards. Its propeller ceased to revolve; from the cars, ballast—not loose sand, but solid material—was thrown out in the hope of checking the now terrific descent. Then it disappeared from the motor-cyclist's view, beyond a slight ridge of hills about five miles off.

"That's done for it, thank goodness!" ejaculated Kenneth, as he replaced his binoculars and reapplied himself to the repairs to the tyre; "if it were not for this rotten puncture I'd slip over and have a look at the remains. I hope the thing's fallen within the Belgian lines. It will cheer the plucky beggars up a bit."

It took him quite another half-hour to patch the torn canvas and coax the stubborn cover back into its rim. Then, with a feeling of gratification that he had overcome difficulties, he began to inflate the tyre.

"Almost hard enough," he said to himself, ceasing his efforts to prod the rubber with his thumb. "I'll give it another dozen strokes just to show there's no ill-feeling."

Bang! With a report like the discharge of a small field-piece the tyre collapsed. A portion of the inner tube had been nipped, with the result that a gash four inches in length was demanding attention.

"Confound it!" exclaimed Kenneth angrily.

With the perspiration pouring off him, he again tackled the obstinate cover with savage energy. This time the repair was a complicated one. Three times the patch failed to hold, but finally, at the end of an hour and a half's hard work, the tedious task was accomplished.

At Tirlemont Kenneth made enquiries, and was given such minute directions that before he had gone another five miles he was hopelessly befogged. The roads were little better than narrow lanes; there were no direction posts, and he had long forgotten whether he had to take the first turning to the left and the third to the right, or the third to the left and the first to the right. There were several isolated cottages, but their inhabitants had fled. The whole district seemed depopulated, for the great exodus to Brussels had begun. There was plenty of evidence of the hurried flight of the civil population. Articles of domestic use, found to be too heavy to carry far, had been jettisoned by the roadside. Here and there was an abandoned cart, still laden with the household goods of some unfortunate Belgian family.

At length Kenneth found that the lane he was following came upon a small stream. Here a bridge had recently been destroyed. Further progress in that direction was impossible, unless he decided to abandon his cycle and swim across the fifteen feet of water to the opposite bank. Following the stream was a rough path, badly cut up by the tracks of cattle. It was the only possible way unless he retraced his route.

Producing his military map Kenneth attempted to fix his position. He could only come to the conclusion that the stream was the River Velp, on which the hamlet of Cortenaeken stands. He was, he decided, about ten miles from the village, which ought to be reached by following the path he had struck.

It was bad going. The deep ruts made riding a nerve-racking ordeal. Here and there the path had slipped bodily into the reed-grown mud that fringed the stream. Dismounts were frequent; speed was out of the question.

After a mile or so of this unsatisfactory mode of progression the path ended abruptly, but here the stream was crossed by a narrow plank bridge. On the opposite side, at about two hundred yards from the bank, was a cottage, and—thanks be!—from the chimney a wreath of faint blue smoke was rising.

Kenneth dismounted, set his motor-cycle on its stand, and proceeded to examine the apparently frail bridge. It sagged considerably under his weight; what would it do with the additional weight of his mount? In addition there was the transport problem. He could not carry the heavy cycle; the plank was too narrow for him to attempt to ride across. Yet he did not feel at all inclined to go back along that rutty path.

"I'll give a few toots on the horn," he declared. "Perhaps the people in the house will come out and bear a hand. Hullo! There's a punt over there in the rushes. With assistance I could get my bike across in that."

The raucous blasts on the horn disturbed the quietude of the sylvan scene, but without the desired result. He tried again, still without success.

"Perhaps these people have also cleared out in a hurry and left a fire burning," he soliloquized. "Otherwise they must have heard the explosions of the engine as I rode up. Well, here goes!"

Crossing the stream he took his way to the spot where the punt was made fast. Here, again, his hopes were dashed to the ground, for not only was the flat-bottomed craft chained and padlocked to a massive post, but it had a gaping hole at one end and was half-full of water.

"It's only waste of time tramping across to that cottage," he said to himself. "I'll have a shot at getting the bike across first, and make enquiries later."

With that he retraced his steps to where his cycle was standing on the wrong side of the tantalizing stream. Throwing out the clutch and standing astride the saddle, Kenneth walked his motor-cycle towards the plank bridge; then shuffling very cautiously, he began the hazardous crossing.

At every step the soles of his boots were almost at the very edge of the worn plank. As he approached the centre it creaked ominously, while, to add to his difficulties, the motion of the water as it flowed underneath tended to make him giddy. He dared not look up unless he stopped, and that he was loath to do. One false step would send himself and his motor-cycle into six or seven feet of mud and water.

At length, safe and sound, Kenneth found himself on the farther bank. Here a road, very little better than the one he had recently traversed, led away from the house, the only visible approach to which was by means of a stone stile and a footpath.

Again leaving his cycle, the lad leapt over the low wall and hastened towards the building.

The door was wide open. Across the threshold lay the body of an old man, with a ghastly wound in his head. Kenneth recoiled in horror; then, thinking perhaps that the unfortunate farmer—for such he was—might still be living, he again approached.

Even in the attempt to move the man, he heard the sound of a heavy snore, while, as if in answer to the noise, a horse began to neigh.

"Germans!" ejaculated Kenneth. Once more he began to back, when, recollecting that even the sound of his motor had not disturbed the brutal slumberer, he drew his revolver and stepped across the threshold.

Coming in from the brilliant sunshine the place seemed almost pitch-dark, but in a few seconds the dispatch-rider's eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. He found himself in what was at one time the living-room of the farm. There was no hall or passage; the outer door opened straight into it.

The whole place was in a state of almost indescribable confusion. The table had been overthrown, the chairs smashed—and smashed deliberately, for no ordinary struggle would have resulted in such complete demolition of the furniture. On the walls were a few cheap, highly-coloured prints, slashed by a keen instrument, while the glass was shattered to fragments. On the floor were the remains of broken bottles and crockery. The cupboards had been ransacked, and their contents hurled all over the room. Even the hearthstone had been forced up; the despoilers had evidently thought that the thrifty farmer had hidden a store of money beneath it.

The rest of the rooms on the ground floor were in a similar state of confusion. Kenneth set his jaw tightly. He no longer had any inclination to beat a retreat. The sight of the foully-murdered Belgian and his devastated home filled him with rage.

Holding his revolver ready for instant action, the lad began to ascend the stairs. They creaked horribly under his weight, but still the sounds of drunken slumber continued.

At the head of the stairs four rooms opened on to a fairly spacious landing. Three of these were unoccupied by any living creature. In one was a huddled-up form.

"Brutes!" muttered the British lad. "No quarter!"

He pushed open the door of the remaining bedroom, whence the porcine grunts proceeded. Here were four men in the uniform of the dreaded Uhlans. Three, fully dressed and wearing their heavy boots, were sprawling in drunken slumber on the bed. They were nursing partly-consumed wine bottles, while the bed-clothes and floor were stained with the spilt liquid.

The fourth Uhlan was sitting in a chair, with his head resting on his chest. Across his forehead and over both ears was a blood-stained bandage. The wound had but recently been inflicted, so the Belgian farmer had apparently made a brave but unavailing stand in defence of his home. On the floor by the Uhlan's side lay his sword; his carbine was propped up against the arm of the chair.

"The brutes!" ejaculated Kenneth again. "Hang it, I can't shoot these fellows while they are asleep!"

Just at that moment the wounded Uhlan opened his eyes and raised his head. His brain had not been dulled by drink, for with a swift movement he seized his carbine, at the same time shouting to his comrades that the Belgians were upon them.

CHAPTER XIV

A Friend in Need

"Seems a bit low-down, but there was no other way as far as I could see," commented Kenneth as he made his way down the stairs.

It was a relief to get into the open air once more. Inserting four fresh cartridges into the chambers of his revolver, he replaced the weapon in his holster, and without giving another glance at the house of death and destruction he made his way to the stables, where the Uhlans' horses were tethered. He would not leave the helpless brutes to be fastened up perhaps for days. They would at least have a chance to eat and drink, for there was plenty of pasture and the river was handy.

Having given the animals their liberty, the lad remounted his cycle and rode along the only possible route. By the position of the sun he knew that he was going nearly due north, which was not in the direction he supposed Cortenaeken to be. To add to the difficulties of the situation there was the unpleasant fact that patrols of German cavalry were already in the district. Where, then, was the Belgian force that was supposed to be holding the district between Diest and Tirlemont?

There were houses scattered about in plenty; some to all outward appearance intact, others either burning furiously or reduced to four smoke-blackened walls.

After traversing about five miles of the indifferent lane, Kenneth found himself on a broad highway, bordered on both sides with trees. Here were civilians in throngs—men, women, and children—and a more woebegone crowd the British lad had never before beheld. Most of them were on foot, staggering under weighty bundles. Even the children had their burdens, mostly domestic pets. There were fowls in crates, rabbits, cats, and pigeons; masterless dogs tore frantically through the sad procession; others, harnessed to small carts piled high with goods and chattels, trotted docilely by the side of their masters. There were large farm-carts, too, creaking under the weight of furniture, on the top of which were perched refugees either too old or too young to make the journey afoot. The men were stolid of feature, but several of the women were crying; while with few exceptions the children, unable to comprehend the real nature of their hurried exodus, were laughing and chattering with excitement at their novel experience.

Kenneth dismounted and stopped an old Belgian, who by his dress had evidently been well-to-do.

"Can you direct me to Cortenaeken, monsieur?"

"To where Cortenaeken was," corrected the man. "It has been burnt by the accursed Prussians."

"And the troops? I have a message for Major Foveneau, who was holding the village——"

"You will not find a single Belgian there, monsieur—at least, not a living one. They have been compelled to retire on Louvain."

The Belgian courteously raised his hat and passed on hurriedly, for while he was speaking came the distant intermittent reports of rifle-firing. The whole procession of refugees quickened its pace. The menace was too close to be ignored.

Kenneth pulled out his map. He was now able to form a fairly accurate idea of where he was. He had no desire to return. His anxiety concerning his chum urged him to make his way as quickly as possible to Louvain. There, at least, he might be able to gain information concerning the British dispatch-rider who ought to have reported himself to Major Foveneau.

According to the map, Kenneth saw that there was a road to the left at a mile or so from where he stood. It struck the village of Winghe St. Georges, which was on the main road between Diest and Tirlemont and slightly nearer to the latter town.

Springing into the saddle Kenneth set off at a furious pace. Ahead, but slightly to the right, was a dense column of smoke that marked the site of the destroyed village of Cortenaeken. Farther away were more pillars of black vapour, the handiwork of the vengeful invaders, whose principle was to terrorize the luckless Belgians into a spirit of non-resistance.

The lad was heartily glad when he gained the branch road, since it led away from the desolated area. But before he had gone very far he became aware that he was crossing the tracks of a fighting force in retreat. Over the fields on either side and across the road were numerous deep ruts caused by wheels of artillery and service wagons. Here and there were abandoned carts, while half-buried in a muddy ditch was a field-piece with one wheel shattered. Its limber and several either dead or wounded horses still in the traces had overturned on the other side of the road. Yet, apart from the distant cannonade, there were no sounds of actual combat.

Kenneth was sorely tempted to follow the tracks of the retirement. It would be hard going, he argued, but where a gun could go his motor-cycle ought to be able to follow. But on further consideration he decided to keep to the road, at least as far as Winghe St. Georges.

Onwards he rode till he approached a ruined homestead. Four shattered walls, two gaunt gables, and a few scorched rafters were all that remained of the house. Surrounding it was a wall, broken in many places. Abutting on the wall were several roofless sheds.

"Halte-là!" exclaimed a voice. "There is danger ahead."

Kenneth pulled up sharply and, dismounting, looked in the direction from which the voice came. As he did so a man in the uniform of the Belgian lancers came out of the ruined house. He had lost his helmet, his coat was torn and covered with dust. Above his right knee was a blood-stained bandage. He was supporting himself by means of a rifle, using the weapon as a crutch with the butt under his armpit.

"What has happened, comrade?" asked the lad.

The soldier regarded him with evident suspicion.

"You are not a Belgian," he said pointedly, "yet you are in the uniform of our dispatch-riders."

"Quite so," replied Kenneth, producing his identification card. "I am a British subject in the Belgian service."

"British?" repeated the man. "What, then, is British? In faith, I do not know."

"English, then."

"Ah, English—good! Now I comprehend. But, monsieur, it is unsafe to go farther. There are Germans in force a few kilometres along the road. Their cavalry screens are thrown out over yonder. We had to retire. To me it is amazing how you came so far without falling in with the accursed Prussians."

"I saw a few Uhlans," announced Kenneth.

"Tête bleu! And what did they do?"

"Very little as far as I was concerned," replied the lad. "They murdered some civilians, so I shot them."

The Belgian's eyes glistened.

"You are a brave youth," he exclaimed.

"I think not in this case," objected Kenneth. "They were half-drunk, and had only just awoke. It seemed hardly fair play, yet——"

"Do not apologize, monsieur," growled the lancer. "After what these devils have done they have no right to expect any consideration. Over there, for example—but come within. It is hazardous to remain in the open. Perhaps, even now, we have been observed through some Prussian field-glasses. Your bicycle? It will be of no further use. It is better to destroy it and throw the remains into the ditch."

Kenneth shook his head.

"No fear," he objected resolutely. "I'd rather take my chances on the road."

"Impossible," declared the Belgian. "You would be shot before you went another three kilometres. And if the Germans see your motor-cycle they will be doubly suspicious and search the house."

"I'll leave it for the time being in one of those sheds," suggested the lad. "It won't be seen from the road."

The Belgian, beyond muttering "imbecile" under his breath, made no further objection. He even assisted Kenneth, as well as his wound would permit, to lift the heavy mount over the rubble in the gap of the outer wall.

"This place will do," declared the lad as he reached the furthermost shed. The roof and one angle of the brickwork had been demolished, but the rest of the building was almost intact. Having removed the sparking-plug, so as to render the cycle useless to the enemy in the event of its discovery, Kenneth placed the cycle on its side and covered it with a thick layer of damp and rotten straw. To all appearance the interior of the shed was a farm refuse-heap. No prowling German would be likely to want to use the straw for bedding or any other purpose.

"Come this way," said the Belgian, who, during the progress of Kenneth's operations, had begun to alter his opinion as to the danger of leaving the cycle as "incriminating evidence". "We will go to the house. In the cellar we can rest and perhaps have food. Have you anything to eat?"

"Two rolls and some chocolate," replied Kenneth. "We will share that."

"Good!" exclaimed the lancer, his eyes glistening at the prospect of food. "But there are others—three comrades of mine. We have not eaten anything to-day but raw turnips, and raw turnips are not very sustaining food on which to make a cavalry charge. It was in front of Cortenaeken that I got this," and he pointed to his wounded leg.

"Yet it is nothing," he added lightly, "a mere scratch; but I repaid the Prussian who gave it to me. Ah! This is what I require. I will now be able to discard this rifle. My own carbine is within."

He had stopped in the midst of his narrative, and was pointing to a hay-rake that rested in a corner of the wall.

"I will knock off the teeth and shorten the handle. Ciel! It will make an excellent crutch. As for the rifle, I may safely throw it down the well, unless you, monsieur, might care to have it. It may be useful to you."

"I have no cartridges."

"We have enough—about four hundred between the four of us. Nevertheless, you will have to clean the barrel carefully, for it is caked with earth. If you fired it in that state, without doubt it would do you more harm than the man at whom you pointed it. There, did I not say so?"

With a wave of his disengaged arm the Belgian indicated a cloud of dust rising from the road.

"We must hasten, yet be cautious," he continued. "That dust hides a column of German infantry."

Kenneth followed his new comrade into the house. The upper floor had almost disappeared. The ground floor was littered with charred fragments of rafters and boards, cakes of plaster and partly-burned thatch, in addition to broken articles of furniture. The parting-walls had been overthrown, so that the interior of the building presented the appearance of an open space.

Scrambling over the debris the wounded lancer made his way to a corner of the tottering walls. He stooped painfully and with considerable effort, and thrusting his fingers between the rubbish took hold of an iron ring. At this he heaved, and lifted a large flap about six inches.

"Assist me, monsieur," he said. "I am not quite so strong as I was four hours ago."

"One minute," exclaimed Kenneth. "I'll clear some of this rubbish away."

"Tiens!" ejaculated the Belgian. "Let it remain, for when we let the flap fall it will spread and hide the cracks in the floor. No one will then suspect that there is a cellar. Now, lift together.—Soyez tranquille!" he shouted, to reassure his comrades in hiding.

At a gesture from his newly-found friend, Kenneth descended the steep wooden ladder till his feet touched the stone floor of the cellar. The Belgian lancer followed more slowly, uttering maledictions under his breath at every step. Another of the occupants of the cellar ascended, and pulled the flap down with a resounding crash. The place seemed in total darkness.

"A new comrade—an Englishman in the service of our country," announced the lancer; and Kenneth's hands were warmly grasped by his unseen hosts.

After a while his eyes grew accustomed to the semi-gloom, for the daylight filtered through a small irregular opening at one end of the underground room. The Belgians present did not belong to the same regiment. One was a corporal of infantry, another an artilleryman, the third a Civil Guard, whose head-gear, somewhat resembling a bowler hat, made him easily recognizable. Their rifles were resting against the wall, their cartridge pouches and heavy packs had been thrown on the floor, and by their sides were some partly-consumed slices of turnip.

Kenneth promptly shared his rations, which were ravenously eaten by the half-famished men. The corporal, having swallowed his portion of roll and chocolate, took up his position at the opening through which the daylight could be seen.

"They come!" he announced. "The pigs! Look!"

The rest of the men made their way to the post of observation. The cellar was of brick, with massive oaken rafters overhead and a stone floor. At one end was a flight of stone steps that at one time communicated with the outside of the house. A fall of brick-work had almost entirely closed this exit, leaving a space about two inches in height and a little more than a foot in width between the top of the debris and the underside of the arch. The aperture was thus broad enough to afford an outlook for two persons without the faintest risk of discovery.

The corporal, as observation man, remained at his post, the others taking turn to gaze upon the approaching regiment of their hated foes.

The German troops had evidently gone through a rough experience. They looked utterly done up. Most of them were in their shirt-sleeves, their coats and accoutrements hanging from their rifles. Several were without caps, and many had been wounded. In spite of the sweltering heat they marched in close column, wellnigh choked with dust, and only kept at a brisk pace by the unsympathetic orders and threats of their officers.

As the head of the column approached, several men were ordered to double up to the ruined house. Already the German commander had good reason to dread the fury of the Belgian civil population, and every house on the line of march was searched for possible snipers before the regiment was allowed to march past it.

Kenneth could hear the Prussians' boots crunching on the rubble overhead, and their guttural shouts as they reported that the building was untenanted.

Then the column was again set in motion, and as the troops marched stolidly by, Kenneth saw that in their midst were about twenty peasants of both sexes.

The Belgian corporal rapped out an oath.

"The cowards!" he hissed. "They will use these people—countrymen—to screen their advance. They did so at Haelen and Landen. I would gladly bring down that red-faced Colonel but for the fact that those peasants would be instantly massacred."

Reluctantly the man closed the safety-catch of his rifle. The impulse to shoot had been tantalizing. Only his concern for his luckless fellow-countrymen had prevented the Belgian from sending a bullet through the Prussian officer's heart. Ignorant of his escape the Colonel rode past, followed by the rest of the regiment, for, from motives of extraordinary caution, he was in the centre of the column.

Another and yet another grey-clad regiment tramped past. With feelings akin to consternation, Kenneth realized that a considerable portion of the German army was now between him and his regiment. And Rollo—what had become of him?

Several hours passed. The Belgians, unable to control their natural vivacity, chattered gaily, relating their individual adventures, and closely questioning Kenneth as to his views on British aid for the sorely-harassed country. Occasionally, when their look-out reported fresh troops in sight, they would relapse into silence. The artilleryman jotted down in a pocket-book particulars and estimated numbers of all the German regiments that passed along the road, remarking that to-morrow, perhaps, the information might be useful to his officers.

About five in the afternoon the stream slackened, and half an hour later there were no signs of the invaders. The Belgians discussed the possibility of making a dash for their own lines, and eventually decided to attempt to put their plan into execution shortly after midnight. Even the wounded lancer expressed his confidence in his ability to keep up with his comrades.

"And will you accompany us?" he asked, addressing his British comrade.

"There's my motor-cycle," said Kenneth tentatively.

"Pouf! It is of no consequence. Let it remain; there are others to be obtained. It is useless to attempt to take it with you. The roads are unsafe, while in the open the ditches are too wide to take it across."

Still Kenneth hesitated. He had no doubt that the Belgian spoke truthfully, and that he could obtain another mount at head-quarters; but it would not be the same cycle, to which he was greatly attached.

While the wounded lancer was still endeavouring to persuade Kenneth to make the attempt on foot, the corporal, from the post of observation, reported that a patrol of Uhlans was approaching.

"There are but seven," he announced, "and they have a prisoner with them. Shall we——?" and he significantly tapped his rifle.

After a short interval one of the Belgians stood aside to allow Kenneth to look at the approaching patrol. They were riding their horses at a walking pace, their long lances being stepped in "buckets" behind their backs. Most of them were smoking large curved pipes.

Suddenly Kenneth uttered a half-stifled shout of surprise, for the prisoner was his chum, Rollo Barrington.

CHAPTER XV

Captured

On parting with his comrade on the road to Cortenaeken, Rollo rode at a great pace towards his goal. He was to a certain extent fortunate in finding people at the various branch roads to give him directions; and in less than an hour from the time of parting company with Kenneth he was in sight of the hamlet where he hoped to meet Major Foveneau.

The place seemed deserted. Perhaps, he thought, the Belgian troops were entrenched on the other side of the slightly rising ground. At a great distance off he could hear the rumble of guns in action. Evidently there were two separate battles in progress. From the direction of one cannonade it seemed as if the rival forces were engaged in the district through which he had so recently ridden, yet he could have sworn that he had not seen either a single Belgian or German soldier.

Suddenly, as he glanced to the left, Rollo's heart gave a tremendous thump. He had already ridden more than half-way past the rear of a masked German battery. There were perhaps a dozen guns placed in position behind a ridge. The weapons were trained for high-angle firing, while, to render them invisible from Belgian aircraft, they were screened by branches of trees. By the side of each field-piece was an armoured ammunition cart. The body of the vehicle was upturned to a perpendicular position, the shells being kept in place by a "pigeon-hole" arrangement. The gunners were "standing easy", while, from the tip of a neighbouring haystack, a number of officers were observing the Belgian position through their field-glasses.

Hearing the sound of the motor-cycle, several of the men turned and looked at the dispatch-rider, but they made no attempt to stop him. Evidently they thought he was one of their cyclists, for Rollo's uniform was smothered in grey dust, so that there was no perceptible difference between him and a motor-cyclist attached to the invading army.

Fortunately Rollo kept his head. Without slackening his speed he continued on his way until he was within two hundred yards of the nearest house in the village. Here he dismounted and began to rack his brains as to the best course to pursue.

He had fallen into a trap. Cortenaeken had been taken and was now in the possession of the enemy. He could see that several of the buildings were damaged by shell-fire. Unknown to himself he had ridden through the advanced German lines without any suspicion that thousands of men were concealed in the fields and thickets on either side of the road. The German left flank had been thrown forward a considerable distance, and their motor-scouts had been constantly in touch with the centre. Thus, by a pure fluke, Rollo had ridden through with a German motor-cyclist ten minutes ahead of him and another five minutes behind.

"I'll destroy the dispatch at once," decided the lad. "After that I'll try and ride back by the way I came. So here goes!"

He drew the petrol-soaked paper from the tank, and carried it to a dry ditch by the side of the road. The dispatch flared as soon as Rollo struck a match and set light to it. Its destruction was rapid and complete.

Before he could regain his mount a motor-cyclist dashed up. As he approached he slackened speed, gripped the exhaust-lifter, and took advantage of the consequent reduction of sound to shout something in German. Rollo shook his head; his knowledge of German was too elementary for him to reply, but he gathered that the man was asking whether he required any assistance.

Then, to the lad's consternation, the German dispatch-rider stopped, dismounted, and walked towards him.

"There's only one thing I can do—-I must pretend I'm deaf and dumb—temporary effect of the concussion of a shell, although I can't show a wound," thought Rollo. "It wouldn't be cricket to shoot the chap, especially as he stopped in all good faith. Well, here goes!"

Opening his mouth and working his chin like a gasping cod-fish, the lad awaited with considerable misgivings the result of his experiment.

The German was a round-faced, fair-haired fellow of about twenty—a student fresh from college. He looked quite sympathetic, and when Rollo explained by means of signs that there was something wrong with the electric ignition of his cycle, his face lighted up. Strolling up to the British lad's mount, he proceeded in quite a natural way to examine the sparking-plug, and, for the benefit of the supposed distressed rider, he made a pantomimic display of rubbing it with emery-cloth.

This done, he walked across to the spot where he had left his own cycle, still holding the plug in his hand.

"He's going to clean the blessed thing for me," thought Rollo, "and it's in perfect order, too."

But the next moment his amusement was changed to consternation, for, leaping into his saddle, the German made off at full speed, leaving Rollo with a motor-cycle that was now out of action with a vengeance.

Rollo was not left long in doubt as to the fellow's intentions. Soon he reappeared from the village accompanied by a patrol of Uhlans. The British-made motor-cycle had aroused his suspicions, and a closer inspection of Rollo's dust-covered uniform had confirmed them.

"The brute!" ejaculated Rollo. "At all events those fellows won't make use of my cycle."

With a quick movement he unscrewed the cap of the petrol tank, and threw his highly-prized mount on its side. Then, striking a match and deliberately waiting till it was well alight, he threw it into the escaping spirit. With a flash and a roar the petrol caught, and in an instant the cycle was enveloped in flames.

Rollo did not wait to see the end of his act of destruction. Taking to his heels he ran towards a wood about a couple of furlongs from the road. The hoarse shouts of the pursuing Uhlans rang in his ears as he fled, while a bullet, missing him handsomely, whizzed ten feet above his head.

Another shot followed with no better result. It was not the rifles of the pursuing horsemen that he feared; it was their obvious superiority in speed.

He could hear the thud of the horses' hoofs in the soft ground growing momentarily louder and louder. Only twenty yards more, and the Uhlans would be balked by the dense foliage. Ahead was a ditch, six feet in width, with a fairly high bank on the opposite side. In his heated imagination the fugitive could almost feel the points of those ugly lances thrust into his back.

With a stupendous effort he leapt, alighting on the other side of the ditch on his hands and knees. The Germans, fearing to risk the jump, began to rein in their horses. For the time being he had won.

Rollo staggered to his feet and clambered up the bank, when to his horror he found himself confronted by a dozen levelled rifles. It was a case of "out of the frying-pan into the fire" with a vengeance.

Had there been a ghost of a chance to break away Rollo would have seized it, but there was none. He raised both hands above his head.

The next instant he was held by two powerful soldiers, while others, with a dexterity acquired by much practice, searched him. Not only was he stripped, and the lining of his coat ripped open, but his boots were removed and the soles cut through, in case a hidden dispatch might be found. They even forced open his mouth to make certain he was not swallowing any document; and they took good care to retain the letters he had received from home.

Finding nothing of the nature they suspected, the sergeant in charge of the men gruffly ordered him in very imperfect French to dress. Then, escorted by four men, and followed by the patrol of Uhlans and the motor-cyclist who had raised the alarm, Rollo was taken into the village and brought before a group of officers.

"Ah, Englishman! We have caught you, then," exclaimed one of the Prussian officers.

Rollo looked straight at him. The German was in the uniform of the line. His head was swathed in surgical bandages, but there was enough of his face left exposed to give the British lad a clue to the identity of the speaker. He was the major who had treacherously attempted to shoot the Belgian officer by whom he had been given quarter, on the occasion of the night attack upon Fort de Barchon. On the fall of the Liége fortresses the Prussian had been released by his comrades, and in spite of his wound was once more at the front.

For the next ten minutes Rollo was closely questioned. He replied only when he felt fairly certain that there was no harm in so doing; but, when pressed to give information respecting the Belgian forces, he resolutely refused.

The German officers swore, and threatened him.

"You cannot make me disclose information," declared Rollo. "It is against the rules of war to coerce a prisoner."

A chorus of loud jeering laughter greeted this statement.

"My young friend," quoth the Major when the mirth had subsided, "you do not understand. When Germany makes war she makes war: there are no half-measures. Why should we, the greatest nation upon earth, be bound by rules and regulations laid down by a self-constituted peace party—the Geneva Convention?"

"But Germany was a party to it."

"Because at the time it suited her purpose. It is no use arguing, young Englishman. The point is, do you answer all our questions, or must we exercise pressure? Bear in mind that if you give false information, which we are certain to find out, you will be shot."

Rollo felt far from comfortable. His faith in the traditions of war, in which he had been versed by his father, was ruthlessly destroyed by the cold-blooded declaration of his captor. It was as well that he was given to pondering rather than to forming a hasty and impulsive resolution, otherwise he might have told the German major to do his worst. Under similar circumstances the impetuous Kenneth might have sealed his own death-warrant; but Rollo remembered that a still tongue makes a wise head.

Fortunately at this juncture an orderly knocked at the door. In response to an ungracious permission to enter he strode stiffly into the room, clicked his heels, and saluted.

"What is it?" demanded the Major.

The soldier handed his officer a sealed dispatch. The German broke the flap of the envelope with a violent movement of his thick fingers. It was characteristic of him and his profession: the use of brute force, even when dealing with the frailest thing that balked him.

His brows darkened. With an oath he tossed the document to his brother officers. They, too, swore. The news was not at all reassuring.

"Sergeant!" roared the Major. "Tell one of your men to have the swiftest motor-car he can find brought here at once. Those Belgian brutes have been causing trouble near Tirlemont. Then pick out a reliable patrol to escort this prisoner to Tirlemont, where I will deal with him in due course."

The sergeant saluted, and ran as hard as he could to execute his superior's commands. Rollo was removed in charge of the guards, until the arrival of the Uhlans detailed to act as his escort. Then, having made arrangements with his brother officers for the hurrying up of the regiment to repel the new phase of the Belgian offensive, the Major entered the waiting car and was whirled off along the Tirlemont road.

Rollo smiled grimly as he noted the numbers of the Uhlan escort.

"Seven of them: they are not going to take much risk of my giving them the slip," he thought. "All the same I'll keep my eyes well open, and if there is the faintest possible chance I'll take it. Anything is better than being threatened by that brute of a Prussian major. I wish I had knocked him over the head that night."

After traversing about two miles of the road the Uhlans relaxed their vigilance. No longer did they carry their lances across the saddle-bow, ready to transfix their prisoner at the first sign of trouble. Out came their pipes, and, under the soothing influence of the tobacco, the Uhlans attempted a conversation in broken French with their youthful charge. It was not a pleasant subject, for, with grim vividness, they impressed upon the lad the fact that they had already seen more than twenty summary executions, and judging by the manner in which the prisoners met their fate, the process was sharp and practically painless. But they could not understand why Herr Major had gone to the trouble to have the prisoner sent after him to Tirlemont, instead of having him put out of the way without further delay.

A mounted scout came galloping along the dusty road. The corporal in charge of the Uhlans stopped him to ask whether there were any Belgian troops in the district. Receiving a negative reply, the Uhlan grunted that it was just as well, as he had no desire to be shot at by those troublesome rascals.

"It is as safe as in the Unter den Linden," added the scout. "There is not an armed Belgian within ten miles of you. Our 43rd and 62nd Line Regiments have just gone forward. You might almost see the rear-guard; so keep up a brave heart, comrade."

The corporal growled at this joking advice, yet in his own mind he felt greatly relieved. After all there was no hurry to reach Tirlemont. If the patrol arrived before sunset, it was more than likely they would be ordered to perform another and more hazardous service.

"We'll halt at that farm-house," he said to his men. "There may be something worth finding. Two of you will be sufficient to keep an eye on the prisoner. He doesn't seem as if he will give trouble."