"I'm going to turn and go back. Jump aboard as I come by--I won't be
going very fast!" he cried.

Fred didn't stop to argue or to wonder why this stranger had come to his
aid in such a sensational and timely fashion. Instead, he gathered
himself together and, as the car swung about and passed him, leaped in.
As he grasped the seat, the driver shot the car forward and it went
roaring up the hill, pursued by a chorus of angry cries from the crowd,
utterly balked of its prey.

"That was a close call for you!" said the driver, in German.

But something in his tone made Fred look at him sharply. And then part
of the mystery was solved. For the driver was not a German at all, but
plainly and unmistakably a Russian.

"Yes--but how--why--?"

"Wait! Don't talk now!" said the driver. "Wait till we're inside. We'll
be all right there, and I've got a few questions I'd like to ask, too."

There was no more danger from the mob of villagers, however. The speed
of the car, even on the steep grade, was too great to give pursuers on
foot a chance, and so its driver was able, in a few moments, to drive it
through great open gates into a huge courtyard.

"Now who are you?" he asked. "And why were those people attacking you?"

"They thought I was English," said Fred. "I suppose England must have
declared war on Germany, too."