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“My name is Jack Maxfield, and that of my cousin, Amos Turner. His father was a noted military authority in his day, and somehow became very friendly with Lord Kitchener, I believe out in India, or in Egypt, long ago. When we came across the water on this errand of ours, the first thing we did was to see K. of K., who readily gave us this letter, and wished us every success.”

“As I understand it you are looking for some one; is that correct?” asked the territorial officer.

“An older brother of my chum, Frank Turner,” replied Jack. “Some years ago he had an unfortunate rupture with his father, who is a martinet in his way, and since then Frank has been traveling in many corners of the world. It has now been discovered that the boy was unjustly accused, and his father is fairly wild to see him again so as to make amends for the sad mistake of the past.”

“But what reason have you to suspect that he may be over here in Belgium where all the fighting is going on?” questioned the soldier. “There have been quite a number of Americans enlisted in a French Foreign Legion, I understand. They tell me there are scores if not hundreds of them among the Canadian recruits drilling at Salisbury Plains over on the other side of the Channel; but I do not think you will find many actually in the British army in Flanders.”