reet door, which was at the
bottom of the stairs, directly in line with his own, his room being on
the first floor. He was curious enough to open his door to listen, and
he saw the woman of the house open the street door.

"In the name of the law," he heard a heavy voice say. "We have come to
take one Richard Warner, calling himself an American, who is accused of
being a spy, and is to be sent immediately to Buda-Pesth. Stand aside!"

"Yes, sir--yes--right up the stairs, there," stammered the frightened
woman.

Dick was aghast for a moment. Then, by a sheer instinct of
self-preservation, he flung the door shut, locked and bolted it. It was
stout and would hold for a moment. He rushed to the window. It was an
easy drop to the garden below. But of what use to drop? What chance was
there for him to make his way through the streets to the consulate,
where, could he but reach it, he might find asylum? It might be better
to yield. Though he was not a coward, he knew that the police might
shoot him.

And then, just as heavy footsteps came up the stairs, a voice spoke in
his ear.

"Will you trust me?" it said.

He turned with a start, to see the boy of Hallo's office beside him!

"Follow me--through the window. I can save you," said this boy. "It is I
they should seek--I _am_ a spy!"

CHAPTER IV

THE REFUGE

There was no time to debate. Dick heard the policemen at the door and he
knew that it would not delay them for more than a minute, at best. The
mysterious boy was already half way out of the window. Dick rushed over,
and saw him land in a flower bed below. A moment more, and he was beside
him.

"Follow me," said the stranger. "Can you run fast?"

"Yes, I can," said Dick, speaking in Servian. He wanted to surprise this
boy who had surprised him so thoroughly, and he succeeded. But there was
no time for questions. He suited the action to the word now, and they
ran, the stranger in the lead. But even as they ran, Dick's mind was
active. He had answered in Servian because he had suddenly guessed part
of the mystery. The other's cry, "I am a spy!" had given him a clue. He
concluded that this boy must be a Servian.

And his start of surprise when he had heard the words in that language,
which very few foreigners can speak, had convinced Dick that he had made
the right guess. He felt better after that. Somehow hitherto he had not
been able to divest himself of an uncomfortable suspicion that this
strange