"Now you over-reach yourself, Herr Doktor," Sanderson interposed with an appearance of confidence he was far from feeling. "You can only accuse Miss Melnotte of being a Red Cross nurse who bravely remained to care for wounded Germans at that hospital station when the French fled."
"Under an assumed name," snarled Herschall.
"Using the German part of her name, which she was advised to do by a German soldier. In addition, you who knew her at once, waited till now to betray her to the military authorities.
"So, Herr Doktor," concluded Sanderson calmly, "whatever you may make out against me or against her cousins, your case against Miss Melnotte falls to the ground."
"Soh!" exploded the surgeon, glaring at them. "You think to flout me, do you? What of this?"
He suddenly held forth for them to see the A. D. F. and bar of the French army—the insignia it had been Belinda's right to wear.
"Found in her private locker in Ward Three," snarled the doctor. "Worn continually as I can prove by at least one witness before we advanced and seized the hospital station.
"You see, Herr Sanderson, Miss Belinda is an officer of the French Army—rightfully a lieutenant. She is a spy, as you are a spy. And if I recite these facts to the Herr Major, her fate will be your fate."
He had stunned them. All Sanderson's sophistry in striving to cheer the nurse was borne down. She turned swiftly and placed her arms about his neck and never while Frank Sanderson lived could he forget the look glowing in her eyes.
"I do not care, Frank," she said softly. "I would rather die with you than live alone!"