“By the great north star, it’s true!” gasped the officer, as, from round the bend in the road below where they were stationed, a slight, boyish figure, walking rapidly, came into view.  It hesitated an instant, and then, perceiving the tall man, it came on again.

“Have you got der plans?”

The question came in a thick, guttural, foreign tone, from the tall figure.

The boy, who had just appeared, showed every trace of agitation.

“He’s struggling with his better nature,” thought Lieut.  Bradbury.  “I’ll help him.”

He was starting forward with this intention, when Mortlake, prepared for some such move, dragged him back.

“Don’t interfere,” he whispered, “if the lad is a traitor, as well know it now as at some future time.”

Lieut.  Bradbury could not but feel that this was true.  He sank back once more, watching intently, breathlessly, every move of the drama going on under his eyes.

With a quick gesture, the boy seemed to cast aside his doubts.  He muttered something in a low voice, and, as a ray of moonlight filtered through a cloud, Lieut.  Bradbury distinctly saw him pass something to the tall man.

“Goot.  You haf done vell.  Here is der money,” said the man, in a low, but distinct tone, that carried plainly to the listeners’ ears.

He held out an envelope, which the boy took, with a muttered words of thanks, seemingly.

Lieut.  Bradbury could control himself no longer.  Flinging Mortlake aside, as if he had been a child, he flashed out of his place of concealment, mad rage boiling over in his veins.

What he had just seen had swept every doubt aside.  His whole being was bent on getting hold of the young traitor and trouncing him within an inch of his life.  He felt he would be fulfilling a sacred duty in doing so.

But, as he sprang forward, as if impelled by an uncoiled steel spring, the two conspirators caught the alarm.  While the officer was still rushing through the bushes, they dashed off, one in one direction, one in the other.

“He’s ruined everything,” groaned Mortlake.

“No, no; you can save the day yet if you act quickly,” cried old man Harding in the same low, intense voice, “shout out that you are after the spy.”

“Right!” cried Mortlake, clutching at a straw.

He, too, dashed out of concealment, and took off after the tall man, bellowing loudly: 

“You chase the boy, Bradbury.  I’ll get the spy.  Stop you villain!  Stop!”

It was at that moment that Roy, just emerging from the woods, heard Lieut.  Bradbury’s angry challenge: 

“Prescott, you young scoundrel, I’ll get you yet!”

CHAPTER XV.

WHAT MORTLAKE DID.

“Look here,” cried Roy, indignantly wiggling in the officer’s strong grasp, “can’t you see that this is all a mistake?  If you hadn’t grabbed me, I could have caught that impostor.”