“Such families as the Suvaroffs can do much harm to themselves and to others,” she had said.  “But they can also be of great service to those of their blood, to those who are dependent upon them, and to their country.”

The truth of this was constantly being impressed anew upon Fred at this time.  He was struck especially by the difference between the way that the people of this house treated Boris and himself, and the attitude that had been noticeable in those who had served his uncle, Mikail Suvaroff.  Mikail was decidedly a greater figure than Boris’s father.  Yet it was not devotion that he seemed to inspire.  He won obedience, not because his people were devoted to him, but because he had filled them with fear, and because they knew the consequences that would certainly follow if he were displeased in any way.

It was still light when Fred left the house.  He went out by a side entrance, reaching the road from the garden.  Vladimir had gone down the hill before him.  It was understood that he would manufacture some errand as an excuse for his appearance in the village.  A number of the people of the village were in the road near the great house; they stared at it curiously, and with hostile murmurs.  They paid no attention to Fred, however, and this convinced him that his disguise was good.  He passed near them, and he breathed more freely when he had gone by.

At the foot of the hill he turned away from the village.  Here he remembered something that both amused and annoyed him.  He had not asked just where the parsonage was.  He knew its location with reference to the outer portal of the tunnel, to be sure, but he had come to that underground.  However, he remembered where the sun had been when he had emerged into the open air before, and, after some profitless scouting about, a passing motorcycle set him on the right track.  It set him thinking, too.

“There are an awful lot of these fellows with dispatches running about,” he said to himself.  “It seems to me that this place is more than a colonel’s headquarters.  A colonel has just one regiment under him, and he certainly wouldn’t need so many riders to carry his orders about—­unless he were in command of a detached fort or position, and Colonel Goldapp isn’t.  I guess he’s there, right enough, but I’ve an idea there’s someone more important, as well.  It might be worth while to find out just what is going on around here.”

But that could wait.  For the moment his task was to meet Vladimir and then to spy out the parsonage.  Meeting Vladimir proved easier than he had hoped.  He followed the trail of the man on the motorcycle until he was within sight of the grey stone parsonage, and then had his bearings exactly.  He approached the hollow cautiously, but no one was around.  The ground was fairly soft; there had been rain within the last three or four days.  And so, as he approached the spot of his encounter with the superstitious soldier, Fred was able to tell that no visitation had been made to the hollow.  He marked the footsteps of the soldier; the man had evidently run from the place.