lared his captor. "You're going to drive
straight to Judge Van Vorst's, and explain to _him_!"

The stranger tossed his arms even higher. "Thank God!" he exclaimed
gratefully.

With his prisoner Jimmie encountered no further trouble. He made a
willing captive. And if in covering the five miles to Judge Van Vorst's
he exceeded the speed limit, the fact that from the rear seat Jimmie
held the shotgun against the base of his skull was an extenuating
circumstance.

They arrived in the nick of time. In his own car young Van Vorst and a
bag of golf clubs were just drawing away from the house. Seeing the car
climbing the steep driveway that for a half-mile led from his lodge to
his front door, and seeing Jimmie standing in the tonneau brandishing a
gun, the Judge hastily descended. The sight of the spy hunter filled him
with misgiving, but the sight of him gave Jimmie sweet relief. Arresting
German spies for a small boy is no easy task. For Jimmie the strain was
great. And now that he knew he had successfully delivered him into the
hands of the law, Jimmie's heart rose with happiness. The added presence
of a butler of magnificent bearing and of an athletic looking chauffeur
increased his sense of security. Their presence seemed to afford a
feeling of security to the prisoner also. As he brought the car to a
halt, he breathed a sigh. It was a sigh of deep relief.

Jimmie fell from the tonneau. In concealing his sense of triumph, he was
not entirely successful.

"I got him!" he cried. "I didn't make no mistake about _this_ one!"

"What one?" demanded Van Vorst.

Jimmie pointed dramatically at his prisoner. With an anxious expression
the stranger was tenderly fingering the back of his head. He seemed to
wish to assure himself that it was still there.

"_That_ one!" cried Jimmie. "He's a German spy!"

The patience of Judge Van Vorst fell from him. In his exclamation was
indignation, anger, reproach.

"Jimmie!" he cried.

Jimmie thrust into his hand the map. It was his "Exhibit A." "Look what
he's wrote," commanded the scout. "It's all military words. And these
are his glasses. I took 'em off him. They're made in _Germany_! I
been stalking him for a week. He's a spy!"

When Jimmie thrust the map before his face, Van Vorst had glanced at it.
Then he regarded it more closely. As he raised his eyes they showed that
he was puzzled.

But he greeted the prisoner politely.

"I'm extremely sorry you've been annoyed," he s