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.