Calmer feelings succeeded the excitement caused by the pursuit, and our friends, speculating on the matter, came to the conclusion that the aeroplane must have started from some Prussian town, as Mr. Petrofsky said there were a number of Russian secret police in that country. The Falcon was now speeding along at a considerable height, and after running for a number of miles, sufficient to preclude the possibility that they could be picked up by the pursuing aeroplane, Tom sent his craft down, as the rarefied atmosphere made breathing difficult. It was about three days after the chase when, having carefully studied the map and made several observations through the telescope of the Country over which they were traveling, that Ivan Petrofsky said: "If it can be managed, Tom, I think we ought to go down about here. There is a Russian town not far away, and I know a few friends there, There is a large stretch of woodland, and the airship can be easily concealed there. "All right," agreed the young inventor, "down we go, and I hope you get the information you want." Flying high so as to keep out of the observation of the inhabitants of the Russian town, the young inventor sent his craft in a circle about it, and, having seen a clearing in the forest, he made a landing there, the Falcon having come to rest a second time since leaving Shopton, now several thousand miles away. "We'll hide here for a few days," observed Tom, "and you can spend as much time in town as you like, Mr. Petrofsky." The Russian, disguising himself by trimming his beard, and putting on a pair of dark spectacles, went to the village that afternoon. While he was gone Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon busied themselves about the airship, making a few repairs that could not very well be done while it was in motion. As night came on, and the exile did not return, Tom began to get a little worried, and he had some notion of going to seek him, but he knew it would not be safe. "He'll come all right," declared Ned, as they sat down to supper. All about them was an almost impenetrable forest, cut here and there by paths along which, as Mr. Petrofsky had told them, the wood cutters drove their wagons. It was quite a surprise therefor, when, as they were leaving the table, a knock was heard on the cabin door. "Bless my electric bell!" cried Mr. Damon. "Who can that be?" "Mr. Petrofsky of course," answered Ned. "He wouldn't knock--he'd walk right in," spoke Tom, as he went to the door. As he opened it he saw several dark-bearded men standing there, and in their midst Mr. Petrofsky. For one moment our hero feared that his friend had been arrested and that the police had come to take the rest of them into custody. But a word from the exile reassured him. "These are some of my friends," said Mr. Petrofsky simply. "They are Nihilists which I am not, but--" "Nihilists yes! Always!" exclaimed one who spoke English. "Death to the Czar and the Grand Dukes! Annihilation to the government!"