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."