er of the house. They had not taken the
shorter route through the window, as had Mr. Petrofsky, and this gained
a little time for our friends.

"Stop! Hold on!" cried one of the guards in fairly good English. "That
is our prisoner."

"Not any more!" the young inventor yelled back. "He's ours now."

"Look out! They're going to shoot!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my
gunpowder! can't you stop them some way or other, Mr. Detective?"

"The only way is by firing first," answered Mr. Trivett, "and I don't
want to hurt them. Guess I'll fire in the air again."

He did, and the guards halted. They seemed to be holding a
consultation, as Tom learned by glancing hastily back, and he caught
the glisten of some weapon. But if the three men had any notion of
firing they gave it up, and once more came on running. Doubtless they
had orders to get their prisoner back to Russia alive, and did not want
to take any chances of hitting him.

"Leg it!" cried Tom. "Leg it!"

He was well ahead, and wanted the others to catch up to him, but none
of the men was a good runner, and Mr. Petrofsky, by reason of being
rather heavily built, was worse than the other two, so they had to
accommodate their pace to his.

"I wonder if we can make it," mused Tom, as he realized that the
airship was a good distance off yet the guards, though quite a way in
the rear now were coming on fast. "It's going to be a close race,"
thought the young inventor. "I wish we'd brought the airship a little
nearer."

It was indeed a race now, for the guards, seeming to know that they
would not be shot at, were coming on more confidently, and were rapidly
lessening the distance that separated them from their recent prisoner.

"We've got to go faster!" cried Tom.

"Bless my shoe leather!" yelled Mr. Damon. "I can't go any faster."

Still he did make the attempt, and so did the exile and the detective.
Little was said now, for each of the parties was running a dogged race,
and in silence. They had gone possibly half a mile, and the first
advantage of Tom and his friends was rapidly being lost, when suddenly
there sounded in the air above a curious throbbing noise.

"Bless my gasolene! What's that?" cried Mr. Damon.

"The airship! It's the airship!" yelled Tom, as he saw a great dark
shape slowly approaching. "Ned is bringing her to met us."

"Good!" cried the detective. "We need it I'm about winded!"

"This way, Ned! This way!" cried Tom, and, an instant later, they