"Not clearly."
"Russakoff the spy, or may I turn Muscovite."
"The red-bearded fellow was not tall enough for Russakoff," answered Paul. "In fact both men struck me as being remarkably short of stature."
"My eyes have not erred."
"Have it so, then," replied Paul, as he stumbled onward. "Let us but lay hands upon the villains, and we shall soon ascertain whether you be right."
A run of a few minutes' duration brought them through the wood to the highway beyond. A quick glance to the right threw Zabern into a paroxysm of rage.
Far off on the white dusty road which stretched onward in a straight line, till it seemed to touch the horizon, three black objects were visible, each moment dwindling in size.
"The villains have escaped us," cried Zabern. "They had horses tethered here with a third man to watch them. See! here are their hoof-marks in the clay. They'll be over the frontier within ten minutes. I warrant they are well provided with Russian passports."
The trio hurried back for horses, but, by the time they had passed them through the wood, the pursuit had become a jest.