"Gone West, poor fellow," thought Ralph; but almost the next instant the man picked himself up and staggered towards the prostrate machine. The motor-cycle had finished its career. It consisted mostly of a tangled mass of steel and a grotesquely bent petrol tank. "We'll have that fellow in," said Setley to his sergeant--a trustworthy non-com. of the name of Archer. "Tell him to look sharp about it." Although the sergeant shouted at the top of his stentorian voice to the dispatch-rider he paid no attention. Either the roar of the distant guns drowned his words, or else the man had been rendered deaf by the concussion. To remain there in the open was to court death from bullets which were "plonking" sullenly into the sodden earth. "Shell-shock, sir, that's what it is," declared Sergeant Archer. "I'll fetch him in." A shell bursting eighty yards away sent fragments rattling harmlessly on the Tank's armoured side. The dispatch-rider never turned his head. It was a clear proof that he had lost his sense of hearing. Descending from the comparative security of the landship Archer raced across the intervening distance. It was not until he touched the unfortunate man on the shoulder that the latter was aware of his presence. He stared vacantly at the non-com., then pointed to the wreckage of his motor-cycle, but although his lips moved he was unable to utter a sound. It was a bad case of shell-shock. Without sustaining visible injury, he had been deprived of both speech and hearing. Archer pointed towards the waiting Tank, but the man obstinately shook his head and turned his attention once more to the smashed motor-cycle. "It's nah-poo!" yelled the non-com. "You come along with me at once." The vocal effect was completely thrown away, and when Archer gripped the man's arm the dispatch-rider resisted strenuously. Just then another motor-cyclist dashed up. He was riding with a set purpose, and could not stop to see what was wrong. Crippled motor-bikes were too common objects. Like the Levite, he passed by on the other side. Close behind came another motor-cyclist He evidently was returning, having accomplished his errand, and was merely indulging in a friendly "speed-burst" with the other man. Slowing down he came to a standstill, and surveyed the wrecked machine. "What's wrong, chum?" he asked inconsequently. "He's got shell-shock, and is as obstinate as a mule," declared Archer. There was method in his obstinacy, for seeing one of his own men the disabled dispatch-rider fumbled in his pouch and produced a sealed envelope. The new-comer glanced at the address and the endorsement, "Highly urgent!" "All right, chum; I'll see to it," said the man, and with a flying start he leapt into his saddle and rode furiously away.