osite the hidden party, which instantly stopped its pacing to
and fro.

"By the great north star, it's true!" gasped the officer, as, from round
the bend in the road below where they were stationed, a slight, boyish
figure, walking rapidly, came into view. It hesitated an instant, and
then, perceiving the tall man, it came on again.

"Have you got der plans?"

The question came in a thick, guttural, foreign tone, from the tall
figure.

The boy, who had just appeared, showed every trace of agitation.

"He's struggling with his better nature," thought Lieut. Bradbury. "I'll
help him."

He was starting forward with this intention, when Mortlake, prepared for
some such move, dragged him back.

"Don't interfere," he whispered, "if the lad is a traitor, as well know it
now as at some future time."

Lieut. Bradbury could not but feel that this was true. He sank back once
more, watching intently, breathlessly, every move of the drama going on
under his eyes.

With a quick gesture, the boy seemed to cast aside his doubts. He muttered
something in a low voice, and, as a ray of moonlight filtered through a
cloud, Lieut. Bradbury distinctly saw him pass something to the tall man.

"Goot. You haf done vell. Here is der money," said the man, in a low, but
distinct tone, that carried plainly to the listeners' ears.

He held out an envelope, which the boy took, with a muttered words of
thanks, seemingly.

Lieut. Bradbury could control himself no longer. Flinging Mortlake aside,
as if he had been a child, he flashed out of his place of concealment, mad
rage boiling over in his veins.

What he had just seen had swept every doubt aside. His whole being was
bent on getting hold of the young traitor and trouncing him within an inch
of his life. He felt he would be fulfilling a sacred duty in doing so.

But, as he sprang forward, as if impelled by an uncoiled steel spring, the
two conspirators caught the alarm. While the officer was still rushing
through the bushes, they dashed off, one in one direction, one in the
other.

"He's ruined everything," groaned Mortlake.

"No, no; you can save the day yet if you act quickly," cried old man
Harding in the same low, intense voice, "shout out that you are after the
spy."

"Right!" cried Mortlake, clutching at a straw.

He, too, dashed out of concealment, and took off after the tall man,
bellowing loudly:

"You chase the boy, Bradbury. I'll get the spy. Stop you villain! Stop