While they were at the police court, a long distance message was received from Wellington with the news that the flitting of the spies had been discovered by the detectives sent there on the case.
“It would have been too late if you had not been so wide awake,” the chief informed Judy.
“And I could have done nothing if Mr. Tucker had not taken hold,” declared Judy.
“Why, my dear Mrs. Brown, you would have found some other way, I am sure. You do not come of a breed that lets accidents happen.”
The Misels turned out to be pure Prussian, with not one drop of the blood of Alsace in their veins. Their name was Mitzel and they had many crimes to answer for. They had been on the stage prior to the war and the man was a noted acrobat and prestidigitator; the woman had traveled with her husband and assisted him in his work on the stage, being the hypnotized lady, the Herodian mystery, the disappearing spirit, the person who got tied up in the chest and had a sword run through her,—anything, in fact, that is usually required of the assistant in such a business. They were employed to act as spies and to disseminate all the German propaganda in their power.
Misel, or Mitzel, was to have insinuated an anti-draft spirit at Exmoor, the male college near Wellington. Also to influence the girls at Wellington, who in their turn were to influence their brothers and sweethearts.
“Oh, Bobby! Only suppose we had not gone out that night in search of adventure!” cried Judy, when she was safe under her mother’s wing.
“Why don’t you just suppose you had never been born?” boomed the delighted Bobby. “When you were once born you were sure to be out hunting adventure. You are made that way, eh, Mother?”
“Yes, I am afraid she is,” sighed that tiny lady. “You and Judy are exactly alike.”
“Do you mind?” asked her big husband humbly.