in the work was. Telephone bells were ringing all the time, and Fred
noticed now that wires entered the house through the dining-room window.
Evidently a field telephone system had been installed and connected this
house with a whole region, of which, in a military way, it seemed to be
the brain. Then Fred heard a voice that he recognized at once, and
started at the sound, until he placed it as that of the captain who had
taken Boris away, and remembered that the captain had not seen him, even
before he was disguised.

Fred's work, he soon found, was simplicity itself. He was to do the
bidding of any officer. He was sent on errands, from one part of the
house to another; often he carried written messages, handed to him by
staff officers, to the room in which three telegraph operators were hard
at work. Generally speaking, he was there to do odd jobs and make
himself generally useful. Luckily, he was taken for granted. Everyone
seemed assured that he was one of the village boys, pressed into service
because he happened to be the first one to come along.

But for the first hour or so it was impossible for him to make any
attempt to discover if Boris was still in the house. He was too busy,
and he dared not spoil his opportunity to learn something really worth
while by seeming to spy about. He was rewarded before long for his
patience, for just as he was beginning to despair, an officer spied him
in a moment when he was not actively engaged upon some errand.

"Here, boy," called the officer, "take this tray!"

Fred took a tray from a soldier who was holding it awkwardly.

"Take it upstairs to the room on the third floor where a sentry is on