Already the vague threat of pursuit from the direction of the inn had developed into a certainty—­he could hear men moving toward him through the alley from the rear.  Would the sentry never move!  Evidently not, until he heard the others coming through the alley.  Then he would turn, and the devil would be to pay for the American.

Barney was about hopeless.  He had been in the war zone long enough to know that it might prove a very disagreeable matter to be caught sneaking through back alleys at night.  There was a single chance—­a sort of forlorn hope—­and that was to risk fate and make a dash beneath the sentry’s nose for the opposite alley mouth.

“Well, here goes,” thought Barney.  He had heard that many of the Austrians were excellent shots.  Visions of Beatrice, Nebraska, swarmed his memory.  They were pleasant visions, made doubly alluring by the thought that the realities of them might never again be for him.

He turned once more toward the sounds of pursuit—­the men upon his track could not be over a square away—­there was not an instant to be lost.  And then from above him, upon the opposite side of the alley, came a low:  “S-s-t!”

Barney looked up.  Very dimly he could see the dark outline of a window some dozen feet from the pavement, and framed within it the lighter blotch that might have been a human face.  Again came the challenging:  “S-s-t!” Yes, there was someone above, signaling to him.

“S-s-t!” replied Barney.  He knew that he had been discovered, and could think of no better plan for throwing the discoverer off his guard than to reply.

Then a soft voice floated down to him—­a woman’s voice!

“Is that you?” The tongue was Serbian.  Barney could understand it, though he spoke it but indifferently.

“Yes,” he replied truthfully.

“Thank Heaven!” came the voice from above.  “I have been watching you, and thought you one of the Austrian pigs.  Quick!  They are coming—­I can hear them;” and at the same instant Barney saw something drop from the window to the ground.  He crossed the alley quickly, and could have shouted in relief for what he found there—­the end of a knotted rope dangling from above.

His pursuers were almost upon him when he seized the rude ladder to clamber upward.  At the window’s ledge a firm, young hand reached out and, seizing his own, almost dragged him through the window.  He turned to look back into the alley.  He had been just in time; the Austrian sentry, alarmed by the sound of approaching footsteps down the alley, had stepped into view.  He stood there now with leveled rifle, a challenge upon his lips.  From the advancing party came a satisfactory reply.

At the same instant the girl beside him in the Stygian blackness of the room threw her arms about Barney’s neck and drew his face down to hers.

“Oh, Stefan,” she whispered, “what a narrow escape!  It makes me tremble to think of it.  They would have shot you, my Stefan!”