“How far are you going to take me?” asked Fred.

“To headquarters.  We have less than half a mile to ride now.  The general will be glad to see you.”

The Russian chuckled, and there seemed to be a hidden meaning in his laugh.  At any other time, when he was less weary, Fred would have noticed that.  He would have wondered at it, at least; he might even have guessed its meaning.  But now he only asked, quite idly:  “Who is in command of the troops here?”

“You will soon know,” said the Russian, repeating his chuckle.

Fred did, indeed, soon get the answer to his question.  They rode up to a small farmhouse, ablaze with light, late as it was.  The place was well guarded.  The Russian officer slipped off his horse.

“Wait one minute,” he said.  He went, and returned at once.  Then he led the way inside.  And Fred, all weariness banished by the sight, stared into the cold, evil eyes of Mikail Suvaroff, wearing his general’s uniform.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE GREAT WHITE CZAR

There was a moment of absolute, chilling silence; the sort of silence that, in the old phrase, can be felt.  For just an instant it was plain that Mikail Suvaroff did not recognize the nephew he hated.  But then he knew him, and a flash of cold, malignant hatred lit up his eyes, while his lips curved in a curious, sneering smile.

“So—­it is you?” he said.  “I thought I had not seen the last of you on the platform at Virballen!  Lieutenant, you may leave us.”

“Yes, general,” said the lieutenant who had rescued Fred. He was plainly puzzled and confused.  “I did not tell your kinsman that you were in command here.  I thought he would be delightfully surprised by being confronted with you suddenly.  But—­”

“Exactly!  You were quite right, lieutenant.  And now you may leave us!”

The lieutenant flushed at the rebuke, saluted stiffly, and left the room.

Fred was alone with his uncle.

“You are brave, at least,” said Mikail, presently.  “That will, perhaps, be a comfort to you later.  Yet you were not well advised to serve the Germans as a spy.  They have not been able to save you from me this time, you see.  It is not a case this time of the station at Virballen, with the superiority of numbers on their side for the moment.”

“It is your Cossacks who saved me from the Germans,” said Fred.  “I have been a spy—­but it has been in the interest of Russia.  General Alexander Suvaroff and his son can tell you that.”

“Perhaps,” said Mikail, his eyes and mouth fixed, so that no one could have guessed what was in his mind.  “It is strange that you feel forced to call upon those who cannot say anything for or against you—­since they are in the hands of the Germans.”

Inspiration came suddenly to Fred, and he said nothing.  He gave his uncle stare for stare.