Oh no, this is as far as we go.

But I had reckoned without my host, a lean, wiry old fellow, a bit stiff about the knees.  First of all he proudly showed me his soldier’s book—­three campaigns in Algeria.  A crowd of smelly women pressed round us—­luckily we had finished our meal—­while with the help of a few knives and plates he explained exactly what a strategical movement was, and demonstrated to the satisfaction of everybody except ourselves that the valley we were in was obviously the place “pour reculer le mieux.”

We had been told that our H.O. were going to be at a place called Bethisy St Martin, so on we went.  A couple of miles from Bethisy we came upon a billeting party of officers sitting in the shade of a big tree by the side of the road.  Had we heard that the Germans were at Compiegne, ten miles or so over the hill?  No, we hadn’t.  Was it safe to go on into Bethisy?  None of us had an idea.  We stopped and questioned a “civvy” push-cyclist.  He had just come from Bethisy and had seen no Germans.  The officers started arguing whether or no they should wait for an escort.  We got impatient and slipped on.  Of course there was nothing in Bethisy except a wide-eyed population, a selection of smells, and a vast congregation of chickens.  The other two basked on some hay in the sun, while I went back and pleased myself immensely by reporting to the officers who were timorously trotting along that there wasn’t a sign of a Uhlan.

We rested a bit.  One of us suggested having a look round for some Uhlans from the top of the nearest hill.  It was a terrific climb up a narrow track, but our bicycles brought us up magnificently.  From the top we could see right away to the forest of Compiegne, but a judicious bit of scouting produced nothing.

Coming down we heard from a passing car that H.Q. were to be at Crepy-en-Valois, a biggish old place about four miles away to the south the other side of Bethancourt.  We arrived there just as the sun was going to set.  It was a confusing place, crammed full of transport, but I found my way to our potential H.Q. with the aid of a joyous little flapper on my carrier.

Then I remembered I had left my revolver behind on the hill above Bethisy.  Just before I started I heard that there were bags of Uhlans coming along over the hills and through the woods.  But there was nothing for it but to go back, and back I went.  It was a bestial climb in the dusk.  On my way back I saw some strange-looking figures in the grounds of a chateau.  So I opened my throttle and thundered past.

Later I found that the figures belonged to the rest of the motor-cyclists.  The chateau ought to have been our H.Q., and arriving there they had been entertained to a sit-down tea and a bath.

We had a rotten night—­nothing between me and a cold, hard tiled floor except a waterproof sheet, but no messages.