ut in a court-martial there are no such rules. Once more, I
believe your best course is to plead guilty. I do not know the evidence
against you, but I can tell you that the court might be merciful if you
admitted your guilt frankly, while it would probably treat you more
harshly if you forced it to prove your guilt."

Fred shook his head, however. And so the trial began. It was a real
trial, and fair enough, but a trial by court-martial is not like one in
a civil court, especially in time of war. There were no delays. The
judge-advocate stated the case against Fred very briefly. He called as
witness the officer who had brought Fred into headquarters, who said
that the prisoner had been entirely willing to come. Then the corporal
who had found him testified. And the third witness, when he was called,
was none other than Lieutenant Ernst, who had befriended Fred at
Virballen! At the sight of him Fred's heart sank. He began to
understand what a strong case there really was against him.

At Ernst's first words there was almost a sensation, for the lieutenant
brought out the fact that Fred was related to the Suvaroff family. The
fact that Fred had gone straight to the house of his kinsman came out as
a result of Ernst's evidence, and Fred knew that it would be useless to
say that this had been the result of pure chance, and that he had not
even known of Boris's existence. It was true, but it was none the less
incredible. It was easy to see when Ernst had finished giving his
testimony, which he did reluctantly, and with a good deal of sympathy
for Fred, that the court had made up its mind.

There were no witnesses for Fred to call. He told his own story, but it
was not believed. The finding of the court was inevitable: "Guilty as
charged!" And Colonel Goldapp, in an expressionless voice, pronounced
sentence.

"The prisoner is old enough, though he is only a boy, to know the fate
of a spy. He risked this fate. He will be shot at once. Captain von
Glahn will take charge of the execution of the court's sentence."

Fred passed through the minutes that followed as if he were in a dream.
It seemed to him that it was someone else who was led into the garden,
placed against a wall, and blindfolded. Von Glahn, a young officer, came
and stood beside him.

"The firing squad will be here at once," he said. "I am sorry. Is there
any message I can deliver for you?"

And then outside a bugle rang out, and there was a burst of wild,