“Well, what have you to say?” said Mikail, at last.  “What defence have you, spy?”

Still Fred said nothing, and he saw the veins in Mikail’s hands swelling with anger.

“So?” he said, when he understood that Fred would not speak.  “Well, there will be a way to make you talk, doubtless.  I might have you shot now—­or hung.  But you are my nephew.  You shall have the fairest of trials, for it must not be said that I did not see that you were well treated!” He chuckled ominously.  Then he raised his voice.  In answer to his call two officers came in.

“You will be held personally responsible for this prisoner,” he said.  “He is to be sent at once to Grodno for trial as a spy.  I will dictate the process accusing him.  Let him be dispatched in the morning, under heavy guard.”

The officers saluted.  Then soldiers were called and Fred was led away.  From the first he realized the utter hopelessness of any attempt to escape.  He was in the midst of a great army.  He could not hope, no matter what happened, to get more than a few yards in any direction.  Yet even the thought of his peril did not keep him awake.  No sooner was he put in the guard room, where half a dozen soldiers were with him, than he sank into a heavy sleep.  He was too tired, in fact, to realize to the full how serious the matter was.

But in the morning, when he was roused to partake of a meal, the full and dreadful peril of his situation came over him.  There was something appalling about the way in which his guards looked at him.  Most of all, there was a terrible quality in the sympathy of the young lieutenant who paid him a hurried visit.

“I did not know, of course,” he said, quickly.  “I should have had to take you to him, just as I did, but I should have prepared you for what was coming.  I have heard something of the story.  You have aroused the general’s hatred—­and there are terrible stories of his power.  Tell me, is there anyone who can speak for you?  It may be that I can get some word to them—­though it would cost me dear if Prince Mikail discovered that I had done it.”

“Boris Suvaroff and his father would help me,” said Fred.  “But Boris is a prisoner, and so is Prince Alexander, if my uncle tells the truth!  And the American ambassador—­though I suppose he could do nothing.”

“I will do what I can.  And remember that Dmitri Sazonoff is your friend, and will believe always that you are a true friend of Russia.  Good-bye!  You go to Grodno.  There, unless there has been a change, are the headquarters of the Grand Duke Nicholas Nicholavitch, who is in supreme command of all our armies.  You will be tried there by court-martial.  I wish it meant more—­but count upon me for all that I can do.”

It was still comparatively early when Fred began his journey to Grodno, which was, as he knew, one of the concentration points of the Russian army.  The trip was begun in a great motor truck, empty now, which had been used to bring food and ammunition to the front.  It was one of a long train of similar vehicles, and in it he rode to the border, where he was transferred to a military train.