d hilly road between Wellington and Bridgnorth. Past
ironworks and coal-fields, over or under a network of railway lines,
the car tore; then, leaving the mining district behind, it entered the
picturesque valley of the Severn, where the road skirts a range of
towering limestone crags.

In spite of their fatigue, the lads could not restrain an exclamation
of surprise and delight as the town of Bridgnorth, bathed in moonlight,
appeared in sight--a cluster of houses perched upon a bold rock, and
dominated by the scanty ruins of the old castle. At the foot of the
cliff the Severn meandered placidly. In the midst of the greatest war
the world has ever known, Bridgnorth appeared to retain all the
characteristics of complete peace.

The recruiting office was closed for the night. With unerring instinct
the detective made for the principal hotel. Here they found that
Captain Ramblethorne had engaged a room, but the manager showed them a
telegram that had just reached him.

"Took wrong train cancel room arriving to-morrow morning Ramblethorne."

"A blind," mentally ejaculated Ferret. "He has been warned."

The telegram had been dispatched from Shrewsbury. Ferret was again at
fault, for the mistake was a genuine one. It so happened that the two
trains left Wellington at precisely the same time, the one for
Bridgnorth starting from a side platform. Before he realized his
mistake Ramblethorne found himself well on the way to Shrewsbury, for
the train stopped at no intermediate station.

"Shrewsbury, as hard as you can go!" ordered Hawke, addressing the
chauffeur.

At a pace averaging fifty miles an hour the powerful car bounded over
the road. Without mishap it gained the outskirts of the county town of
Shropshire, when an involuntary halt occurred.

It was on the English Bridge, a comparatively narrow structure crossing
the Severn. A belated drover was driving a herd of refractory cattle
into the town when a motor-bicycle whizzed down the hill.

The cattle stampeded. With a jerk that almost threw Ferret and Vernon
from the seat, the car brought up. At the same time the motor-bicycle
slowed down, and dexterously avoiding a huge bullock, glided past the
stationary car.

The moonbeams shone directly upon the rider's face as Ross thrust his
head out of the window. The motor-cyclist was Ramblethorne the spy.

The recognition was mutual. The spy, cool and collected, gave no sign
of recognition. The next momen