Sidney and Raymond, not understanding anything that was said, had listened in great suspense to the conversation between their father and the stranger. At first they had supposed the gentleman’s remarks were merely politely casual. They were made uneasy when he began to show impatience, and when the policeman stationed himself at their father’s side their wonder and fear grew. They recalled tales of arbitrary Russian political oppression, and imagined they were all about to be thrown into a dungeon. Their dismay was hardly allayed by their father’s brief explanation as he was hurried away, and there was only time for Sidney to call after him,—

“Don’t worry about us, father.”

When Mr. Porter had disappeared with the officer, and the man who was, apparently, the officer’s superior, the boys were left gazing at each other in consternation. The whole affair had occupied so little time that they were dazed, and could hardly believe that it was reality and not a dream.

“Wouldn’t that jar you, Sid!” exclaimed Raymond finally. “What do you suppose they have arrested father for?”

“I can’t imagine,” replied Sidney. “It must be a mistake. I am sure he will be released right away.”

“I guess mother was right when she thought Russia was a dangerous country; here we’ve come straight from the ship without stopping anywhere, and couldn’t have done any mischief if we had wanted to, and yet father has been arrested before we have been here an hour.”

“Well,” said Sidney, “it will probably come out all right, and we will be laughing about it to-morrow. But we’d better go back to the hotel, so if father sends a message we shall be there to receive it, or maybe he will come himself.”

With that idea to encourage them, the boys hurried back to the hotel and went directly to their room. Mr. Porter had selected connecting rooms, and their one trunk was placed in the room which he had expected to occupy. When the boys entered they found a man in uniform directing the removal of the trunk by two porters.

“Has my father sent for his trunk?” asked Sidney eagerly.

“Yes,” said the officer with an amused smile, and in English with a strong foreign accent, “he has sent for the trunk.”

“Did he send us any message?”

“No; he sent no message.”

Meantime the men had carried the trunk out into the corridor, and the boys followed in their eagerness to get news of their father. The officer turned and said sharply,—

“Do not follow. Remain here.”

The boys stopped with the sensation of having received a blow, and returned to their rooms feeling very forlorn. There everything looked cheerful and homelike. The windows were suffused with the soft light of late evening in a high latitude, and the prevailing aspect was so peaceful that they were more than ever inclined to think they were dreaming. When they looked about them, however, and saw the trunk was gone, the reality of the situation returned. When they had come from the train the traveling-rugs and pillows had been thrown across a couch, and there they still lay, not having been noticed by the men who took the trunk. Mr. Porter’s handbag was gone, but a small one which Sidney had carried was on the dresser in the boys’ room. That bag and the rugs were all that remained of their belongings.

“I don’t believe father sent for his trunk,” said Raymond; “the authorities have simply seized it.”

“I’m afraid that is so,” replied Sidney; “but I can’t think of any reason unless there has been a mistake, and father has been taken for some one else. Let’s go down to the office; the man there speaks English, and we may learn something.”

Accordingly they descended to the office and found the English-speaking clerk.

“Do you know the officer who just went out with our trunk?” asked Sidney.

The clerk looked at him hesitatingly for a moment without replying; then after a cautious glance about the lobby, where there happened to be no one within hearing, he said,—

“You are not Germans, are you?”

“Of course not,” replied Sidney; “we are Americans.”

“But your father speaks German.”

“Yes, he does, but we don’t. His mother was German.”

“Ah!” and the man shook his head dubiously; “Germans will not be safe in Russia now.”

“But we are not Germans,” protested Sidney. “Anyhow, why should they not be safe here now?”

“On account of the war.”

“I didn’t know there was a war.”

“Germany declared war on Russia to-day.”

“That’s just what is the matter, Ray!” —and Sidney turned to his brother excitedly. “They think father is German because he speaks the language. But they must have known before that he speaks German, for that man who spoke to him in the park must have had everything arranged to arrest him.”

“Don’t you remember, Sid, that father replied in German to a man who asked him some question when we left the train?”

“Yes, I believe he did. I am greatly relieved, Ray, for I am sure father can prove he is American. He will show his passport and that will settle it.”

“Your father’s passport is here in the safe,” said the clerk.

“Did the officer who arrested father see it?”

“Yes, he examined it before he followed your father to the park.”

“And yet they arrested him!” exclaimed Sidney.

“Many Germans,” said the clerk, “will be coming from America now, and some might come directly here as spies.”

“Do you mean they have taken my father for a spy?” And a vision of Major AndrÉ of Revolutionary times rose before the horrified boy, whose face turned pale at the thought.

“I do not know,” said the clerk, looking with pity at the distressed boys; “but I would advise you to wait quietly and your father may return in the morning.”

That seemed to be good advice and the boys determined to follow it. It was then time for dinner and they tried to eat something, but with poor success. They were so uneasy about their father that they could hardly think of anything else, and they had not yet begun to consider what they, themselves, should do. All thought of the Great Fair, which they had come so far to see, had entirely left their minds. Their trouble, however, did not prevent them from sleeping well, and when they went to bed they knew nothing more until long past daylight the next morning.

After such a night’s rest things did not appear so bad to the boys as they had seemed the day before, and they ate a hearty breakfast. Then they hunted up the English-speaking clerk again, for they had received no message from their father. That person could tell them nothing and they went out on the street. The evening before they had noticed nothing unusual in conditions, or if there had appeared to be great activity, they had supposed it was only the ordinary business of the city. With their knowledge that war had been declared, however, the boys plainly perceived an air of suppressed excitement everywhere. Automobiles raced through the streets, and the boys noticed that the cars always carried men in uniform. Private automobiles seemed to have strangely disappeared, and the boys did not know that all such cars had been commandeered by the Government.

There were groups of people talking earnestly on the streets, but not a word that the boys heard could they understand, and they felt very much out of everything and very forlorn. In their far Southwestern home their ability to speak Spanish besides their native English had been all that they ever needed, but in Nizhni-Novgorod both English and Spanish seemed to be unknown. They felt finally that they could no longer endure the suspense of not knowing what was being done, and determined to return to the hotel and seek their English-speaking friend again.

“Has our father sent us any message?” asked Sidney when they had found the clerk.

“No,” replied the man; “we have heard nothing from him, and I think you young gentlemen ought to leave the city at once. If you stay much longer you may not be able to get out of the city at all.”

“How can we go,” cried Raymond, “and leave our father here in prison?”

“You cannot help him by remaining,” said the man; “and when he is released he will come here and will learn where you are gone.”

“I think that is right, Ray,” said Sidney; “and I am sure father would want us to get away where we shall be safe. We had better take the first train back to Libau and then sail for New York by the first ship. Mother must be feeling pretty anxious, for she probably knows a good deal more about the war than we do. When is there a train for Libau?” —and Sidney turned to the clerk.

“You cannot go to Libau; the Government has taken all trains to transport troops. You cannot go either west or north from here.”

“Then we can’t get away at all,” declared Raymond petulantly. “Why did you advise us to go?”

“You can go by boat down the Volga and across the mountains to the Black Sea. You would be almost sure to find either American or English ships there.”

“Would it be difficult to cross the mountains?” asked Sidney.

“Not very; there is an excellent road by the Dariel Pass, the Georgia military road. I have been through there.”

“But how are we going to get away?” asked Sidney dolefully. “I have heard that one cannot move a step in Russia without a passport, and we can’t take my father’s passport, for he will need that when he is released.”

“No,” said the clerk; “we could not let you have this passport, which is made out in your father’s name, but I think I would be allowed to take it down to the boat and show it to the purser, who would probably be satisfied with that.”

“What should we do when we had to make a change, and would need to show a passport again?”

“There are steamers here that bring up petroleum from the Caspian ports of the Caucasus. Some of them carry passengers, and I think I can find a boat that will take you directly to Petrovsk where you would leave the Caspian to go across the mountains. By one of those boats you would not have to make a change, and showing your passport once would be all that was necessary. Those steamers are not so fine as the regular passenger boats, but they are comfortable.”

“It seems pretty bad, Sid,” said Raymond, “for us to run away and leave father here in prison.”

“I know it does, Ray, but I believe he would want us to go. If we could help him by staying I shouldn’t think for a minute of going, but we should probably only be a burden to him after he gets out. If we reach home, perhaps we can help him more there.”

“I think you should go at once,” said the clerk; “we can’t tell what may happen before to-morrow. Already twenty of the waiters and porters have been taken from the hotel to serve in the army.”

“There is one thing, Ray,” said Sidney; “we must first cable mother in New York what we are going to do. I don’t believe we had better tell about father, though, except to say that he has been detained here.”

“I am sorry,” said the clerk, “but it is not allowed to send any private telegrams out of the country.”

“Could letters be sent out?”

“Oh no; I am sure the German fleet in the Baltic will intercept all mail.”

“The only thing we can do apparently,” said Raymond, “is to get out ourselves, if we can do that.”