"I have yet to learn," said Dennis, fully aware of the renewed look of doubt in the faces of the men, "that a Red Cross nurse has any right to pilfer a field letter-box, or that she usually carries a Browning pistol for that purpose. Besides——" And at a venture he suddenly transferred his grip from her left wrist to the nurse's headgear she wore.
"There you are!" he said, sternly triumphant, as the splendidly made red wig came away and revealed the black hair beneath it. "Those handcuffs!" And they closed with a snap on the wrists of the German spy.
Martique was sounding his horn as a signal that he was ready, but he was not prepared for the sight that greeted his eyes as Dennis and the M.P. came up to the car with their prisoner.
"You might give me a bit of a chit, sir, to show it's all right," said the policeman, when they had lifted her into the front seat, pale and rigid now. "And if you take my advice," he whispered, "you'll keep an eye on her; she can wriggle like an eel, and if she grabs the steering-wheel when you're moving, she'll break all your bloomin' necks for you."
"I'll watch it," said Dennis with a smile.
In the telephone dug-out at Brigade Headquarters a man was speaking into the receiver, and the man at the other end of the wire out in a certain sector of the firing line smiled as he recognised the voice.
"That's you, Pater, isn't it?" said Bob.
"Yes," replied Brigadier-General Dashwood. "Any news yet?"
"None at all, sir," said Bob, his face changing; "the balloon's been found pretty well riddled, with the observer dead in the basket. The Highlanders took the wood this morning, you know, but there's no sign of Dennis. We can only hope for the best, Pater, and that is, that he is a prisoner. Eh? What did you say?—I can't hear you—are you there?"