"If alive, we are in Warsaw."
"If alive, we are in Warsaw."
"I guessed that once." Billy lifted his eyes from the paper.
"Go on," impatiently urged Henri.
"Of either fact you may learn by following instructions. You are to bring both biplanes, early morning, and circle over the city. In the south section you will note tall column with figure on top in center of square. Back of same is elevation on which rise two towers. Watch these. If one flag shows, hold over high road running west; if two flags, sail north and land at lodge house where canary sang for us. There wait. If highroad route (one flag), see red scarf signal for drop. When you read and commit these lines destroy."
"Of either fact you may learn by following instructions. You are to bring both biplanes, early morning, and circle over the city. In the south section you will note tall column with figure on top in center of square. Back of same is elevation on which rise two towers. Watch these. If one flag shows, hold over high road running west; if two flags, sail north and land at lodge house where canary sang for us. There wait. If highroad route (one flag), see red scarf signal for drop. When you read and commit these lines destroy."
"What a system that old fox controls," observed the reader. "Killing one of his men didn't close the show in Warsaw. Do you get all this, pard?"
"I think I do," asserted Henri, "but let me go over it again to be sure."
Both boys having Roque's communication pat in their minds, Billy tossed it into the flames of the nearest campfire.
The aviation lieutenant serving with the division gave them free reign and all possible assistance in preparing for their flight. He asked no questions.
Crossing the river, the young aviators ascended to great altitude, hardly visible to any casual ground view, and taking lower levels gradually over the city. Each with an eye on the compass, the pilots mentally rehearsed their instructions.
Operating in unison, though a hundred yards or more apart, they checked speed when sighting the burnished tower tops showing above all other structures on the south line, first identified by the tall column and its surmounting statue in the square.
The aërial maneuvering continued for a seeming quarter of an hour, and while the sun rays splintered on the glistening turrets over which they were keeping vigil, no other manifestation appeared.
Through this long exposure to the danger of attracting unwelcome attention, the boys were momentarily expecting some aëroplane demonstrationfrom the Russian military camps showing to the east.
On the highroad, finally, the aviators saw two horsemen galloping their mounts towards the hill, and then lost to view between the twin bases of the towers.
A flag swung out from one of the tiny windows under the gilded domes.
One flag:
The signal to hold over the road, which stretched whitely for a mile or more and merged into the fertile fields without the city.
The red scarf next. Would it call the suspended biplanes in swift swoop to the earth?
Skilled hands gripped the levers in readiness to instantly respond to the signal.
A cart with two muffled figures in it rumbled leisurely down the road. There was no urging of the sorry steed straining at its belled collar.
The biplanes perceptibly lowered, though it was merely guess work on the part of the aviators. The movement of the cart might have been just one of ordinary traffic, the occupants just plain, everyday peasants.
Suddenly the hovering airmen got a signal, but not the expected flash of scarlet. One of the carters, a big fellow, rose from his seat and frantically waved his arms, and the boys were then so near that they could plainly see that he varied thequeer performance by pointing skyward with the long whip he was holding.
So intent had been the aviators in trailing the cart that they had neglected for a time to look elsewhere about them.
The gestures of apparent warning that they were witnessing returned their wits to normal, and what they had from the first low flight feared was about to be realized. Barely a half mile away, and buzzing toward them, were three aëroplanes, which, unnoticed by the otherwise engaged lads, had risen from the Russian camp.
Billy and Henri, now wholly confident that the antics that had awakened them to the impending peril were those of no other than Schneider, gave that good friend a parting salute of cap waving and turned about at full speed to lead a stern chase over and beyond the city—far beyond, it proved.
The pursuing biplanes, of the largest type, carried a crew of three men each, and that they had tremendous motor power was evidenced by their catapult coming.
But, light-weighted, the No. 3's were not to be easily overhauled. It must have been a contrary spirit that induced Billy and Henri to do other than head across the river to the German camp.
They were in their element, however, and it was the kind of exploiting that most appealed to them. Keeping out of range of the guns of their armedpursuers was the first care, and no other care had the lads how long the chase continued.
They would even hold, as a bait to keep the fun going. That grave consequences might follow capture was not at all an issue. The boys had no thought of aught else than that they were jockeying in an aëroplane race.
How far afield they had driven they did not realize until with waning day they had outdistanced their pursuers.
They were compelled to land in strange territory, for they feared to take the chance of exhausting the supply of petrol carried by the aëroplanes, and, besides, the continued strain on the aviators themselves was beginning to tell.
"Oh, for a 'lodge in some vast wilderness,'" spouted Billy in actor style. He had a very pleasant memory of that lodgekeeper's kitchen, in which they, cold and hungry, had been warmed and fed. "I'd like mighty well," he added, "to hear that canary twitter right now."
"Barring all that," remarked Henri, "we might be in a worse fix, considering that we have something to eat with us and a good pair of blankets for a bed."
"I am not particularly impressed with these surroundings, though," argued Billy, "a swamp on one side, a bunch of stunted willows on the other, and a regular no man's land front and back."
"Oh, quit your kicking, Buddy, and let's make the best of it."
Henri started for the willows, in the hope of finding enough dry material to make a fire.
He succeeded in coaxing a small blaze out of a little pile of twigs.
Dead tired, the boys rolled into their blankets and slept like logs. But they had a rude awakening, particularly in the case of Billy.
As he lay snoring, a flash more vivid than lightning dragged him out of dreamland, and his hands flew to his eyes to protect them from the blinding glare. A searchlight was playing full on his face. He heard the clatter of horses' hoofs, and before he could see what was happening, a hand was on his shoulder and a revolver was pressed against his breast.
Henri, startled into sitting posture, looked dazedly upon the proceedings.
A Russian cavalryman, dismounted, was behind the revolver, and the searchlight was directed from a wagon.
A stalwart figure in gold and brown, an officer in the service of the Czar, moved briskly into the circle of light to inspect the prisoners.
Stroking his tawny mustache, he concluded brief comment with a short laugh. Translated, what he said was:
"You have caught a pair of lambs, Peter."
The soldier addressed as Peter hastily restored the revolver to his belt.
Another soldier just then discovered the biplanes, and the officer deemed this find of great importance. He tried the French language on the boys in starting a series of blunt questions.
"Who and what are you?" he demanded.
"Aviators by profession, foreigners by birth, and prisoners because we couldn't help ourselves."
The officer smiled at Henri's smart answer.
"I suppose you came to this spot in those machines?"
"Yes, sir," replied Henri, less snappy in tone.
"We will hear more from you when we get to Warsaw," advised the Russian.
"Shades of Tom Walker," thought Henri, "'out of the frying pan into the fire.'"
"Peter and I will go along with you by the air route," proposed the officer; "I like the looks of those machines. We need them. Now, Peter, you must not let your pilot run away with you."
Peter grinned and tapped the butt of his revolver.
Captain Neva, for such was the Russian officer's title and name, was a rather advanced amateur in knowledge of aircraft, and he shrewdly estimated the value of the prizes that had come to his hand on this night's march. The subaltern, Peter, had also some flying experience, though he preferreda good horse under him rather than a board, and he, too, noted the fine points of the No. 3's.
"A pretty present for the general, my captain," he rejoiced, "and all ready for delivery."
The boys were given a substantial breakfast, and Henri learned that they were about 150 miles north of Warsaw. As this was figured on straight line measurement, the aviators realized that in the excitement of yesterday's racing they must have left the direct course many times, for considering the time they were in the air and the speed maintained, 150 miles was not a great distance.
From one of the many wagons, loaded with ammunition and military supplies of all sorts, was produced a fresh supply of petrol for the biplanes.
"You see, we have quite a number of these flying machines up in Warsaw," explained Captain Neva to Henri, "and we are carrying plenty of this stuff to feed them."
In a few minutes the biplanes were off for Warsaw, Henri and the captain in one machine, Billy and Peter in the other.
Three hours later the boys walked behind the captain into army headquarters, and soon into the presence of a man of most distinguished bearing, in full field uniform of a Russian general. Though gold lace sparkled on his shoulders and his cuffs, the striking note of his attire was the orange and black ribbon of the Cross of St. George that appearedalong the buttoned edge of his field coat.
Captain Neva presented the compliments of his colonel, told of the near approach of the supply wagons and convoying troops, and mentioned the handsome addition to the aërial fleet so luckily and peculiarly acquired. The captain's brief relation of the latter incident, a little break in the pall of war, seemed to interest the general, for he glanced at the lads, standing at respectful attention nearby.
"What is your name?" he asked, speaking in French, and looking directly at Henri.
The boy politely bowed and named himself.
"I would conclude from the sound that I have spoken in a tongue within your complete understanding. And the other?"
Henri registered Billy, name and nation.
The boy from Bangor flushed with gratification when the general, in excellent American, called him forward.
"You're a long way from home, young man."
Billy admitted the fact, and added, "I have been wishing many times of late, sir, that the distance could be reduced three-fourths and I had already traveled the other fourth."
With the incoming of the staff members, reporting from the front, the general consigned the boys for the present to the custody of Captain Neva.
"They've wasted no time," observed Billy, pointingto the familiar lines of the No. 3's, glistening with new color.
That a couple of Polish carters should happen to be gaping at the aviation show was not an unusual occurrence or usually worthy of notice.
But there are carters and carters, and some seeming carters are not carters at all!
Withincoming of the troops convoying the supply train, Captain Neva rejoined his company, and Billy and Henri were promptly adopted by the aviation corps, most of whom spoke both French and English, and all very much inclined to express their admiration of the aëroplane knowledge displayed by the youngsters.
The boys were right on the job, so to speak, when it came to reassembling the parts of new aircraft received by wagon shipment, and so grew in the confidence of the aviation lieutenants that they were quite often permitted to make flying tests of the various machines with only themselves in charge.
If the young airmen enjoyed this concession without watching on the part of the lieutenants, there was no such inattention on the part of a couple offrequenters of a city tavern not far removed from the aviation camp.
Work was evidently slack with this pair of citizens, for hardly a day passed that they did not spend several hours at a tavern table located near a bow-window, which afforded an excellent view of the parade ground and aviation quarters.
One of these constant spectators was remarkable for his size and the vivid hue of his hair, the other for the reason that he paid absolutely no heed to the other patrons of the place, though all appeared to be of his kind, both in manner and attire.
On a particular afternoon, the strangely silent one was deeply engaged with a stump of a pencil in the labor, no doubt, of casting up his accounts on a piece of dirty brown paper, in which had been wrapped his lunch of black bread and sausage.
The puckered lines over his nose indicated thought labor, but the furtively keen glance he occasionally gave to outside movement contradicted the impression that he was of slow order of mind.
The chief actors in the mentioned "outside movement" at the time were two trimly set up lads in new suits of service green, one pulling and the other pushing an armored biplane into its hangar.
"This machine," said the puller, "ran like an ice-wagon to-day but maybe use will smooth her out."
"It's all in the motors," confidently asserted thepusher, "and I'll have the kinks out of them in a day or two."
The man at the table across the way had completed his task, shoved the paper and pencil into his pocket, and was placidly puffing a huge cigar.
His red-topped companion stamped into the room, returning from some excursion in the city, but the smoker did not pass a word of greeting, though the other idlers filled in with noisy welcome.
It was not until the room had been vacated by all but themselves that the curiously assorted pair put their heads together.
"Ricker showed you where the ammunition was stored?"
The red-topped nodded.
"You arranged for the plans with Westrich?"
Again the nod of assent, but this time with softly spoken supplement:
"All good, but there is no chance of us getting to the river now. It's lined with a wall of steel, and even a rat could not pass, day or night, without a triple stamp of authority on its back. And let me tell you, if we light the match for that explosion without an outlet, all the information we will carry will be to the next world."
"If we cannot get through the wall of steel you mention there might be a way of going over it."
The speaker gave a meaning glance out of the window at the aviation camp. A biplane was justrising for test flight, and it was manned by two experts easily identified by the conspiring couple in the tavern.
"Oh, ho, I see," mused the brick-top, "you expect to use those boys in the matter of pulling us out."
"Why not? Have they ever failed us in extremity? Is the peril greater than when they dived into the canyon that our lease on life might be lengthened; did they fail to respond to my summons to do this very work of rescue, delayed through no fault on their part?"
This subject had served to draw the clam out of his shell, and he found relief in relaxing temporarily his studied pose of stolid indifference.
"How are we going to get at them?" asked the willing listener to the rapid-fire praise of the young heroes.
The crafty secret agent (it was Roque, of course) had not been wool-gathering during the silent hour of his sitting at the table.
He had devised several ways of apprising the boys that he needed their services and acquainting them with a working plan that would enable them all to sail out of Warsaw in safety.
Something was going to happen when he willed it that would make the outward passage a memorable one, and success or complete failure of the project was in the close balance of a few more hours.
In real truth, however, Roque did not so greatly weigh his personal welfare as against the service he could render by doing damage to the foe from without as well as from within.
Ready for his call were papers of supreme import, and to lose which at the hands of a searching party would be a calamity the secret agent dreaded even to anticipate.
By the air route he had determined to leave, if by any hook or crook Schneider and himself could get hold of an aëroplane.
Billy and Henri had been aloft for several hours, enjoying a bird's-eye view of the really magnificent city, for the possession of which carnage held sway for hundreds of miles.
"Some town this," Billy remarked as he stepped from the machine, completing the sightseeing tour; "after the war I'd like to start a branch factory here."
"Oh, go 'way," laughed Henri, "it would take a derrick to haul you out of Boston or Bangor, once you set foot again in those burgs."
"You forget, old top," suggested Billy, "that we have already on tap a comeback aëroplane trip across the Atlantic. I'm no quitter."
From a coal-laden wagon the contents was being shot into a chute running into the cellar of one of the big houses taken over for officers' occupancy.
One of the grimy heavers, at sight of the boys,came forward to meet them, wiping his hands on the leather apron he wore, removed his fur cap, and took therefrom a scrap of smutty brown paper and tendered it to Billy.
"Guess he wants you to sign a receipt," said Henri, looking over his chum's shoulder.
Billy's glance at the paper set him staring at the man who presented it.
The latter never raised his eyes—he was using them sidewise upon a group of soldiers standing in front of the mess hall.
The boys saw in the scrawl these words: "Orders for No. 3's, Two Towers, St. Michael road, eight sharp, Thursday evening."
Without a word, Billy returned the paper to the heaver. The officer of the day was approaching. He signed the delivery receipt, but the paper had queerly changed color in the handling.
As the lads slowly walked toward aviation headquarters their minds were all in a whirl. Prisoners they were and prisoners they had been, yet in both instances it had been but the semblance of captivity. While they were held, the rein had been a loose one.
Just back of them the ties of long association, immediately in front of them a trust imposed, a generous parole, when they had gone to the limit in giving the best of themselves, in the one capacity they could serve, to the former rule.
Thursday evening at eight, and this was Tuesday evening at six. Long enough, indeed, for the boys to torment themselves with the reflection that if they did not appear at the appointed hour Roque and Schneider would curse their perfidy, and if they did betray the confidence of the aviation chief in this camp he would pay the penalty.
"It will be no trick at all to take the biplanes for an evening spin; we have done it before without question."
"That's the trouble, Henri", lamented Billy, "it's too easy. If we had to steal the machines, risk our lives before the guns of the sentries, and all that sort of thing, it wouldn't seem such a trial of conscience. But they take us on trust, and without question."
"Yet, here's Roque and Schneider in the lurch, and looking to us for aid. With them we have met about all that is coming to a fellow in this war zone, except death, and pretty near that; we have eaten and slept and starved together."
"There you are again, Henri, and it's 'twixt the devil and the deep blue sea!' any way you put it."
Thursday morning, and as clear as a bell. The Boy Aviators looked red-eyed on the smile of nature. Their cots had squeaked protest all through the night against the tossing of the uneasy nappers.
At noon they had about made up their minds to keep the appointment at Two Towers, and seekingto strengthen this resolution they avoided in every way they could meetings with the aviation chief.
Along about three in the afternoon the wavering youngsters had arranged a compromise, this to be positive. They would deliver the No. 3's to their former owner for choice, and so enable their old friends to get safely away. As for themselves, they proposed to return to camp and "take their medicine"—their dose and the portion that the aviation chief would otherwise be likely to get.
But fate shuffled it another way.
The workday was in the closing minutes. The remaining city thousands who were not in military service were swelling the stream of homegoers in the busy streets.
The driver of a coal wagon, which had drawn up before an imposing structure devoted to the storage of army supplies, and supposed to contain an immense supply of ammunition, suddenly conceived the notion that he was doing overtime duty. At least such was his manner when one of the Big Ben clocks overhead ding-donged the hour of six. Perhaps, too, the movement of gathering up reins and whip had its measure of prompting in the appearance of the driver's mate from some underground space in the big building.
At any rate, the old nags dragging the heavy vehicle were given the full benefit, and withoutwarning, of a long and knotted whip-lash, and covered several city blocks at a lively gait before they realized that they were traveling out of their class.
The heaver who had emerged from the building in response to the clock summons showed tremor of the hands when he lifted them to draw the cape of his greatcoat closer about his throat.
"It's set for eight," he hoarsely whispered; "I turned the key when I heard the strokes outside."
Strangely enough, the wagon kept a course directly to a residence section at once fashionable and quiet, and hardly the possible location of a coal yard or the home, either, of a humble employee thereof.
One of the men in the wagon, the fellow with the hoarse whisper, left the vehicle in a square marked by a tall column with a statue on top, while the driver continued the urging of his horses up the ever ascending street.
Gaining the level above, the horses were given their own heads, which meant a snail's pace. Close at hand were two towers of considerable height.
While the horses plodded on the highroad stretching to the west, pressure on their bits was lacking. The wagon was empty.
Two figures appeared on the terrace back of the twin towers, these terraces rising in tiers from the bank of the fast-flowing river below.
"You left Ricker in the square?" This questionput by the man who evidently had just returned from a mission that did not include a ride in a coal wagon.
"He left me, rather," replied the late driver, with a touch of grim humor.
The first speaker held a watch in his hand, consulting it frequently, holding it closer and closer to his eyes as the light faded before the advance of night's shadows.
"Seven o'clock," he announced. "Another hour."
This was the last notation of time by the watch holder.
There was an explosion that, notwithstanding the distance, seemed to shake the everlasting hills to their very foundations.
The men on the terrace stared aghast, each at the other.
"The die is cast," cried the one with the commanding voice, "and an hour too soon!"
TheBoy Aviators had just left the mess hall, and were proceeding to the hangars where the No. 3's were housed, fully intending to carry out their compromise plan of giving Roque and Schneiderthe means to escape, and return themselves as hostages for the honor of the aviation chief.
Shortly before seven o'clock on this eventful evening, Billy and Henri had the biplanes in order for the arranged visit to St. Michael road, and the delivery of one or both of the machines to their former owner, supposedly in waiting in the shadow of the two towers.
"It is really a relief that the time is drawing nigh for us to get off the rack. I believe we are doing the square thing, but sure we have had few easy moments during these last forty-eight hours."
Billy heaved a sigh when reviewing this disturbing experience.
Henri turned just then to salute the aviation chief. The boy's greeting had none of the cheery note usually there. He did not know how it would be several hours hence.
"Looks like a chance for you boys on the next dispatch trip to Petrograd," advised the chief; "we can illy spare more than two at a time of our regular air scouts, and here's a deal by which we have two extra machines and a pair of pilots thrown in."
With their minds clear and no cloud like the one looming ahead, the prospect of biplaning to the wonder city of Russia would have set the boys on the top floor of enthusiasm.
As it was, they could only say that they would welcome the work if it should be assigned to them.
The aviation chief had hardly taken a dozen steps in his continuing round of inspection when there was a shakeup that might have come by a combination of volcano and earthquake.
"Geeminy!" gasped Billy, clapping his hands to his ears, "somebody must have fired a ton of powder!"
A roll of drums preceded the hasty assembling of several regiments in this division, and a squadron of cavalry jingled madly down the street.
"That was a whopper, all right," exclaimed Henri, righting himself after his first little stagger from the shock, "but big noises ought not to queer us, pard. Get in and get away."
Following his chum's example, Billy was close behind the former in upward flight.
They could see that the streets below held literally surging masses of humanity, all trending in the same direction.
The aviators speedily gained an idea of what had happened. That which only the other day they had observed as a solid front of granite and iron on a building covering practically a whole city square had fallen in ruins, completely blockading the broad avenue it had faced.
About the square a cordon had been drawn, and it could be seen, even through the dusk, that troops were spreading fan-shape from this point throughoutthe entire northern section, while the police darted right and left and everywhere.
The select neighborhood of St. Michael road had not been omitted from the general round-up, the boys found, when they approached the site of the two towers.
It seemed that the abandoned team and wagon had been found somewhere along the highroad, and as suspicion was now acute, the discovery set the fine-comb going along every terrace and police poking in every likely hiding-place.
There had been instant acceptance of the theory that the storehouse and magazine had been deliberately blown up by the cunning contrivance of a spy or spies within the city.
Every stranger must give an account of himself, and even some individuals here and there who were not newcomers.
Billy and Henri could see no opening where two full length military biplanes could alight without notice, and not a morsel of encouragement to try for negotiation on the quiet with the disguised secret agent who had summoned them.
But the aviators hung about, not knowing what else to do for the present, thinking that Roque would make a showing of some sort, as he usually did in tight places.
Flying lower and lower, the two biplanes were sweeping within earshot of the terraced heightsalong the river front, and though now of dim vision, searching parties could be seen flashing lights up and down the ground tiers.
There was a hullabaloo breaking out on the lowest terrace, immediately overhanging the river—a shot—another and another—like a bunch of firecrackers, so fast did they follow!
A stentorian note of defiance, a rush, two shapes springing out into space, a great splash in the icy waters below!
If the morning revealed a single trace of the daring fugitives dead or alive, no word of it reached the aviation camp, to which the young airmen had returned, conscious that of this mission they were acquitted.
"Do you know, I can't help believing that they got across?"
Henri had a thought, perhaps, of the rabbit's foot that Schneider carried.
The boys had many under-the-breath discussions as to the possible connection of Roque with the explosion that had destroyed the war depot. They had no reckoning that in the little shop of a silversmith, not far removed from the very column and statue that had twice served them as a guide-post, the whole story might have been told by a wily confederate posing as a peaceful artisan. This same man could also have confessed to the first error of his expert career in the handling of a time-clock.
With plots and counterplots, however, the young aviators had no time or inclination to meddle. They would rather work in the open.
"I wonder if that lieutenant meant what he said about giving us a peek at Petrograd?"
Billy put the question to his chum as they contemplated with satisfaction a particularly neat job of aëroplane repair they had just completed.
"Don't see why he should say it if he did not mean it," replied Henri. "Next time he comes this way there would be no harm in reminding him of what he said."
It so happened that the aviation chief at the very moment was headed for the hangars. He was accompanied by two officers of apparent high rank, who gave the various types of aircraft close and critical inspection.
When the No. 3's came to their notice, one of the officers, a grizzled veteran, with a livid scar showing from temple to chin, halted with a pointed word of commendation.
"There's speed, balance and strength for you. Where were they built?"
The aviation chief explained.
"Ah, I see," said the officer, "the paint only is ours. Well, I think we need look no further. Get them ready for immediate use. Where are the pilots for this assignment?"
A call was passed for Billy and Henri.
When they faced the official visitors, both of the latter turned a stare full of question marks at the aviation chief.
"Are these the sons of our pilots to be?"
The senior colonel meant to be a bit sarcastic.
"No; but if the fathers really were as remarkably skilled in the high art of aëroplaning as 'the sons' you see here, I would request the general to let me go after them without delay."
The airman was very much in earnest in his firm but respectful effort to correct the impression of his superiors in command that he had been guilty of some error of judgment.
Henri unconsciously contributed another entering wedge when he gave his name to the younger of the colonels, who had taken a hand in the examination of the youthful candidates proposed by the aviation lieutenant for special aëroplane service.
"Trouville!" exclaimed the officer; "are you of the house founded by the first François and the motto 'Sans Peur'?" (Without Fear.)
"That's in my family record, sir," admitted Henri, who could not imagine what on earth his ancestry had to do with his ability to run an aëroplane.
"Then you will find an open door in Petrograd," proclaimed the colonel, "that of my father, who in his day of travel was often a guest at the ChâteauTrouville, when your grandfather lived and they were kindred spirits in the world of art."
"Château Trouville and its art treasures are no more," sadly recalled Henri.
"My father will mourn with you there," assured the colonel.
Another assurance came from the aviation chief when the officers had returned to army headquarters to assist in the preparation of dispatches that were to go forward by aëroplane within the hour. Said the lieutenant:
"It is settled, my flying friends, that you are to go on this journey, which is imperative, owing to the investment of railroad connections. The observers behind you will point out the route, and easy to follow, as the river is ever in sight. As to the rest, you need no instructions."
"We are ready to start at the drop of a hat, sir," declared Billy. The boys had tuned the No. 3's to the point of perfection.
The observers and dispatch bearers, Marovitch and Salisky, honor men in the service, soon appeared, hooded and enveloped in furs.
The first named handed Henri a card. "From Colonel Malinkoff," he said. The boy saw that it contained the words "He is a Trouville," signed "Alexander," and directing to a certain street and number in Petrograd. Henri carefully pocketed the valuable reference.
In the early afternoon the young aviators had their first view of the capital city of the Russians, at the mouth of the Neva, and they made landing upon a massive granite quay on the south bank of the big river.
As the boys walked with the special messengers to Admiralty Place, they marveled at the colossal proportions of the public buildings, and looking up and down one magnificent avenue, five or six miles in length and 130 feet wide, Billy squeezed the elbow of his comrade, with the awed comment: "There's all outdoors in that street."
"That's the Nevskoi Prospekt," advised Marovitch.
"The very name on the colonel's card," cried Henri, "Malinkoff palace, too."
"Know it very well," put in Salisky, "a twenty-minute ride, and you are there."
When the dispatches were delivered the boys were not present, but there was no lack of interest for them outside. Standing near the copper-inlaid doors through which the messengers had passed were a number of Cossacks, dressed in scarlet, gold-braided caftans, white waistcoats and blue trousers.
"That's a fancy looking bunch," whispered Billy; "I guess they are something extra. And—say, Buddy, if my eyes don't deceive me that fellow in the middle, the one with the bushiest beard,is no other than the boss of the crowd who shoved us in the cellar over in Galicia!"
"Cracky, what a pair of eyes you've got, old scout, and sure it's the very same, though he doesn't look as rusty as he did then."
Henri seemed to be fascinated by the discovery, and watched like a hawk every movement of the old enemy in the new garb.
About that time the Cossack happened to cast a glance in the direction of the spot where the boys were stationed, and two pairs of eyes met in a single flash. In the fierce orbs, and under the beetling eyebrows of the knight of the mountains and deserts, the flash plainly conveyed a puzzled expression. Henri lowered his look. This risk of recognition was more than he intended his bid to bring.
Turning away, the boy sought to show his indifference of the now strained situation. He managed to get an aside to Billy, in effect:
"I'm afraid I've put my foot in it now."
With the reappearance of Marovitch and Salisky, Henri, in subdued tone, requested information regarding their brilliantly attired neighbors.
"Why," responded Marovitch, "they are of the personal escort of the Czar."
"Good-night," thought Henri, "it's a fix we are into, and less than two hours in the town."
"How far did you say it was to the Malinkoff palace?" he suddenly asked.
"Oh, about two miles up the Prospekt," said Salisky.
"Hail one of those carryalls, please," requested the aviator, pointing to the nearest stand of vehicles for hire.
The Cossack had followed them, and was slowly descending the marble steps just quitted by the boys and their companions. He was evidently still debating with himself.
The driver of the chartered vehicle cracked his whip and carried his passengers up the street as fast as his heavy horses could gallop.
With a speed ordinance he had no acquaintance.
Drawingup with a flourish in front of a most pretentious example of old-time architecture, the fur shrouded jehu reached for his fare, which matter was adjusted by Salisky, who had orders from his colonel to see the boys through from start to finish.
At the onyx-studded entrance of the palace the party was halted by a gorgeous flunky, who immediately unbent at a word from the useful Salisky.
"The colonel must belong up in the pictureshere," suggested Billy, duly impressed by the surroundings.
"He is a great noble as well as a great soldier," reverently remarked Marovitch.
"Well," chuckled Billy, "I'm going to keep on my shoes, even though I walk on velvet."
Salisky gave the lad a side glance of disapproval of this levity, of which the young aviator took not the slightest notice.
But Billy warmed to the gracious presence revealed by cordial greeting in the spacious drawing-room.
The card from Colonel Malinkoff had preceded the visitors.
With Marovitch and Salisky in the background, the boys were ushered forward to meet a real, live duke, but, withal, a kindly gentleman without a mark or an affectation of exalted rank.
"Which, may I ask, is the Trouville, the grandson of my old friend?"
Henri bowed acceptance of the honor. With fine and delicate courtesy Billy was made to feel that he was not counted a crowd by being the third participant in a cozy chat.
The duke delighted in his memories of the close alliance he had maintained with the house of Trouville, and received with extreme regret the information that the old château had been razed by the engines of war.
"I well remember the underground passages, the walled ways, the secret panels, and the like of the ancient place."
Henri nudged his chum, and then briefly narrated how the fortune of the Trouvilles had been saved through the use of these same concealed avenues and by the plan of the same two boys now sitting in this drawing-room.
The old noble listened intently to the story, told without embellishment or boast, and at the point where Henri referred to the delivery of the treasure to his mother the duke clapped his hands in applause.
"Salisky," he called to the special messenger, "I desire to keep these young gentlemen as long as possible. Is there an emergency that commands their return?"
"Your grace," stated Salisky, "it grieves me to say that it is most important that they serve as pilots in our journey back to the front. Even now dispatches are being prepared, and we must be on the wing at sunrise to-morrow."
"Ah, the same duty that holds my son in its grip, the call of country, and which by my infirmity of years I may not answer. Not your country, my boy, but your trust, nevertheless. But this is not your last visit by many, I sincerely hope. A Trouville, a Trouville," he muttered, "without fear."
"Oh, another thought, you have not broken breadwith me." The duke struck a bell on the table at his side.
The gorgeous flunky led the way to the smaller of the dining-rooms, the other would have held a regiment, and if the food was plain, on the war basis of all alike, there was a bountiful service of it.
From the dining-room windows the Prospekt could be seen, and Henri saw something besides the Prospekt—several horsemen in parti-colored uniforms pacing their mounts slowly up and down in front of the palace.
He telegraphed with a wink to his chum, who was seated with his back to the windows. Billy took the tip, and managed to get an overshoulder look on his own account.
The interest of the boys as to affairs inside instantly began to flag. True, they were under powerful protection for the time being, but there was a later time coming.
The Cossack must have struck the lost chord in his memory. There had since the encounter in the Galician farmhouse been a life added to the claim of the red rider—the duelist that Schneider had forced over the cliff.
Henri had a game to play—playing for time. Appeal to their host, for various reasons, did not impress the boy as a desirable proceeding.
"There is no need of our going back to AdmiraltyPlace right away, is there, Salisky? We don't sail until morning and we haven't even seen the paintings here."
"The paintings"—here was a master stroke. The duke was touched at a point nearest his heart.
"You must have at least a passing look," he insisted.
Salisky uneasily shook his head. "We have orders to be within call from and after six o'clock, and, sir, it is already very near that hour."
"Now, I will tell you what to do, Salisky; you and your comrade here take my car, report yourselves, and if it then be necessary for my young friends to join you, return here for them. It is only the matter of a very few minutes, either way."
Protesting under his breath, Salisky and his companion heard the summons for the duke's automobile, and were whirled away in that swift conveyance.
They could not understand the action of a company of imperial Cossacks in ranging alongside of the machine, and only withdrawing when the indignant chauffeur sent the machine forward with a vicious plunge.
An hour passed, and no word from the departed special messengers.
The boys walked with the duke through his magnificent gallery, but it is doubtful if they had anyhigh appreciation of the treat. In every picture they saw a Cossack wrapped in a rainbow.
Finally, observing their inattention, and attributing it to anxiety on their part at the committing of a breach of discipline, the duke instituted inquiry as to the whereabouts of his chauffeur, intending to forward the boys at once to Admiralty Place. Neither driver nor machine could be found on the premises.
Billy felt that it was his turn to get into the figuring.
"It is such a fine evening, sir, and a straight way, that, if it is all the same to you, Henri and I would like the exercise of walking back to headquarters."
Henri could not fathom the scheme that his chum was nursing, but he made no objection to the proposition.
The duke did not accompany the boys further than the door of the art gallery, stating, with a grim smile, that he had always with him a reminder of his fighting days in the shape of a "game leg." He gave them both a kindly farewell and exacted a mutual promise of a longer visit next time.
Behind the broad back of the flunky the lads proceeded as far as the drawing-room, when Billy "happened to think" that he had left his gloves inthe dining-hall. There he looked for his missing gloves—out of the window!
In the glow of the high-lights on the broad avenue were revealed the gold-braided cavalrymen of the earlier hours, still patiently pacing their horses up and down in front of the palace.
"Tell his nobs to see if the automobile has arrived," softly urged Billy.
Henri sent the flunky ahead to investigate. He guessed now, and correctly, that his chum did not intend that they should leave by the front door.
Like ghosts they flitted through the dimly lighted corridors of the palace, into the unknown backstairs regions, hoping to find an easy outlet at the rear.
An open window coming handy, the boys essayed a jump therefrom, landing on all fours in the walk leading to the tradesman's gate. Darting out into a side street, the fugitives relapsed into a brisk walk, fearing to here excite suspicion by undue haste.
Alone in a great and strange city, as ignorant of locality as of the language spoken by the average inhabitant, Billy and Henri, as the former would have put it, "were up against it, good and strong."
Yet they won out, and meeting the wildly searching special messengers in the gray dawn, without ado climbed into the pilots' places of the waiting biplanes and sent the powerful machines in whirring flight toward the distant towers of Warsaw.
To follow them beyond this fixed destination is to turn the leaves of the next record, under the title of "Our Young Aëroplane Scouts in Russia; or, Lost on the Frozen Steppes."