shoulders every now and then to see if they were in danger of being overheard, exactly like the plotters in a motion-picture play.  From the earnestness of their conversation, the obvious awe in which they were held by the townspeople, and the suspicious looks cast in their direction by the Serbian gendarmes, I gathered that in the near future things were going to happen in that region.  Approaching them, I haltingly explained, in the few words of Serbian at my command, that I was an American and that I wished to photograph them.  Upon comprehending my request they debated the question for some moments, then shook their heads decisively.  It was evident that, in view of what they had in mind, they considered it imprudent to have their pictures floating around as a possible means of identification.  But while they were discussing the matter I took the liberty, without their knowledge, of photographing them anyway.  It was as well, perhaps, that they did not see me do it, for the comitadji chieftain had a long knife, two revolvers, and four hand-grenades in his belt and a rifle slung over his shoulder.

From Antivari to Valona by sea is about as far as from New York to Albany by the Hudson, so that, leaving the Montenegrin port in the early morning, we had no difficulty in reaching the Albanian one before sunset.  Before the war Valona—­which, by the way, appears as Avlona on most American-made maps—­was an insignificant fishing village, but upon Italy’s occupation of Albania it became a military base of great importance.  Whenever we had touched on our journey down the coast we had been warned against going to Valona because of the danger of contracting fever.  The town stands on the edge of a marsh bordering the shore and, as no serious attempt has been made to drain the marsh or to clean up the town itself, about sixty per cent of the troops stationed there are constantly suffering from a peculiarly virulent form of malaria, similar to the Chagres fever of the Isthmus.  The danger of contracting it was apparently considered very real, for, before we had been an hour in the quarters assigned to us, officers began to arrive with safeguards of one sort or another.  One brought screens for all the windows; another provided mosquito-bars for the beds; a third presented us with disinfectant cubes, which we were to burn in our rooms several times each day; a fourth made us a gift of quinine pills, two of which we were to take hourly; still another of our hosts appeared with a dozen bottles of acqua minerale and warned us not to drink the local water, and, finally, to ensure us against molestation by prowling natives, a couple of sentries were posted beneath our windows.

[Illustration:  TWO CONSPIRATORS OF ANTIVARI

They stood lost in conversation, heads close together, exactly like the plotters in a motion picture play]

“Valona isn’t a particularly healthy place to live in, I gather?” I remarked, by way of making conversation, to the officer who was our host at dinner that evening.  His face was as yellow as old parchment and he was shaking with fever.