"We're in luck, old man," said Kenneth, when they were well out of sight of the disabled Taube. "If we are spotted by any patrols this letter will pass us through. It's evidently a report to the colonel of one of the regiments in the fighting-line." "Don't you think you had better drop me?" "Drop you--what on earth for?" "You might get through as a German dispatch-rider; but with a supposed wounded man going towards the firing-line? Looks a bit suspicious, eh?" "No fear; we'll stick together. If one gets through, the other must; otherwise we'll both go under. Hello! Here's a road." It was a sharp corner as they swung from the path to the highway. Kenneth wisely slowed down, and found himself almost in collision with a German patrol. The men were evidently exhausted. Two were standing in the centre of the road, and leaning heavily upon their rifles. Half a dozen more, having discarded their rolled coats and cumbersome knapsacks, were reclining on a bank. The two faced about on hearing the approach of the motor. The others sprang to their feet and seized their rifles. Producing the buff envelope Kenneth waved it frantically, at the same time increasing speed. The Germans stood back, the sergeant grunting a few words as the two lads flashed by. No bullets whistled past them; the aviator's dispatch had proved a safe passport. For the next two miles they were continually passing troops, some going in the same direction, accompanied by heavily-laden supply wagons; others, wounded in action, painfully making their way towards the nearest field hospital. The action, whatever the result might be, was no longer in this part of the field of operations. Ahead were the bivouacs of the Germans holding the line of front. The air was thick with the smoke of their campfires. Right and left, as far as the eye could see, were masses of grey-coated men, without a sign of a gap through which the British lads could make a dash for freedom. Two hundred yards to the left of the road was a battery, the guns of which were admirably concealed from view from the front by a bank of earth on which were stuck branches of trees. The muzzles of the artillery were pointing at an angle of thirty degrees, so that they must have been shelling a Belgian position at a range of about five miles. Since the guns were now silent, Kenneth could only reiterate his belief that the heroic Belgians had had to retire in the face of overwhelming numbers, and that a distance of at least seven miles lay between the two lads and their friends. After passing numerous detachments of troops without alarming incident, the confidence of Kenneth and his companion grew stronger; but they had a nasty shock when they were peremptorily challenged by a picket and ordered to halt. The sight of half a dozen levelled bayonets left no doubt as to the demands of the sergeant in charge of the party.