"You can't go there. There are spies enough there already!" cried the
other.

And then without any warning, he lunged forward and tried to grapple
with Fred.

That aroused all the primitive fight in Fred. He met the attack joyously
for wrestling was something he understood very well. And in a moment he
had pinned the peasant boy, strong as he was, to the earth.

But he had got rid of one opponent only to have a dozen others spring
up. There was a throng about him as he shook himself free, a throng
that closed in, shouting, cursing. For a moment things looked serious.
Fred now understood these people thought he was a spy. And he could
guess that it would go hard with him if he didn't get away. He forgot
everything but that, and he fought hard and well to make good his
escape. But they were too many for him. Try as he would, he couldn't get
clear, although he put up a fight that must have been a tremendous
surprise to his assailants. In the end, though, they got him down, with
cries of triumph.

And then there came a sudden diversion from outside the mob. Down the
road from the great house, shrieking a warning, came a flying motor car.
Its siren sounded quick, angry blasts, and the mob, terrified, broke and
scattered to get out of the way of the car. Fred, stupefied, didn't run.
He had to jump quickly to one side to get out of the car's path. Then he
saw that it was slowing down, and that it was driven by a boy of his own
age. This boy leaned toward him.