“Gee!  That’s a nice prospect!  Say, Boris, what am I to do?  If I go to Berlin, I’ll be arrested!  If I go back to Russia, my uncle will probably have me boiled in oil or something!  If I stay here, your peasant friends down below will lynch me!  I’m beginning to think I’m not popular around here!”

Boris laughed, but his eyes were grave.

“It’s a ridiculous situation,” he said.  “I don’t really know what to say.  I don’t believe you need to fear Mikail very much.  He has a good deal to think of by this time, because, now that the war has come, he won’t have time for intrigue.  He’s a first-class soldier.  He made a splendid record in the war with Japan—­and not many of our generals did, you know.  But I tell you what I think we’d better do.  Wait here until we hear from my father.  He will know.  And when he learns that you are here, he will be able to protect you in some fashion.”

“But how are you going to hear from him here?”

“That’s a secret—­yet!  But there’s a way, never fear.  A way that the Germans don’t suspect, and won’t be able to interfere with.  Tell me, Fred. If it is safe for you to go back into Russia, will you stand by me?  Or would you rather take your chance of going home through Germany?  I’m a Boy Scout, and we have known for a long time some of the work we would have to do if war came.”

“I’m with Russia, even if America stays out,” said Fred, with instant decision.  “Blood’s thicker than water—­you know the old saying.  And I am half a Russian.  If there’s any way that I can help, you can count me in.  I’m a Boy Scout, too, when it comes to that.  I didn’t know there were any in Russia, though.”

“There are.  They’re all over Europe now, you know.  Well, we’ll see.  What’s this?”

A servant had entered.

“There is a man who would see you, Boris Petrovitch,” he said, using the familiar address of Russian servants.

CHAPTER V

THE GERMANS

Boris jumped up.

“That is good!” he said.  “I have been hoping he would come.”

“You do not know who it is,” said the servant.  “Boris Petrovitch, do not see this man.  He is a German.  He looks to me like one of their spies.”

“I will look at him first,” said Boris, with a smile.  “But, Vladimir, I think your eyes are getting feeble.  It is time you were sent to the place in the Crimea to rest, like the old horses that can no longer do their share of the work.”

Vladimir bridled indignantly.  But then a slow smile came over his face.

“Is it Ivan?” he asked.

“It should be,” said Boris.  “I shall know as soon as I see him.”

The newcomer was waiting in the great hall.  Boris, with Fred at his heels, got a glimpse of him; then without ceremony he ran down the polished staircase.

“So you have come at last!” he cried.