"I'll not forget it," said the hunchback. "But we'd better move on a bit, even though it's daylight. That soldier might repent of his kindness or drop a word about having met an American. It's healthier for us to be somewhere else." "I'm ready to go," said Horace. He was beginning to have an acute perception of the narrowness of his escape, for he saw that if there had been two soldiers instead of one, neither would have dared to trust the other, and, in all probability, he would have had a bayonet thrust through him before there was time for any explanations. Next evening the two fugitives crossed ridge after ridge, on the high country to the south of the Lesse River, fortunately getting a midnight meal from a peasant who had a small farm between Hour and Pondrome. This man had picked up a great deal of information from a German transport corps which had commandeered all his grain and all his horses, leaving him poverty-stricken and unable to carry on the work of his farm. The information meant little to the peasant, but coupled with the items that Horace had been able to gather and that Croquier had found out, it gave a definite picture of the German Army's movements. Thus they learned that, when leaving Liége, they had crossed the track of the army under Von Kluck (of which Von Emmich's army was only an advance guard). Soon after, they had crossed the path of the Second Army, under Von Buelow. The transport corps which had taken the horses, had come up from the south, from the Third Army, under the Duke of Würtemberg. "Then what's the army we passed yesterday?" asked the boy. The hunchback considered the problem thoughtfully. "That's right," he said, "there is another army in between, but a day's march behind the rest. It seems," he continued, "that Von Kluck is striking due west, evidently to flank Namur; Von Buelow is moving on the forts themselves; Würtemberg's army is going to strike lower down, probably at Dinant." He paused, for emphasis. "But what's this other army in between?" He sat for a few moments, sunk in thought. "Hadn't we better be going on?" suggested Horace. "Yes," said Croquier, rousing himself. "I was just wondering where. I think we'll have to try and cross the Meuse south of Dinant, between that and the French frontier, which is only four miles away." "Why not go directly to the French frontier?" asked the lad. "Too heavily guarded," was the reply. "Our only chance is south of Dinant. Luckily, I know a man who lives close to Waulsort. We ought to reach his place this evening." By starting early in the evening from the loft where they had hidden all day, the fugitives reached the banks of the Meuse before midnight. There, the Meuse is deep and wide, flowing at the bottom of a deep valley. The hunchback skirted the woods in the direction of the little farm that he knew and cautiously knocked on the door. A white, drawn face looked out.