"I'll call at the post office," decided Kenneth. "I don't suppose it will be of any use, but on the off-chance there may be letters waiting for Rollo or me. There's no harm in trying." In blissful ignorance of the danger that overshadowed him, Kenneth made his way through the crowd invading the post office. It was nearly forty minutes before his turn came. In reply to his request, a hopelessly overworked clerk went to a pigeonhole and removed a pile of envelopes. "Nothing, Monsieur Everest," he announced, after a perfunctory glance at the various addresses. "Nor is there anything for Monsieur Barrington." "Hullo, Everest, old boy! What on earth are you doing here?" exclaimed a voice in Kenneth's ear. Turning, the lad found himself confronted by a tall, erect Englishman, whose features were partly concealed by the turned-down brim of a soft felt hat. "I'm afraid I don't---- Why, it's Dacres!" "Right, old boy! But you haven't answered my question. What are you doing in Brussels at this lively moment?" Dick Dacres was an old St. Cyprian's boy. He was Kenneth's senior by several years, having left the Upper Sixth while young Everest was still in the Third. Kenneth ought to have recognized him sooner, for he had been Dacres's fag for one term. "Let's get out of this crush," continued Dacres, grasping his old schoolfellow by the arm. Once clear of the crowd he noticed for the first time the lad's shabby clothes, but with inborn courtesy he refrained from passing any remark that might cause any confusion on the part of young Everest. "I'm out here on service; can't give you any particulars. What are you doing here?" "I'm with Barrington--you remember him? We're corporals of the 9th Regiment of the Line--motor-cyclist section." "Indeed! Where is Barrington?" "In bed with a sprained ankle. Would you like to see him? It isn't very far." Dacres glanced at his watch. "I should, only I can't stop very long. I have an appointment with the----" He broke off suddenly. "You're not in uniform, I see." "No; we had to discard ours. I have been trying to get a fresh equipment, but it seems hopeless in this place." "Fire away and let's have your yarn," said Dacres encouragingly, as they walked side by side along one of the fairly-unfrequented streets running parallel with the Rue de la Tribune. Before they reached the modest lodging Dacres had skilfully extracted the main thread of his late college-chums' adventures. "Then you're temporarily on the rocks," he observed. "I didn't say so," expostulated Kenneth. "My dear man, I know you didn't, but I can put two and two together. It's a delicate subject, Everest, and I'm afraid I'm rather a blunt sort of chap, so excuse me. You're on your beam-ends?" "Unfortunately, yes," admitted Kenneth. "The pater sent a draft to the Credit Belgique, but before I could draw on it the bank's been transferred. But it will be all right soon, I expect."