About a kilometer out of Malines we ran into a considerable detachment of Belgian infantry and lancers and a large armoured motor with two mitrailleuses. We were told that the Belgians had taken and retaken Sempst three times during the day, and while neither side occupied the town at that precise moment they were both advancing on it, and that it might be rather warm for ordinary motors. They finally agreed to let us talk to the commanding officer, who turned out to be none other than Colonel Cumont, the owner of the building occupied by the Legation. He was up on a railway embankment, lying on his stomach between the rails, watching some German patrols through a pair of big field glasses, and when we hailed him, rolled gracefully over the side, and came down to talk to us. He had been out on the track most of the time for three days and was a rather disreputable-looking person, but apparently glad of a chance to talk with someone from the outside world. He said he thought we would have time to get through before the row began, and in any event he would warn his men so that if we came scuttling back we would be given the right of way to safety. We passed several Belgian patrols along the way and finally got into the town, which showed clear evidences of fighting; some of the houses were burned to the ground, and all that were standing had their doors and windows smashed, furniture broken, and strewn about the floors with broken bottles and dishes, mattresses and goodness knows what else; and above all arose that terrible smell of burnt flesh. We were nearly through the town when we were hailed by a detachment of about twenty Belgians, who had got through and occupied the grounds of a villa on the edge of the village. We stopped the car, and I got out and went ahead, they remaining with leveled rifles, in their usual hospitable manner. When I got to within twenty feet of them we heard the whirr of a machine gun--which the Belgian soldiers call a _cinema_--and a German armoured car poked its nose around the corner for a look-see. It was firing high to draw a return fire and locate any Belgians there might be in the town, but they all scurried behind cover, closely followed by me. They were taking no chances, however, and called me to stay in the middle of the road. Without wasting any time in formality I made clear my identity, and, on being shown through a breach in the wall a disagreeable-looking body of German infantry and lancers about a half a mile away approaching through a field, I decided that we were on the wrong road and made back for the motor.