Producing his military map Kenneth attempted to fix his position. He could only come to the conclusion that the stream was the River Velp, on which the hamlet of Cortenaeken stands. He was, he decided, about ten miles from the village, which ought to be reached by following the path he had struck.
It was bad going. The deep ruts made riding a nerve-racking ordeal. Here and there the path had slipped bodily into the reed-grown mud that fringed the stream. Dismounts were frequent; speed was out of the question.
After a mile or so of this unsatisfactory mode of progression the path ended abruptly, but here the stream was crossed by a narrow plank bridge. On the opposite side, at about two hundred yards from the bank, was a cottage, and--thanks be!--from the chimney a wreath of faint blue smoke was rising.
Kenneth dismounted, set his motor-cycle on its stand, and proceeded to examine the apparently frail bridge. It sagged considerably under his weight; what would it do with the additional weight of his mount? In addition there was the transport problem. He could not carry the heavy cycle; the plank was too narrow for him to attempt to ride across. Yet he did not feel at all inclined to go back along that rutty path.
"I'll give a few toots on the horn," he declared. "Perhaps the people in the house will come out and bear a hand. Hullo! There's a punt over there in the rushes. With assistance I could get my bike across in that."
The raucous blasts on the horn disturbed the quietude of the sylvan scene, but without the desired result. He tried again, still without success.
"Perhaps these people have also cleared out in a hurry and left a fire burning," he soliloquized. "Otherwise they must have heard the explosions of the engine as I rode up. Well, here goes!"
Crossing the stream he took his way to the spot where the punt was made fast. Here, again, his hopes were dashed to the ground, for not only was the flat-bottomed craft chained and padlocked to a massive post, but it had a gaping hole at one end and was half-full of water.
"It's only waste of time tramping across to that cottage," he said to himself. "I'll have a shot at getting the bike across first, and make enquiries later."