irst lot of soldiers we passed," he said, "and when the car
stopped suddenly I knew what had happened. I took off my boots and
climbed on to the roof. I only made it just in time. The rest was like
eating pie."

"You didn't shoot the soldiers who were standing on the footboard, did
you?" asked Malcolm. "I heard no shots."

Cherry shook his head.

"Why shoot 'em?" he said. "I had only to lean over and hit 'em on the
bean with the butt end of my gun, and it was a case of 'Where am I,
nurse?'"

Half an hour's drive brought them to the cross-roads, and the four
apathetic sentries who, at the word of the Red officer, stood aside to
allow the car to pass. They were now doubling back on their tracks,
running parallel with the railroad (according to Malinkoff) which, if
the officer's surmise was accurate, was the one on which Boolba was
rushing by train to meet them. So far their auto had given them no
trouble, but twenty miles from the camp both the front tyres punctured
simultaneously. This might have been unimportant, for they carried two
spare wheels, only it was discovered that one of these was also
punctured and had evidently been taken out of use the day on which they
secured the car. There was nothing to do but to push the machine into a
field, darken the windows and allow the chauffeur to make his repairs on
the least damaged of the tubes. They shut him into the interior of the
car with the Red officer who volunteered his help, furnished him with a
lamp, and walked down the road in the faint hope of discovering some
cottage or farm where they could replenish their meagre store of food.

Half an hour's walking brought them to a straggling building which they
approached with caution.

"It is too large for a farm," said Malinkoff; "it is probably one of
those monasteries which exist in such numbers in the Moscow Government."

The place was in darkness and it was a long time before they found the
entrance, which proved to be through a small chapel, sited in one corner
of the walled enclosure. The windows of the chapel were high up, but
Malcolm thought he detected a faint glow of light in the interior, and
it was this flicker which guided them to the chapel. The door was half
open, and Malinkoff walked boldly in. The building, though small, was
beautiful. Green malachite columns held up the groined roof, and the
walls were white with the deadly whiteness of alabaster. A tiny altar,
on which burnt the conventional th