he harbor at Vladivostok a thirty-ton gasoline schooner threaded its
way through narrow channels left by ocean liners and gunboats toward a
deserted water-front where half-dismantled warships of ancient Russian
design lay rotting in the sun. Straight to a rickety wharf they made their
way.

Hardly had they thrown a line over a swaying post when two men sprang
across the narrow space.

"Watch your step!"

It was Johnny Thompson who spoke. The man with him was the young doctor of
his outfit.

As they cleared the dock and entered a side street of this metropolis of
eastern Russia, they walked with a heavy tread; their step lacked the
elasticity that their youthful faces would warrant. They were either very
weary or very heavily burdened. No burdens were visible, though something
might be concealed beneath their greatcoats. There was, indeed, a
bulkiness about their forms from shoulder to waist, but in this Arctic
clime, coming as they had from the north, one might easily credit this to
sweaters.

As they reached the shadow of a building, Johnny stopped and fumbled in
his pocket. At the same time his gaze wandered away toward the north.

"Wonder where Pant is now?" he grumbled. "I miss the little rascal, don't
you?"

"Sure do."

"Wonder what made him drop us flat that way?"

"Can't say. Had a reason, though. He always had a reason, and a good one.
There was something he wanted to do."

"Hope he does it quick and gets on down here. He's been part of my
bodyguard so long, I confess I don't feel safe in a new place like this
without him."

Johnny stopped fumbling in his pocket and drew forth three yellow slips of
paper.

"Here's the messages. I wrote 'em all down. Mighty little good they'll do
us."

He read them aloud:

"'When can you come across?'"
(Signed) "M."

"'We must produce. At once.'"
(Signed) "M."

"'Am in danger. Come across.'"
(Signed) "M."

"What does a fellow get out of that, anyway?" he grumbled. "What does this
fellow 'M' expect? The first one reached us after we'd been operating two
months, the second a month later, and the third a month after that. What
does he think this land is like? Three thousand miles! But then, I suppose
the rotten Russians did it. Made threats, likely."

"Doesn't give any address," commented the doctor.

"Not a scratch. We'd better go to the Red Cross headquarters, wherever
that is. Let's hunt it u