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.