“I do!  I do!” she exclaimed.  “It was Edna Johnson.  She wrote me a letter, telling me how she met two young American boys in Belgium and giving me their names.  I have heard from her often and each time she has mentioned your names.  She wonders what has become of you.”

“Well,” said Chester with a smile.  “I’m here and Hal is some place between here and Belgrade, I expect.  Now will you tell me who you are?”

“I am Helen Ellison of St. Louis,” replied the girl, extending her hand.

Chester took the hand and turned to the others.

“Allow me to present my friends to you,” he said quietly.  “Colonel Anderson, of His British Majesty’s service.”

Colonel Anderson bowed.

“And Ivan Vergoff,”—­this in French.  “Ivan, Mademoiselle Ellison.”

The big Cossack also bowed and acknowledged the introduction.

The girl smiled at both of them, and Chester was glad to learn that she understood French.

“And now,” he said, “if you will tell me exactly where we are, I shall be greatly obliged.”

The girl looked at him in surprise.

“You don’t know where you are?” she asked.

Chester shook his head.

“You are now,” said Helen, “just across the Serbian border from Bulgaria.  This house is the home of a friend of mine, Miss Thatcher, a Red Cross nurse.  I met her in Belgrade where she was wounded.  When it became evident that the Austrians were about to occupy the city, we came to the home of her friend here, a Serbian woman.  That was before there was any talk of Bulgaria joining Germany.  But now that war has been declared—­”

“War declared!” exclaimed Chester.

“Why, I think so.  Maybe there has been no declaration of war, but anyhow the Serbians and Bulgarians have been fighting across the frontier.  That’s why I was so afraid when you knocked at the door to-night.”

“And it was you who shot at me?” asked Chester.

“Yes,” replied the girl.  “And, oh, I am so sorry.  If—­”

“Never mind,” said Chester soothingly.  “You didn’t hit me.”

“I know I didn’t, but I—­”

“There, there, now,” said Chester.  “And where is your friend now?”

“She went away this morning and she hasn’t come back yet.”

“Do you know where she went?”

“Yes; to the home of a peasant about six miles from here.  His wife is sick and Miss Thatcher has been attending them since she has been well enough to do so.”

“And you were left here all along?” said Chester.

“Yes, but I wasn’t afraid until this afternoon, when half a dozen Bulgarians crossed the frontier and tried to get in the house.”

“The did?” exclaimed Chester angrily.  “I wish we had been here.”

“So do I,” said Helen.  “They knocked on the door, but I wouldn’t let them in.  Then they threatened to break the door down, but an officer came up at that moment and ordered them away.  They went sulkily and one of them called back that they would return.  That’s why I was afraid when you knocked a little while ago.”