'along the Levashov.'"

16. This entry may explain the difficulty:

"There is an Army Corps approaching from the southwest…. The air is surcharged with electricity and puts one's nerves on edge…. There is an ominous roar overhead that grows more nerve-racking every second…. Zip, zip, zip, bl-r-r-r-r-oo-ow!… A flock of Foelkers heading east like wild ducks toward a few faint specks zigzagging in the firmament away to the northeast…. Now there are a number of specks from the south speedily joining these and ALL seem to be flitting higher and higher out of sight…. Now the Foelkers are circling rapidly upward…. The tramp and rattle of an Army can be heard coming up the road behind my villa…. Ah! here comes a daring plane like a streak of lightning over the Alex Nevsky Church directly toward this prison!… I'm between the Devil and the Deep Sea!… Whoever gets me, that flyer or those noisy and unseen dogs of war back yonder, means nothing but plain HELL to ME!…"

17. The next entry is interesting:

"Well, I'm not DEAD yet!… A trip through the clouds is NOT the most delightful of experiences for one in summer togs…. Especially when one is gagged and blindfolded and roped down like a rebellious steer…. So here I am cooped up again in a log cabin in the center of an undulating plain where there might have been unending wheat fields once upon a time…. Not a solitary animal is in sight…. The road out yonder looks much the worse for wear. It seems ground into a pumice stone by the hoofs of horses and the swift movement of heavy wheels. Every gust of wind sends a cloud of fine dust pyramiding its way across the fields and through the crevices of this suffocating den furnished with a few wooden chairs, a hand-carved bedstead, a small picture of the 'Virgin of the Partridges' and a brass crucifix above the bed…. I greatly SUSPECT my present whereabouts…. I am as much mystified as ever why that veiled Métropole Circe continues to dog my FLIGHTS…. It was she who was the daring flyer and she beat the whole army getting to my retreat in that neglected villa and spiriting me away…."

[Footnote A: Still the German nomenclature.]

VI

THE LADY AND THE FIRING SQUAD

18. This looks exciting:

"I must jot down this experience: When I was taken from the log cabin I was blindfolded and again strapped into a flying machine. There were half a dozen soldiers present; and ONE was certainly an ENGLISHMAN,—I had heard his voice before. I NEVER forget a voice. If his eyes ever meet these lines he will remember me, I know. I can describe him from memory. He was medium height, wore a drooping moustache slightly sprinkled with gray and used two pairs of tortoise-shell glasses. When I met him at The Pines in the Isle of Wight we had both been through the Battle of the Somme and were recuperating from our siege amid the shell holes and the mud. I CLAIMED to be an American, and he, as a descendant of the victor of Trafalgar, scolded me roundly and vicariously for not forcing the United States into the war on the side of Britain,—he'll remember that…. Perhaps it was because he DID recognize me that he insisted on my being blindfolded and handled roughly when I was led away…. The rest of the squad spoke FRENCH very poorly…. They asked me a number of questions, to which I shook my head; and, candidly, I could do so without doing violence to my knowledge of idiomatic French!… I heard them say to one another, 'When we get him to the stockade we'll see what he is made of.' 'Yes; a firing squad'll be the best thing for ALL of them.' 'Certainly! we'll follow Machiavelli's recommendation in The Prince,—EXTERMINATE the whole race!' That's the idea! There should be no Louis XVIII bobbing up a generation from now to overthrow the democracy.'… To be honest with my conscience I felt creepy…. I really wanted to tell them that they had got the WRONG FELLOW, but when I tried to speak my tongue felt so dry and thick that I could not utter an audible word…. so I remained involuntarily silent…. Well, on this flight I was more comfortable than on the last; but I thought it would never end and I felt horribly SEASICK…. Finally I was landed and hustled into a court made from the ends of small logs pegged into the ground like an improvised palisade,—it was in a little village….

"… There were hundreds of tatterdemalians of all nations in various uniforms and smoking vile cigarettes, lounging carelessly around…. In a little while a dozen prisoners issued from a small guardhouse in one corner of the enclosure and were conducted at the point of the bayonet to the spot where I stood…. The officer of this firing squad looked viciously at me and ordered me to 'fall in.'… We were then marched to the log wall about fifty paces to the left of the guardhouse and commanded to 'about face.'… When we did so we saw a firing squad of eighteen men in command of a Sergeant who gave the order 'Prepare to fire!'… At this point the officer stepped forward and, addressing me personally, said: 'Do you know of any reason why you should not be shot for participating in the abduction of the Imperial family?'… This was a puzzler…. I was innocent enough of such an accusation, BUT the officer before me looked about as much like a Royalist as I in my present disheveled condition looked like a member of the French Cabinet…. If I denied my guilt I felt certain of a bullet in my heart from such an ugly, unkempt mob…. Glancing at my apparel I looked fit to be one of their number, so I said courageously: 'I am PROUD to say that I am the ringleader who engineered the whole business!…"

If it gives you any satisfaction to see me die, don't waste your breath asking me any further questions,—go ahead and fire!'… 'Very well,' he snapped and made me about-face to the firing squad … For a few seconds he held a silent conversation with the Sergeant…. That functionary approached with a handkerchief. 'Will you be blindfolded?' he asked. 'Thank you, I prefer to see what's going on,' I answered…. The other prisoners followed my example…. We were ordered to step back against the wall…. The squad raised their rifles at the command of 'aim.'… I now know that I felt positively nauseated at the moment, but I actually SMILED…. 'Fire!'… There was a rattle of musketry and every prisoner beside me fell forward dead…. I STOOD THERE ALONE, uninjured and alive … coming toward me down the path was the daring female acrobatic aviator with her friend, the performer of the Métropole, robed in a shimmering sport outing costume, and smiling very sweetly to the Officer of the Guard….

"… I am certain now that this veiled lady from Buckingham is in league with this gang of Bolsheviki,—and I am also certain that I owe my life to the boast I made of being a murderer myself!…"

19. The following entry reads:

"A man who has escaped death is not to be trusted on a point of discretion,—he doesn't know how to select his friends. He is like a spirit emerging from nowhere in the eternal void and grabs at the first apparition that promises companionship in his embarrassing and momentary isolation…. Well, I was so glad to see that Buckingham Clorinda that I was willing to take her into my confidence at once…. She seemed so sympathetic!… 'I commend your bravery,' she said prettily, offering me her hand…. It was small and beautifully moulded, yet firm and steady, and sent an electric thrill through me like a flash…. Her eyes would disarm the most suspicious diplomatic free-lance in the world…. Struck with admiration, hypnotized by her voice, I could only blurt, 'I thank you.'

"…'We are